“And before that?” Austen pressed.
“I don’t know. Lindsey, maybe? During that summer after college.”
“My point exactly.” Austen topped off my wine. “Don’t you think it’s interesting that neither of you had any serious relationships? That you both kept choosing to spend time with each other instead?”
“We’re business partners. Of course, we spend time together.”
“Honey.” Felicity’s voice went soft. “Business partners don’t curl up on the couch together watching movies. They don’t show up at each other’s places at midnight just because they had a bad day. They definitely don’t drop everything to drive three hours to pick the other up when their car breaks down.”
Heat crept up my neck. “That’s what friends do.”
“No, that’s what people in love do.” Austen’s words hit me like a punch to the gut. “And maybe it’s time you stopped being scared of that.”
“I’m not—” But the protest died on my lips. Because they were right. I was terrified. Of losing him. Of ruining everything. Of ending up like my parents.
“The thing is,” Felicity leaned forward, “you’ve already jumped. You’re already falling. The only question is whether you’re going to let yourself enjoy the ride or spend the whole time waiting for the crash.”
I stared into my wineglass, watching the deep red liquid swirl. “What if I mess it up?”
“What if you don’t?” Austen countered. “What if this is exactly where you’re supposed to be?”
The weight that had been sitting on my chest for weeks lifted slightly. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to stop looking for reasons this wouldn’t work and start believing in the possibility that it could.
Fifteen
Kellan
Mike passed me the final invoice for the stone pavers. “The future missus must be happy to have you back. Your timing’s perfect for fall installations.”
“She kept everything running smooth as silk while I was gone.” I was proud she could do that, but pleased she didn’t have to from now on. I’d decided this was my last deployment. It completed my contractual obligation, so I wouldn’t be re-upping with my Reserve unit again.
“Bet she’s got you jumping right back into work.” Mike winked. “No rest for the wicked.”
“Actually, she’s the one buried in paperwork today. Trying to keep on top of receipts and invoices for taxes.” I grimaced in sympathy. Paperwork was Tate’s personal version of hell, but she refused to let me handle that side of things. Something about not trusting my ‘creative’ filing system. A guy sticks a stack of fertilizer receipts under B for Bullshit one time…
“Good woman you got there.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t screw it up.”
“Not planning on it.” I gathered up the paperwork, already thinking about heading home. Tate would’ve spent her afternoon hunched over her laptop at our tiny office, probably cursing under her breath at spreadsheets. Her shoulders would be knotted up, her head maybe pounding with a headache from concentrating too hard. But she’d be finished by now, probably, and I knew exactly how to work those knots out of her muscles. How to make her forget all about quarterly reports and receipts. Orgasms were a fair tradeoff for her doing the paperwork, right? I mean, I was extremely motivated to show my gratitude. The thought put an extra spring in my step as I headed for my truck.
“Hey Fox!” Mike called after me. “Tell that fiancée of yours I expect an invitation to the wedding!”
I waved without turning around, grinning like an idiot. Everything about this situation should’ve been complicated—the fake engagement, the real feelings, the way we’d crashed through that best friends barrier. But despite the details we hadn’t exactly sorted yet, it felt right.
Now I just had to get home and rescue my woman from the evil clutches of accounting.
Cornbread’s tail thumped against the seat as I climbed into the truck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Time to go home.” I scratched behind his ears before starting the engine. “I’ve got plans with your adoptive mama tonight, pal. There’s a chew bone with your name on it if you stay out of the way.”
Cornbread placed his paw on my leg as if to say, “I got you, Dad.”
Laughing, I scruffed his ears again and put the truck in gear.
My phone buzzed as I pulled onto the highway to head home. The number wasn’t local, but something made me answer, anyway.
“Kellan Fox.”
“Mr. Fox! This is Sandra Chen from Southeastern Landscape Design Digest. I wrote the piece about Mountain Laurel Landscaping a couple of months back.”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. The article that had started this whole beautiful mess. “I see. What can I do for you Ms. Chen?”
