Enough to make us make sense.

It’s the least I can do considering I overshared our arrangement with Caine. “Gretchen was my mom’s best friend. She has a daughter Delaney’s age. They grew up together, so Gretchen was always around. Mom died when Delaney was ten. Dad was…not great even when she was alive, but after she died, he was so much worse. Caine and I were in high school, and we tried to help Delaney through it, but we weren’t doing great ourselves.”

I don’t want to bury Claire under an avalanche of traumatic backstory, but it feels important that she understand my family. “Gretchen basically raised Delaney—she was there for Caine and me too. When her last husband died, she was going to have to go back to work. But she has arthritis, and the flare-ups are awful. She wouldn’t let me give her the money…” I’m rambling and uncomfortable, unsure how to explain.

Claire saves me. “So you figured out a way to give her the money without giving her the money.”

I nod.

Why am I so embarrassed by this?

Leaning her shoulder against mine, she gives me a soft nudge. “That’s very kind.” Then she laughs. “Why does she call you Mr. Underwood sometimes?”

My groan is genuine. “It’s Margot’s fault. She kept calling me that when I first hired her—I still can’t get her to stop—and Gretchen got a kick out of it.” Rubbing a hand over my face, I add, “Now she does it to be a pain. I’m tormented in my own home.”

“Maybe I’ll start calling you Mr. Underwood.” Claire sounds so serious that I jerk my head up to look at her.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Might be fun.” Her words are light and breathy, the corner of her mouth tightening with a laugh she’s fighting back. “Oh no, Mr. Underwood, there’s nowhere else to run. What are you going to do to me?”

My cock twitches to attention, stiffening absurdly fast because there are so many things I want to do to her. I could take her on the table. Bend her over the counter. Press her against the wall. I want to do it all. Badly.

Pink tongue darting across her bottom lip, Claire holds eye contact.

I drop my voice. “I’m going to lay you out on the table and feast. Devour you, bite by delicious bite.”

Her sharp intake of breath makes me squirm, and I don’t miss the way her thighs tense on the counter beside me.

I think she’d let me.

She’d let me fuck her inside.

No hunt.

No chase.

Need surges through me, and I’m leaning in, because if she’d let me do that, what else would she let me do? Her lips part slightly. Our faces are shifting, moving incrementally closer. She smells like coffee and Claire, and I’ve never wanted to taste anything as badly as I want to taste her tongue right now. I’ve tasted her sweat, her blood, and her arousal. For all the things I’ve done to her, every way I’ve enjoyed her body, I’ve never kissed her on the mouth.

Do it.

I want it more than my next breath. I’m going to kiss her, right here in my kitchen. I’m also going to hope I don’t come in my pants because my cock aches as if it’s been weeks since I’ve fucked her, instead of days. Eyelashes fluttering, Claire’s face softens. I’m angling my head, high on the realization that I am about to do something I want to do so badly, something that isn’t a contractual obligation on her part. Maybe this means—

“Shane, what are we doing for dinner?” Caine’s voice carries from outside the kitchen.

Claire startles, eyes flying open as she straightens back. I stifle a groan, turning to see my brother and Margot enter. Angling my hips to try to hide my erection from their view forces me to move toward Claire.

Maybe she won’t notice I’m hard.

The smothered giggle she makes lets me know she does.

Great.

“I don’t know.” I try not to sound as frustrated as I feel. “Haven’t thought about it yet.”

Margot clears her throat pointedly. At first, I think it’s for me. That my cock has somehow detached itself from my body and is making a run for Claire, audience be damned. I wouldn’t blame it.

Then Caine works a hand through his messy hair, offering an apologetic smile.

“Sorry I was an ass. I couldn’t help myself. Please tell me you see the joke potential, though; it’s endless.” He gives Claire a pleading look that makes me shake my head.

Margot sniffs. “That’s not a very good apology.”

He looks at her. “I told you, I’m shit at apologizing.”

Margot’s retort is flat. “Since you can’t keep your feet out of your mouth, I’d expect you to be better at it by now.”

Beside me, Claire giggles again. “It’s okay. It caught me off guard because I didn’t know you knew, but we’re all good.” She gives Caine a thumbs-up. “Joke away.”

“No,” Margot says at the same time as I say, “Don’t you dare.”

Caine’s shit-eating grin makes it clear he won’t be listening to either of us. But Claire’s relaxed, the tension from earlier melted away. I listen to her tease Caine about making a bad first impression, with Margot chiming in to gang up on him.

Warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with arousal. Settling bone-deep, a sense of rightness fills me. It’s as if I’ve jumped from a helicopter and landed exactly on target, that this is where I’m supposed to be. I’ve only ever felt this way at work—when I settle into that rhythm where everything clicks. Experiencing it when I’m not working is strange. I don’t understand it, but I like it. I like it so much, it concerns me.

TWENTY-TWO Claire

We decide to go out for dinner after Caine is unimpressed with the contents of Shane’s fridge. Margot tries to head home, but I convince her to come. She already told me her fiancé is out of town for the week, so she’s stuck. Company will be good for her. I also want someone else to witness the absurdity that is Shane and Caine together. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child, but their dynamic fascinates me. Opposite but somehow so similar, like a photo and its negative.

Caine brings out an adorable side of Shane. A sarcastic, grumbling humor that I almost mistake for true irritation until I see the amusement in his eyes. We decide to ride together to the Alley. It’s a huge lot downtown where a ring of food trucks and vendors have set up shop. Trucks and booths are arranged in two rows, creating a large alley—hence the name. There are tables scattered throughout, with a large grouping of them at one end and a stage at the other. It’s dusk when we arrive, bistro lights casting a cheerful glow as they stretch from truck to truck.

People are everywhere. I’ve never seen it this crowded. Shane lives fairly far out from Newbound, and the drive took a hot minute. It’s after eight, so most of the crowd is adults, though I spot a few teenagers. A cover band plays a vaguely familiar rock and roll song, but I have no desire to go down there and see who it is.

Shane says what I’m thinking: “Let’s stay away from that end.”

Caine makes a displeased sound. “Killjoy. I’m going to check it out.” Turning to Margot and me, he arches an eyebrow in invitation.

I shake my head. “I’m good. Not much for rock.”

“Same,” Margot says.

With a shrug, Caine’s off. I turn to Margot. “Wait, I thought you liked rock. You mean I let that playlist run all day yesterday, and neither of us liked it?”

Smoothing her unwrinkled blouse, she gives me a grimace-grin. “No, I did like it. I do like it. I love rock.” Her head is on a swivel as she scans the area. “Crowds stress me out. I didn’t want to say that to Caine. He’d probably fling me into one. Try to make me crowd-surf.”