I glanced down at my pie, and Connor took that as a signal that it was safe to move. “You know I won’t judge you,” he said once inside the wood stall, towel now probably hung on a hook. I heard him turn the faucet, officially committed to a cold shower. “If you eat that pie with your hands, there will be zero judgment on my end.”
Already licking raspberry off my fingertips, I rolled my eyes. “Well, inthatcase…” I almost choked on a bite of crust when I saw steam rising from the shower. The water washot?
Not only did that makea lotof sense, but it also made me feel like a total idiot.
Of course it’s hot, Olivia!the snarky voice in my head said.The not-at-all-recent invention of pipes makes it entirely possible…
Cheeks warming, I debated whether or not to sneak inside the house; it was a little awkward sitting here while Connor lathered himself with body wash three yards away, but my phone chiming distracted me.
Finally hit the front of the line, my dad had texted.They’re out of salted caramel. “Lotsa Dough” sound like a solid plan B?
Thank you, I typed back.But I devoured any and all remnants of mixed berry pie, so that’ll tide me over!
My dad:Topper called dibs on those.
Me:Oh shit.
Connor: “I’ll be back out in a sec!”
“What?” I looked up to see Connor back on the porch, once again shirtless and running a hand through his still dripping hair. It looked darker when wet, more red than blond.
“I’ll be right back,” he rephrased. “We can hang out.”
Hang out?I thought.You haveenergyto hang out?
I mean, he and Finn had broken out their lacrosse sticks to play catch after dinner.Howwas he not exhausted?
“Okay,” I said, wishing my muscles would unwind. “Sure.” I rolled back my shoulders. “Let’s hang out.”
Ten
As advertised, Connor returned to the porch, in sweats and barefoot with Swede in tow. He’d thrown a wool blanket over his shoulder and held up a pack of Oreos. “Want one?”
“I’m good,” I said as he joined me on the couch. Our shoulders brushed, and I caught a hint of his shampoo. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact scent—watermelon?—but it smelleddelicious. “This is all getting a little tooParent Trapfor me.”
I mean, us isolated together in “summer camp,” his reddish hair, and now the Oreos…
What was next? A jar of Jif?
“What do you mean?” Connor smirked. “I’m allergic to tree nuts, which are commonly mixed up with peanuts, we’re not related, and most importantly, Sean and Miranda McCallister are happily married.”
I made a ballpark guess. “Twenty years?”
“Twenty-two.”
“I was close.”
“You were,” he agreed then bit into a cookie.
Crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch!
Dude is a loud chewer, I thought while making Swede sit for the Milk-Bone I’d stashed in my pocket. He deserved a sweet treat too.
“So,” Connor said, “how’ve the last eight years treated you?”
