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His gravelly whisper sank deep into my stomach as his warm breath skimmed my neck. He drew back slightly to study my reaction.
I stared at him.
His eyes lingered on my mouth before drifting lower. The brush of his lips against the side of my neck was featherlight. Barely there. Gone almost before it happened. Whatever I’d been about to say vanished. Completely. His lips hovered near my ear again.
“You’ll just have to get over it, baby."
Good thing the house was already holding me up. Lane stepped back as if he hadn’t just completely short-circuited my brain and sent my heart pounding against my ribs. The smugness threatening his expression made me want to strangle him.
Or kiss him. Neither option seemed particularly safe.
“You—”
I couldn’t even form a sentence.
His grin widened. The jerk. Heat flooded my face. I turned so fast I tripped over my own feet. Behind me, his laughter followed me across the yard. Grandpa looked up from the living room window with entirely too much interest as I rushed past. I made it through the front door and shut it firmly behind me. I leaned against it and pressed both palms to my burning cheeks. My fingers found the spot he’d kissed before I could stop them. It still tingled. And somewhere outside, Lane continued working on the porch railing as though he hadn’t just completely ruined my ability to think.
Thirty-Nine
Lane
The first thing that struck me when I stepped through the back door was the exhaustion she was trying to hide. Not the kind of tired that came from a long day of physical labor, the kind that settled into someone’s shoulders after hours of carrying other people’s emergencies.
Her hair was pulled back messily in a bun, a few auburn strands escaping around her face. She had changed out of her scrubs, but the faint scent of antiseptic still clung to her. The bruise beneath her eye had faded, but the strain she carried hadn’t. She stood at the kitchen counter assembling tacos like feeding everyone after a twelve-hour ER shift was just another item on her to-do list.
“You know,” I said, setting the work gloves I’d carried in onto the counter, “most people would consider sitting down after working all day.”
She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Most people don’t have a teenage son who eats like he’s preparing for hibernation.”
From the table, Jace looked up. “Hey, I heard that!”
“You were supposed to.” She winked.
He grinned and reached for another taco shell. I shook my head and helped carry the makings for tacos to the table after washing my hands. Each day since I’d begun sleeping on Cali’s couch, I’d found another excuse to pick up a tool. A loose board that let rain sneak into the barn. A broken hinge that squeaked every time the door opened. A porch step that had softened with age just enough that I couldn’t leave it alone.
The truth was simpler. Fixing things gave me something to do besides admit I looked forward to waking up on a lumpy couch I’d only meant to sleep on temporarily. The thought should have scared me more than it did.
Cali set a bowl of cheese on the table as she sat and caught me looking.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s usually when you’re about to say something irritating.”
“I was thinking you should let someone else cook after working all day.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you volunteering?”
“Sure.”
“That confident, huh?” She tipped her head to the side, assessing.
“I make a mean omelet.”
A laugh slipped out before she could stop it. That sound still caught me off guard. I’d spent years wondering if I’d ever hear it again. Now I found myself saying whatever stupid thing came to mind just to hear it again.
Grandpa Jimmy looked up from his crossword puzzle. “Lane fixed the fence today.”
