The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(23)

He’d been their neighbor, their ride-the-bus buddy and eager cohort in crime. As they’d all hit their teens, he’d known Mindy had sometimes crushed on him, but she’d been a little too tightly wound for him. Brooke, the easygoing, fun-loving one, had definitely been more his style, but she’d been too young. So they’d all just been friends.

Mostly.

Okay, he and Mindy had been just friends. He and Brooke . . . well, he’d lived through it and even he couldn’t put exact words to what they’d been to each other.

From the other side of the door, Brooke was watching him watch her. Her wavy honey-blond hair had been wrestled into a messy bun on top of her head, but more than a few silky strands had tumbled loose, framing her face and giving her a tousled, just-out-of-bed look. She was wearing an oversized scoop-neck heather-gray tee that had fallen off one shoulder and a pair of knock-’em-dead denim short-shorts—emphasis on short. Her body was slim, athletic, and mouthwatering. The entire package screamed “sweet girl next door,” but Brooke had too much of an edge to be the girl next door.

As he well knew. Something else he knew: He didn’t trust himself to keep his emotions in check when it came to her.

When he didn’t make a move, she raised an empty measuring cup. “Got milk?” she asked through the glass, with not a little irony in her voice.

He let out a long breath. Her face was freshly scrubbed and makeup-free. She looked the same as she had when he’d fallen head over heels for her, but he’d hardened himself to her. She’d destroyed him once, and he had no intention of letting her get another shot. With a good amount of annoyance at the both of them, he opened the door.

“Hey,” she said softly, her small smile giving him a chest pain.

He shook his head, because this was the problem, his problem. He had a hard time resisting her, always had. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like we’re still friends.”

Her smile faded. “Okay.”

Feeling like a complete dick, he took the measuring cup and filled it up from the gallon of milk he’d bought the day before. He made sure to pour an even eight ounces before turning to hand it back, where he caught her staring at him.

She had the good grace to look guilty. “I’m sorry. But you still have the best butt in Wildstone—which is annoying as hell, by the way.”

“I think we both know that’s not even my best body part.”

She snorted, defusing his tension with that one little sound. He shook his head. “You were staring at my ass like you wanted to bite it.” He paused and sent her a knowing look. “Again.”

“Hey, one time! And it was a very long time ago!”

He couldn’t help it—he grinned at the memory, one of his few memories of her that didn’t give him a pang. “You nibbled on lots of things back then.”

She blushed—which was fascinating—and stared at the milk he’d poured for her, running her finger over the eight-ounce mark. “We’re not like that anymore,” she said softly.

“No kidding.”

Something crossed her face at that, something he didn’t expect—sadness and regret—and seeing it wiped the amusement out from beneath him. Her eyes were the same deep, lose-yourself-in-them green with gold specks floating around. She had a slight sunburn across her cheeks and nose—probably from walking the beach with the kids, which he’d heard about from Mindy when she’d called to ask him to spy on Brooke. He’d refused.

“I didn’t expect that you’d still be in Wildstone,” she said quietly. “I sort of assumed you’d be long gone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t have assumed that at all given how much you always did love it here.” She gestured around her. “I’m glad you’re in this house. It makes sense, and it suits you. You’re renovating.”

“No.”

She took in the tarps, the ladder, the tools scattered about, and gave him a questioning look.

“The project’s on hold,” he said.

“Why?”

He was saved from explaining something he didn’t understand himself by Princess Jasmine, the only one of the three cats interested in a newcomer past bedtime. She rubbed herself around Brooke’s ankles, demanding love.

Brooke dropped to her knees and gave it freely. “What a sweet thing you are.” She looked up at Garrett. “Never pegged you as a cat guy. How did that happen?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you called me a monster,” she said lightly, though he had the feeling she felt anything but light.

“You were helping your niece look for the candy you’d just eaten,” he said. “And you know I was kidding.”

“Do I?”

They stared at each other, but he wasn’t going to touch that one. No way. Brooke had left him without a word and hadn’t looked back. Like he’d been nothing to her. Less than nothing. But hell if he’d give her the satisfaction of explaining herself now, all these years later.

They stared at each other some more, and when he felt himself wanting to ask her questions, too—like, was Cole really just her boss?—he forced himself to turn away. Moving to the laundry room off the kitchen, he pulled a fresh pair of jeans from the dryer. Dropping his towel, he pulled them on.