It’s nothing to do with me. She doesn’t want my bed in particular.
Josie wets her bottom lip, and my coffee spoon rattles against the mug. “I would love to stay in here with you if that’s okay, Mr Bray. I won’t kick you out of your bed though,” she says, as if I’d ever make her take the damn sofa, “and I’ll keep out of your way, I promise.”
It’s no use.
I’m going to hell.
I turn back to the cutlery drawer, way too pleased with myself. “It’s Everett. No problem.”
* * *
“Harry?” The line’s crackly, but I hear a muffled thump and a low curse. I stifle a smile, rubbing my jaw as I stare at the kitchen wall. The scrape and crunch of a shovel against the dry soil floats through the open barn door, and I fight the urge to lean back in this chair and try for a glimpse of Josie getting started on that patch.
Is the soil too hard? Should I help her get it going?
“Ev?”
Even though I took my nephew in when he was only six years old, he’s never called me Dad. I never suggested it, and he never tried. On some level, I think we both understood and agreed: it would be too much like erasing my older brother. Too much like trying to forget Harry’s real dad, the one who died with his mom in a car crash and left the two of us alone, muddling along as best we could together.
I don’t think I did a terrible job—my obsession with Josie Martin aside. I’m proud as hell of the man Harry’s grown up to be.
“Hey. Josie’s here.” I’m no chatterbox in person, and even worse over the phone. Harry’s used to me cutting straight to the point. “You should come back sooner if you can.”
To keep her company, and to stop me from doing something reckless.
To keep me in line.
“Josie?” Harry sounds distracted, and as confused as I feel. No, I don’t know why she came to me of all people, but I don’t want to question it out loud. If I do, she might change her mind. “Is she okay?”
The chair creaks under my weight as I lean back, squinting out through the doorway into the bright sunshine. A slender figure is out there, slamming a shovel into the baked dirt with all her strength, her long hair piled up in a messy topknot.
Josie fished her bags out of her car this morning. She’s dressed in frayed denim shorts and a black tank top, her feet in pink canvas sneakers, and every glimpse of her makes my mouth run dry.
“She’s fine.” She’s fucking perfect. “But she won’t want to be here alone with me for long.”
Can he hear the bitterness in my words? Either way, Harry scoffs. “That’s bullshit. She loves you, Ev. She always wanted to hang out at the Barns rather than anywhere else.”
Warmth pools beneath my rib cage. I didn’t know that.
A low voice says something on the other end of the line.
My eyebrow ticks up, and I ask before I can stop myself. “Is someone there with you?”
It’s midday. Not weird to have company at all. But something about the intimate rasp of that strange voice makes my instincts whisper, and a horrible thought makes me hesitate.
“You won’t bring another girl back here while Josie’s staying, will you?”
There’s a long pause, then Harry blows out a harsh breath. I guess that’s not fair of me to ask, but I don’t really care.
I can’t stand the thought of Josie getting hurt, seeing a boy she once loved with another girl. Jealousy hurts like a bitch—believe me, I know.
“No,” Harry mutters. “I won’t bring anyone back.”
Well, shit. This is still his home, and now I’m laying down the law. What if he stops coming altogether? What if he figures out how badly I want his ex-girlfriend? What if he sees the way I stare at her?
What if, what if, what if.
“So you’ll come sooner?” I press.
Harry grunts. Like nephew, like uncle. “I’ll try.”
The line clicks off, and I toss my phone on the kitchen table. I’m feeling better after hearing his voice. Stronger. More resilient.
Doesn’t matter if Josie Martin is pure homegrown temptation.
She’s off limits. Forbidden fruit.
And I’ll never do a thing to hurt Harry.