More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(47)

His eyes were returning her frank appraisal, a bemused smile flirting with his lips.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and appreciation, and she grinned.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Good enough to ravish?” he asked hopefully, and she giggled.

“Shut up.” She dismissed him lightheartedly with a casual flick of her hand and then descended the porch steps, with him following close behind.

The rain had slowed to an annoying drizzle, and Tina stopped at the bottom of the steps, her eyes darting between her Lexus and his gigantic 4X4. It was such a masculine vehicle. She hated getting into those: her legs were too short, and she always hopped around inelegantly on one foot while gracelessly trying to drag herself up into the passenger seat.

She didn’t foresee it being any different trying to clamber into Harris’s beast of a vehicle.

“Why don’t we take my car?” she suggested, and he opened his mouth as if to argue before shutting again and nonchalantly lifting and dropping his shoulders.

“No skin off my nose. You know the area better.”

She didn’t know why, but she’d expected some manly debate about how he should drive. His easy acquiescence reminded her how laid back Harris could be about ceding control to others . . . well, not so much others. Usually Greyson. Harris had always been happy to sit back and let his brother—older by a mere five minutes—take the lead. Greyson liked to control most situations, and Harris was quite content to let him. But he could also be very vocal when a decision was made that he didn’t agree with.

It was a fascinating insight into his personality, and Tina considered it while they climbed into her car and dragged on their seat belts. She wondered if his willingness to let Greyson lead was less about Harris and more about the fact that his brother was a compulsive control freak. It was Harris’s way of keeping Greyson happy.

Which was kind of sweet, actually.

And all complete speculation on her part, of course.

“You look so serious,” he said, his eyes on her profile, and she turned to meet his deep-blue gaze.

“I was surprised you let me drive, is all.”

His brow furrowed at her words.

“What? Did you think I was going to go all alpha asshole on you and demand we go in my big manly truck?” She could hear the laughter bubbling away just beneath the surface of his question.

“Well . . . yes.”

“I’m not that guy.”

“I’m beginning to get that, yes. Greyson is.” She tacked on the last bit offhandedly and watched him closely for his reaction. The smile faded from his eyes.

“Greyson likes to be in control of everything,” he said quietly, confirming Tina’s previous suspicions. “His life, his home, his emotions. This whole situation with Libby and Clara has him spinning very far out of his comfort zone. I suspect—at some point—he’s going to go full asshole until he realizes that it won’t get him anywhere with Libby. I’m hoping he recognizes that he’s going to have to change a lot about himself if he wants to win her back.”

“I don’t think he can change himself. Or win her back,” Tina said, and Harris shook his head.

“Before yesterday, I would have agreed with you. But . . . he’s over there right now. Wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie. Probably fixing toilets. And she’s letting him. I’m not so sure anymore.”

He reached over and tugged a strand of hair out of her collar. His hand lingered, and his thumb very gently brushed across her jawline.

“Why are we talking about them again?”

“Habit?”

“Time to form new habits,” he said, his thumb still lightly grazing her skin, and Tina’s breath snagged in her chest.

“Such as?” The question was embarrassingly breathless, and his lips kicked up at the corners while his palm moved to cup the side of her neck, and his thumb lazily stroked the sensitive skin of her throat.

“Give me some time. I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something,” he murmured, his eyes following the movement of his thumb.

“We should get going.” Her voice emerged on a squeak, and, to her eternal regret, he removed his hand and nodded.

“Right. Cheese. Let’s get to it!”

“These are some passionate turophiles,” Harris stated bemusedly beneath his breath an hour and a half later. They were observing the cheese-carving competition. Harris had his arms folded over his broad chest as he attentively contemplated the group of focused cheese carvers.

“Don’t you mean turophiliacs?” she asked, and he rolled his eyes at her. Harris had been using the word turophile as often as possible in the hour since he’d first seen it in the festival pamphlet. He was like a kid with a new toy, and Tina thought it was endearing.

“Hush, and let me enjoy this. I don’t often learn fun new words. It’s all accrued expenses, assessed values, and capital gains or losses in my world. Boring as hell.” He went back to watching the cheese carvers. Tina was tickled by how genuinely diverting he seemed to find this entire experience. He stopped at most stalls, asking questions and sampling so many different cheeses that Tina felt sick just watching him. She wasn’t lactose intolerant, but she was pretty sure she was developing an allergy just from being around this much dairy.