Page 95 of Until You

Then there was the official non-makeup makeup that was . . . it is why I’m standing here with my eyes closed, my head against the door, just trying to take every single memory we made last night and commit them to memory.

Crew made everything about our unanticipated night together perfect. The drive to the top of Freemont Hill, where we sat and watched the lightning bugs flicker to life while eating a picnic-sized charcuterie board complete with a rather nice zinfandel. Then venturing three towns over to Summerset Steak House where the only thing we ordered was one of every dessert on the menu. We went on to have an impromptu judging contest over each of the eight desserts. Then with stomachs full, cheeks sore from laughing, hearts full, and heads a bit loopy from another bottle of wine once we got back home, we did a little skinny-dipping in the pool. Or rather we did only after turning the security cameras off, followed by sex where for the first time in a long time, we didn’t have to worry about being quiet.

Or where we actually caved to our whims and had said sex.

The way he made everything about the past sixteen hours carefree and uncomplicated, romantic and understated, made me love him more when I already love him as it is . . .

Love?

The word staggers me. The thought more so. The feeling that warms my entire body when I repeat it in my head triumphs both.

Love.

We never said anything about love. I never told myself I was allowed to love anyone again, let alone a man as incredible as him. Because love takes trust . . . and I never thought I’d trust another man again either.

But here I am, falling for Crew. Correction, already fallen for Crew. I don’t know why my revelation strikes me by surprise. Aren’t the classic symptoms of love waking up thinking about someone, wanting to be with that someone all day, and then going to bed dreaming about them?

Because outside of work, of helping Bobbi Jo and her merry band of helpers, of giggling with the twins and teaching them the proper way to torment their father . . . that’s pretty much been the past six weeks.

And it can’t be.

It can’t happen.

But here we are.

Here I am.

What the hell am I supposed to do about it now?

Because I’m still convinced there is no place I could ever hide from Kaleo Makani indefinitely.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tennyson / Tessa

Four Years Earlier

Kaleo.

Oh shit.

He’s not supposed to be home. He’s not supposed to be anywhere near here.

My fingers freeze, poised over his keyboard, as documents slowly upload to a secure cloud I was given to use. At no time in my life did I ever peg the transition from being a classically trained ballerina to a computer hacker as being on my bingo card.

But here I am.

And I’m definitely not cut out for it because at the unexpected sound of Kaleo’s voice, my hands are trembling so bad I keep hitting the wrong keys.

C’mon. C’mon. C’mon.

“It’s fucking bullshit is what it is.” But that’s his voice saying those words in the kitchen. That’s his anger echoing down the hallways.

I close the drive, not caring what did or didn’t transfer because not getting caught is my biggest worry right now.

Images of the three men on the boat flash through my mind. My husband’s callousness. His cruelty. His complete and utter indifference.

I shut the lid of the laptop as quietly as possible, almost as if Kaleo would be able to hear its quiet click in the kitchen, which is in the complete other wing of the house.