“No problem,” I add belatedly. I feel the loss of his hand as it slips away. I turn, following it. Following him. “Have you been doing yard work?”
He gives an unconcerned flick of his shoulder. “Do you know what Home Depot is missing?” Okay, change of subject, though I kind of love how he mispronounces the name. Depp like Johnny, followed by an o. “A sausage sizzle. A sausage sizzle,” he repeats as though a second time it’ll somehow make more sense. “Snags in bread with a few fried onions and sauce. Barbecue or tomato. A bit of mustard, maybe.”
“Like a food truck?”
“No, like a gazebo and a grill, and raising money for grassroots sports football teams.”
“Okay. I’m guessing that’s an Australian thing.”
“An institution,” he asserts. “Who doesn’t fancy a sausage when they’re buying two-stroke motor oil?”
“So you have been working in the yard.” Which gives me a case of the warm and fuzzies. The way to a girl’s heart might just be through the grass he hates to cut.
“I’ve ordered a new mower. Yours has about two mows left in it. One word for you. Oil.”
“I know it needs oil,” I retort, indignant. And also laughing. Grabbing the dishcloth, I whack him with the end at the same time as the front doorbell chimes.
“I’ll get it, shall I?” he sasses, jumping out of the way of a second, aborted attempt before a slight discomfort sets in. Drying my hands quickly, I throw onto the countertop and trot after him.
“I’ll get it,” I call, picking up the pace because a knock on the front door can never be good news. No one ever uses it, unless—
“Oh, it’s you.” Roman’s flat tone confirms my suspicion as he beats me to the door.
“Is Kennedy home?”
“Hey, Drew,” I say, ducking under Roman’s arm and sort of muscling my way between the solid obstacle and the door. It’s not that I want to see Drew especially, but more that I feel like I should because of a sudden prick of guilt. I’ve been screening his calls. I mean, I haven’t ignored him completely—I’ve answered his texts. I know, I know; I need to pull up my big girl panties and let him down gently. It’s just been kind of hard to because of how I feel about the man beside me. Like I might need the protection, though not in any physical sense. Kennedy Harper, the man is not your boyfriend beard! “Are you coming in?” I ask, pulling on the door, though it isn’t budging thanks to the positioning of Roman’s foot. I glance up at him as he pretends not to notice how I press my heel hard into his toes.
“No, that’s okay. I’m on my way to a thing.” Drew throws his thumb over his shoulder to where his truck is parked on the street. “I tried to come through the yard, but the gate seems stuck.”
“I’ll take a look at it,” Roman says. As though the gate is his.
Drew’s brows pinch. “Anyway, I wanted to see if you’re free for dinner next week.”
“Oh.” That noise I just made, all breathy and soft? It’s nothing to do with Drew and everything to do with the hand that just grabbed my butt. Grabbed it with ownership.
“I sent you a text,” Drew says, filling the space.
I think I might squeak when the hand slides lower. “I-I must’ve missed it. I’ve been busy. Work and Wilder’s birthday, you know.” My words fall in a rush, and I sort of squeak again as Roman’s fingers slide along the crease of my butt cheek, heading inwards between my legs. “You’re coming, right?”
Roman chuckles, and I know I didn’t imagine how dirty that sounded, thanks to the glare Drew sends his way. He can’t know what’s going on, but he knows something is.
“Sorry.” Drew gives a small shake of his head, his expression lightening as it slides back to me. “I’m not in town this weekend. That’s also why I’m here, to give Wilder this.” He pulls a blue-coloured envelope from his back pocket.
“Do you want to give it to him?” I make to step back again, but the hand. The hand that has now slipped under my T-shirt is drawing light circles on my lower back. Damn that man for knowing how much my body loves that kind of touch. Why couldn’t I have the same reactions to Drew? Not that he’s ever touched my back. Not that I’ve ever wanted him to. But he’d be the safer choice, wouldn’t he? Yard work or not. He’s solid and predictable. He’s lived in Mookatill all of his life and—
My heart shrinks as my brain kicks in. I would never be at risk of losing my heart to Drew. But with Roman, I risk everything. If I allow myself to fall in love, he’ll leave me again. Leave me on purpose this time when he finds out what I did. Like a deluge of icy-cold water, I realise the second time around would be so much worse. I wouldn’t have my resentment to keep me warm or the lies I sought to tell myself. It would be my fault this time, undeniably so. But more than that, I would be heartbroken.