His dark eyes meet mine through the screen door barrier between us. “You told me to be a little bit scared.”
I can’t fight the smile curling my lips as I open the exterior door. He should berealscared to openly stand on the front porch of the house I share with Stone.
“How do you know if I’m alone?” I ask as he crosses into the living room.
“Heard a rumor Stone was out of town with Emerson. Saw Hudson in Rogue River earlier with the Stanton’s getting pizzas. Took my chances there was no one else.” He pauses in the living room and faces me. “Despite that lame cake excuse.”
“There’s no one else, Cort,” I confirm quietly, lowering my gaze. He’s the only one I want. “And the cake wasn’t an excuse. I’m really baking one.”
He inhales and turns his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Smells delicious and like something is burning.”
“Shit.” I race to the kitchen, finding my honey glaze boiling when it should be simmering. “Crap.” I quickly turn off the burner and whisk the ingredients, hoping I haven’t overdone it but the browned edges in the pot say I have.
“I’ll need to start over,” I mutter to myself, taking the pot from the stove and setting it on a hot pad near the sink.
Cort stands on the opposite side of our kitchen island while I work, mixing up fresh ingredients before pulling out a clean pot.
“The house looks nice.”
I glance up to see him looking around the kitchen. Long gone are the dingy, dark cabinets and scuffed countertops.
“Thanks. Years ago, Stone gutted this place, and I designed the renovation.” We went with open concept as best we could, maximizing the space to include the island but still allowing for a kitchen table. A formal dining room exists off to the left, although we hardly use the space other than for buffets to accommodate Sunday meals in the cooler months or the holidays.
After mentioning Stone, I hesitate. I’ve had time to process that my long explanation about Sylver Sundays was the tipping point with Cort. However, if I can’t even mention my brother, Cort and I aren’t ever going to have something deeper. We will only be surface level, like on countertops and king-sized beds, and again, I’m just not in the mood.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, flicking my gaze toward him before just as quickly looking away.
“I wanted to see you, Vale.”
“Get a good look last night?” I comment, turning toward the stovetop and pouring the honey glaze into the fresh pot. When Hudson had another baseball game yesterday, Cort saw me, and I’d missed another book club.
Suddenly, I feel Cort behind me. “Not enough of one.”
I close my eyes, caught between his words sounding like a pickup line and a seductive plea.
“Cort,” I sigh, twirling a wooden spoon around the glaze. “What do you want?”
“I want to be a little scared. With you.”
At his reference to my first beekeeping years, my head pulls up so fast, I knock the spoon against the pot, startling both of us. Turning back to the glaze, I give it another stir, staring into the gooey mixture that suddenly matches the consistency of my insides.
Cort’s hand hesitantly comes to my lower back as he steps even closer to me.
“I don’t know how this will work, Vale. Hiding out in myhouse makes it seem a bit sordid, but then again, our business isn’t other people’s business. However, I’d like to be more open about us. I want to tell my mom and Clint. Hell, even Tate and Trinity.”
The reference to his sister adds to my guilt. I pretended I didn’t know Cort was dating anyone.
I tip my head, glancing at him over my shoulder. “You know what this might mean for me, though, right?”
“You’re going to catch hell from Stone.” Anguish fills his eyes a second. He doesn’t want me to hurt my brother any more than I want to hurt him.
“I’m not worried about my brother.” Maybe I could reasonably talk to Stone. Maybe he’d understand that we don’t choose who we love, we just love. And I want to love Cort. I’vebeenloving him my entire life, faults and all.
“Okay, I’m a little bit worried about him,” I admit.
“I could talk to him.” There are several reasons why Cort should talk to my brother, but I’m flattered that he’s willing to go to bat for me. For us. “I don’t want this to be difficult for you.”
“The difficult part has been you shutting down on me for a week.” I speak before I can hold the words back and turn to tend the heating honey glaze.
