“Wow.” She grins. “That was just like a movie. I jumped?—”
“You flew,” I mutter.
“And you caught me.”
Her chest and stomach surge against me. Her hips press into my abs while her breath and body heat take up every ounce of my space. Chestnut hairs frame her face in a halo, the ends of her soft locks hanging down, brushing my cheeks.
“Are you ready to get up?” I ask, a little more air in my lungs this time.
“Oh. Right.” Fran laughs softly—as if the idea never occurred to her.
Her legs tangle with mine, making the whole process more difficult than it should be. But she makes her way off me, and a cool Tesoro breeze seems to hit me out of nowhere—she’s gone, and I might as well be knocked on my backside again.
Of course, I’m not up yet. So, no need to actually knock me down.
Fran holds out a hand to me, offering me help up. I’m more than capable, and she’s not all that helpful. Still, I slap my hand into hers, and while she tugs, I push myself up off the ground.
She isn’t manhandling me; I’m not sure she’s strong enough. And yet, once again, our bodies collide before I stand myself up tall, reaching out to steady Fran by the elbow.
She swallows. Her eyes gaze up at me.
We are not in a romcom. I am not her happily ever after. But she’s looking at me like I might be. Our dating is strategic.It has a purpose. I’m helping her. She’s helping me. I know that. She knows that.
But it feels like something else at this moment.
I clear my throat and reach down for the bucket holding our newly purchased garden shovel and gloves. “Ready?”
“I’m so ready,” she says with a grin that speaks so much more than those three little words.
Twenty-Six
I let outa breath—one that my whole body feels. “And then, we ate ice cream.” I bobble my head. “Well, mostly I ate ice cream. Callum got one scoop, had two bites, and then dumped the rest into my bowl.”
“Ew,” Rosalie says, her nose wrinkling.
“I’ve kissed the man, Rose. I’m not afraid of his germs.” Nope, not at all.
“I’m sticking withew.” She folds her hands around her morning coffee mug and adjusts her cross-legged position on our couch so that she’s facing me head-on. “So, it was a good date, then?”
I clamp my jaw shut, rein in my grin, and answer in a tone that says—meh. “It was fine.”
“Fran,” she says. Why does she sound like she’s hitting me with a backup alarm lecture?BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Fran, don’t screw up your life.
“What?” I say, but there is way too much defense in my tone.
“You like him. He has basically blacklisted love, and you like him.”
“It was one date. We’ve got a thing going—you know that. He’s helping me. I’m helping him. I don’t hate him.” My pulse quickens. Nope, I don’t hate Callum. Not even a little. “What’s the problem?”
Rosalie groans, her head falling to the back of the couch cushion.
“I’m going to work,” I say. And sure, I’m going to be twenty minutes early, but I’m all hyped up, and we’re through here. Rosalie is just going to fret. And I want to enjoy the memory of this remake. It’s my best yet.
“Wait! Fran, I just worry about you. You’re the sweetest, and I don’t want anyone messing with you.”
“Cal isn’t messing with me.”
“Maybe not intentionally, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t messing with your heartstrings.”
