He blinked and looked desperately at the tile samples on the table in front of him as if they’d help him out of the endless conversational loop that fucking kiss had dropped him into. “Oh, I’m not—”
“Young love. Isn’t it wonderful, Frank?”
The man’s bald pate flashed under the fluorescents as he nodded affably. “Is she a good cook? Does she treat you right?”
“She, uh—”
“That’s how I won him over.” Elena nodded at her husband. “My apple pie.”
“She makes the best apple pie.” Frank patted his belly and smiled the smile of a man who knows the pleasure of a good fruit-and-pastry combination.
Jesus. Time to get this under control. “Thea’s never made me apple pie actually.” That was honest at least.
“Just ask her nicely. I’m sure she’ll be happy to. We all saw how she looked at you.” Elena sighed dreamily. “After all the stories we’ve heard, it’s just nice to see you settling down.”
For God’s sake, he’d just become responsible for the bulk of the activities that kept the family business solvent, but apparently it took publicly linking himself with a woman to be seen as a trustworthy adult. It rankled, and his jaw hurt from the effort of keeping his smile on his face and his thoughts to himself.
“Leave him be, Lena,” the pie-loving Frank finally said. “Let the poor boy show us the bathroom of our dreams.”
Yes. Fixtures and mirror and vanity options. Safe ground. But as he discussed the benefits of the various tile brands, a plan began to germinate.
A terrible plan. Risky and dumb. Harebrained, even. But it was an idea that could change everything for him right now, when he needed it the most. And he was pretty sure he knew how to get Thea on board.
Eight
Thea perched on the edge of her couch and glanced at her phone one more time.
The text was still there. She hadn’t imagined it.
Can I swing by your place tonight?
“Gah!” She tossed the phone on the couch and looked around her apartment one more time with dismay. Aiden was coming here?Why? And where would she even put him? Her furniture was girl-sized. How would his tall, cool, sex-god vibe even fit in with her flower-patterned love seats and squashy velvet ottoman? Even her clothes were wrong. She usually felt supercute in these skinny jeans and soft, slouchy top, but tonight they managed to make her feel both sloppy and fussy at the same time.
God, he was coming here to tell her in person that Saturday night was all for show, wasn’t he? He was so worried about poor sad Thea showing up and tossing her panties at him on a job site that he was driving to her apartment to tell her to her face that they were only pals. It was almost like he knew how many times she’d watched that video that Faith had sent of their kiss.
Their unimportant, not meaningful, totally forgettable kiss.
“Oh God.” Her self-pitying moan was interrupted by the screech of her intercom, and she bolted from the couch to buzz open the entrance and meet her fate. Two minutes later, a strong pair of knuckles collided with her door in a self-assured knock that had her shivering. Even hisknockwas sexy.
“Get it together,” she whispered, tugging at the hem of her shirt once more before swinging open the door with the biggest welcome smile she could muster. “Hiya!”
“Hey.” He propped one shoulder against her doorframe and smiled back, all slow and lazy, and she fluttered. Every last part of her sat up and fluttered.
Crap.
Pushing aside her nerves, she stepped back and flung an arm out to encompass her cozy little living space. “Come on in! Toss your coat anywhere.”
“Thanks.” He slid out of his jacket and hung it on the coatrack next to the door with a raised brow.
“Right. Ha. Use the thing intended for coats.” And just like that, the tension drained from her body. Why was she so nervous? She knew why he was here, so she might as well calm down so he could get on with it. She shook out her hands in an attempt to get rid of her fidgets. “Want something to drink?”
“Beer?”
“Something cheap and domestic coming up.” She headed toward the fridge. “Have a seat.”
She fetched the beverages and joined him in the living room, where he was nestled among the upholstery flowers, legs looking longer than ever. She bit back a smile at the mismatch as she handed him a cool bottle.
“Thanks.” He wrapped his fingers around it but didn’t drink until she’d settled herself onto the sofa opposite him with her glass of moscato.
