Flock And Roll: A Small town, friends to lovers, brother's best friend, second chance romance.

1. Ro

“Shit, shit, shit!” My voice mixed with the sizzle of the eggs in the pan, oil spitting furiously. Damn Gran’s rickety stove. Even after my brother stacked some coasters under one of its feet, the old dinosaur still leaned like the titanic.

The oil had made it through my T-shirt, and I fanned at my chest, wafting a hand over my boobs as if it would relieve the burn. My night wasn’t exactly turning out how I planned. I was already up way later than I’d wanted, and adding laundry to my pre-bed to-do list made my shoulders sink. I’d deal with stains in the morning. It was safe to say nobody would ever utter the words “domestic goddess” and Rowena Swan in the same sentence.

After checking the oil hadn’t left burns, I picked up my giant slushy cup from the counter. The paper straw sagged a little as I took a slug.

I’d spent the evening over at Eve’s place. What was supposed to be a late afternoon coffee had turned into a Bridgerton marathon. Season one, of course. The Duke of Hastings was a sight that never got old. I’d left Eve’s house just in time to get a raspberry ice at the Plume ‘n Zoom on the way home. Free slushies were one perk of being an employee at Tuft Swallow’s only gas station.

I gripped the cup, inhaling the smell of the eggs as I pushed them around the pan. The house was quiet. The only light illuminating the kitchen was the bulb over the range hood. Coop and Gran must already be in bed. It usually took a stampede of wildebeest to wake my brother, but I didn’t like to chance it. He was great as big brothers went, but could be grumpy as hell if he didn’t get his sleep.

I completed another lap of the pan with my spatula when a tingle at the back of my neck froze me mid-sweep. The hair at the base of my ponytail lifted as if someone traced ghostly fingers along my nape. I wrapped my hand tighter around the plastic in my palm. Had somebody got into the house?

Craning my neck, I listened for footsteps or heavy breathing. Maybe the grind of an ax being dragged along floorboards.

Nothing. I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. If someone had gotten in, surely I would’ve noticed. Besides, I had no hope of defending myself with just a plastic flipper. And this was Tuft Swallow, not the Bronx. We’d won the safest town in Hawkthorne County fourteen years in a row. As far as I knew, there’d never been a murder here. Particularly one in which the victim had been unalived frying eggs.

I relaxed my grip on the spatula, but a creak of wood and a low, husky voice sounded behind me.

“Hello, Ro.”

My heart somersaulted, and I sucked in a quick breath as I whirled around with the flipper raised high, poised for action. The next second, icy cold hit my chest. I gasped, glancing down. In my terror, I’d squeezed my slushie cup in a death grip. Instead of fending off an ax murderer, all I”d done was send a dripping pool of red ice down my front.

Ignoring the cold at my chest, not to mention the mess, I narrowed my eyes into the gloom. There was a figure in the doorway. A large silhouette. The light from the range hood didn’t reach that far, but when the husky voice came again, a prickling of recognition spread across my skin.

“Are you authorized to handle that spatula, or will I have to disarm you, ma’am?”

The familiar deep voice caressed my ears, all easy and laced with a smile. My heart stuttered against my ribs.

It couldn’t be.

I lowered my hand, and the figure stepped forward. Two sparkling blue eyes and a handsome face emerged out of the shadows. The thin light above the stove cast a line along cheekbones so sharp they could carve a masterpiece. As he drew closer, a long-forgotten scent, a soapy mix of lemons and mint, reached my nose.

With a jackhammer going off in my chest, I put down the crushed slushie cup and groped blindly for the light switch on the wall behind me. My fingers flitted over the cold tiles of the wall, and I almost knocked over a jar of pickles before I found the switch.

I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light. “Brody?”

I swept my gaze over his mussed-up fair hair, bare chest, and the hint of a smile on his lips.

His smirk grew wider, though, as he looked at my hand. “I’m not sure a spatula is much of a defense, but I like your spirit. You planning on murdering someone?”

I steadied my breath. “You frightened the life out of me. You can’t just go creeping up on people in the dark.”

Especially people whose hearts you’d crushed five years ago without a backward glance.

He raked his eyes over my face and down to my chest, where they lingered. I followed his gaze. My white T-shirt now had a pink, raspberry-scented splotch right in its center, and my hardened nipples strained against the soggy cotton. With my cheeks on fire, I crossed one arm over my chest, covering my breasts.

Brody’s eyes traveled back to my face, and I mentally eye-rolled. Yay for my lack of makeup and super-shiny skin. Eve had suggested we try face packs, and I wasn’t sure the remnants weren’t still mingling in my hairline.

My heart sank. This wasn’t how I wanted him to see me. Not after all these years. I’d followed his career on TV and in the papers, but we hadn’t seen each other in person for ages.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He smirked, and a dimple lit up one side of his face. “I could ask you the same thing. Isn’t it a bit late to be cooking? He took in my old tote bag and the pair of Converse that lay abandoned near the kitchen door. “I hope your date walked you home?”

I scoffed and shifted on my bare feet. He sounded like my brother right about now. “I was with Eve, watching TV.”

His lips curved even further as if remembering my best friend. “Well, I hope you paid more attention to the show than your dinner.”

“Sorry?”

Brody nodded toward the stove. The bitter smell of charred eggs filled the kitchen.

“Oh, crap!” I spun back around and moved the pan to the back burner with a loud squeak of metal.

Brody moved in closer, peering over my shoulder. “What are you making?”

A fresh wave of lemon and mint washed over me, and I turned back to Brody, my gaze resting on his chiseled chest. “Pecs.”

His eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“Eggs! I’m making eggs.” My face burned anew at the almost squeal of my voice and the smug grin on his lips. Pecs? Wonderful. Freud would have a field day with me. But, I could rescue the situation. Get my composure back. Act breezy. “Do you want some?”

Brody quirked a fair brow. “I’m not sure that’s the sort of question you should ask when you’re dressed like a contestant in a satanic wet T-shirt competition.”

He chuckled at his joke, a gravelly sound that vibrated in the air between us, and I swallowed hard. Did he think this was a time for laughter? I mean, why was he even smiling? Or here, for that matter? He’d practically given me a heart attack, criticized my timekeeping and my cooking skills, and now he was laughing at me?

I couldn’t blame him, though. “Do you want some?” was hardly the best question to ask anyone when your boobs were practically on display. Particularly when the man standing eight inches away was a heartbreaker. One of the NHL’s most famous pin-up boys. One of its brightest stars, with the ego to match.

I closed my mouth, and he gave me a wink. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I swear the angels sang in heaven at the sight.

“It’s nice to see you, Ro.”

The gravel left his voice, replaced by an easy lilt, and hell if I didn’t smile, too. Brody still had the power to melt my insides with one simple gesture. But before I could correct my poor choice of words. Take back my questionable question. A harsh light barreled into us as the kitchen lit up.

“What’s all the noise? Oh, hey, Brody. I see you found Ro. What the hell happened?”

My brother rubbed the back of his neck as he padded toward the kitchen counter. I swear, Brody couldn’t have moved away from me any faster, even if he’d worn his skates. Losing his closeness was like stepping into a draft. Chilly.

“I had an accident,” I said, clutching the yellow spatula tighter, hoping Coop wouldn’t see the trembling in my fingers. A small furrow appeared between his brows, and I sighed. His big brother alarm had gone off. I was almost twenty-four, but in his eyes, I may as well have still been in middle school.

Maybe I could have come up with a more impressive response. A better explanation for why I was in the kitchen standing beside his half-naked best friend, wielding a kitchen utensil. For goodness’ sake, my T-shirt resembled a scene from a horror movie. But admitting that Brody Flockhart had damn near taken my breath away over a pan of cremated eggs wasn’t something Cooper needed to know.

I looked at Coop. “Why is Brody here?”

Before he could reply, a second voice carried down the hallway. “Cooper? Ro?”

I sucked my lips in. Great. Now Gran was awake, too. She’d been sick last month and needed her sleep. She shuffled into the kitchen in fluffy slippers and a dressing gown, curlers nestling into her silver hair at unruly angles.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her gaze settling on my chest. I looked down at the red mess on my front.

“Ro said she had an accident,” Coop’s voice was flat, and his eyebrows raised. He pointed to the towel that hung off the stove door. “You better clean yourself up.” His gaze swung to Brody and then back to me. Surely, he couldn’t hear the hammering in my heart from Brody winking at me, but I felt every accusation in his stare. Every question. Coop loved to play the alpha-male of the house.

I finally put down the yellow spatula. “I had some trouble with my slushie cup. Someone should complain to the manufacturer. Ask them to make the cardboard thicker. Again, though, what is Brody doing here?” And why was nobody else surprised?

“Is that all?” Gran gave a half-yawn. “What’s burning?”

Brody huffed a laugh, and the corners of his mouth trembled. The urge to smack him over the head with the frying pan filled my entire body.

“It’s my fault, Mrs. Swan. I gave Rowena a fright. She wasn’t expecting to see me. I probably freaked her out.” All heads turned to Brody now. He leaned against the counter, massive arms folded across his bare chest, his gray sweatpants clinging to his muscled thighs like a second skin. I swallowed. Just like the Duke of Hastings, the sight of Brody Flockhart never got old.

“Nonsense. I’m sure Rowena is pleased to see you. It hasn’t been that long since your last visit.”

“Nearly five years,” I murmured before Gran’s probing eyes had me scrambling for words. “I think. Something like that. Oh, I don’t know, I haven’t been counting.” I was terrible at lying, and I swear Brody’s stare burned into my profile. I turned my head toward him. “Why are you back? And in our house?”

He cleared his throat and unwound his arms. “It was a last-minute thing. I’m here for a visit. Kind of like a holiday.”

“And when he called your brother to say he was in town, I invited Brody to stay here at the house.” Gran reached out an arm and moved toward Brody, tucking herself in at his side. She gazed up at him, the apples of her cheeks glowing. She’d always had a soft spot for my brother’s best friend. Most of the town did.

“A visit?” I cringed at the high pitch of my voice.

“Yes, and I would’ve told you, Ro, but you were at Eve’s, and you had your phone switched off.” Gran flicked her brows skyward.

Guilty as charged. My phone being off was probably for the best. If I’d learned Brody was here, I would’ve camped at Eve’s until he left.

He was fresh out of rehab. Everybody knew that. A leg injury took him out of the game for months. He was due back to his team soon to start the new season. But, if that was the case, what was he doing in Tuft Swallow? He should be training, not taking a holiday.

I wrung my hands. “And you’ll be staying here? Not the Owls Inn? You know they did a renovation recently to get rid of the damp. The rooms are beautiful, and they’ve added a gym. I think you’d like it.”

Gran tutted. “Rowena Swan, he’ll do no such thing.”

My heart plummeted. I could kiss goodbye any peace of mind or wholesome thoughts then.

“Brody will stay with us.” She patted him on his chest. “I’ve set him up in the den. He doesn’t have anyone in town anymore, so we’re the nearest thing he has to family.”

I stifled a sigh. She was probably right. But it brought little comfort knowing that the only man I’d ever loved would be sleeping under the same roof as me.

“But the couch in there is terrible. Lumpy. And what about the gophers? I think I heard them in the walls last week. They’ll keep him awake.”

Coop huffed a flat laugh. “We don’t have gophers. If you’re so worried about his comfort, how about you offer Brody your bed? You can move into the den instead.”

No. Just no. I shook my head. There was no way I’d have him poking around in my room. What if he found the scrapbook I’d kept of him when I was a kid? Stumbled across my old diaries and the countless entries I’d written about him. I sighed. “The den will be fine, I guess.”

“Brody is staying with us, and that’s that,” said Gran.

“I do really appreciate it, Mrs. Swan,” Brody said, dipping his head to kiss the top of Gran’s.

“Call me Maggie. You’re all grown up now.”

If I remembered correctly, the last time I saw Brody, he’d already grown up.

“Do you know how long you’ll stay?” I asked, my gaze traveling to meet him.

A look crossed his face like a cloud moving over the sun. “I’m not sure yet. It could be a week. Maybe more.”

My body sagged. I could survive for a few days. A week at the absolute max, but anything longer would be sheer torture. While Brody was in town, staying in my house, I needed to keep as far away from him as possible. But knowing my luck, he’d move in permanently. Add his name to the mailbox and buy his own pipe and slippers. And worst of all, run ragged over my heart for a second time.