Until Then (The Blue Collar Boys #1)

10. Greer

10

Greer

W ith flour-covered hands, I grab my phone as it buzzes on the counter, alerting me to a multitude of messages. Most are from the group chat with Sutton and Navy, but there’s one from an unfamiliar number.

Unknown : Hey, you.

My cheeks flame recognizing the greeting.

Me : Hi, Luke.

Biting my lower lip, I quickly add his name to my contact list.

Luke : Hope you don’t mind, but I stole your number

from Sutton.

Me : You could have just asked for it, silly.

Luke : You’re not the only one who’s nervous. So, what are

you up to tonight?

Me : Nothing much. The girls are coming over.

Luke : Oh yeah? I’m jealous.

Just then a few messages from the girls ping through.

Navy : Almost to your place.

Sutton : Me too!

I step away from the kitchen and turn the lock on the front door open, nerves dancing along my skin. I am filled with equal parts excitements and nerves that I have actual friends coming over. Storms continued to roll through town over the last few days, but they were a welcome distraction to the summer heat. There’s nothing better than a few rainy days snuggled up with a good book and trying new recipes.

I turn my attention back to the kitchen counter and dust the biscuit dough with a fine layer of flour. A cloud of white hangs in the air, catching the glow of the kitchen lights. My hands move with a practiced rhythm, kneading the dough with firm, steady movements. I am most definitely not making homemade biscuits because a certain neighbor of mine mentioned his love for them.

The front door slams against the wall with the force of Navy’s arrival. She stumbles inside, juggling pizza boxes and several grocery bags.

“A little help!” she calls out, her arms straining under the weight of her groceries.

Abandoning the dough, I hustle over and relieve her of the pizza boxes. “What’s all this?”

“Pizza. What’s it look like?” Navy rolls her eyes, heaving the grocery bags onto the counter.

“I see that. I meant, this ,” I gesture broadly over the pile of grocery bags.

“Oh, you’re already baking.” Navy pokes at my clump of dough, raising an eyebrow.

I place the pizza on the counter and playfully bump her with my hip. “Yes, I am.”

“Biscuits?”

“Yep. And what all did you bring?”

Navy drifts over to the living room and drops her bag next to the sofa. Without saying anything, she perches on the arm of the couch, kicks off her sandals, and covers her bare feet with fuzzy pink socks she pulls from her bag like she’s been here a million times. Once upon a time, I’d have been running around cleaning and preparing for guests, but not with Navy and Sutton. There’s an unspoken ease between us I’ve always craved in friendship.

“I’m glad to see you’re in troll attire as well.” She gestures to my faded purple sweats.

“Are you really even friends if you can’t be around them looking like a bridge troll?” I say, smiling playfully as she jumps up to join me at the kitchen island and sets about unpacking items from the grocery bags.

“Exactly.”

“So, what all did you—” The front door slams against the wall again, interrupting my question. I should probably look at the damn thing before it punches a hole through the wall.

“Hey, girls!” Sutton calls from the entryway. When she rounds the corner, her mouth drops, seeing Navy and me. “Oh, thank god. Let me change.” Sutton’s dressed in denim jeans, a peach- colored blouse, and white sneakers, so I’m not entirely sure why she feels the need to change.

“Navy,” I say, “are you avoiding my question?”

“What?” she says. “No, I’m not avoiding anything. What is she doing?” Navy stares in the direction Sutton disappeared.

“Changing, apparently.” I turn back to my biscuit dough, rolling it out flat. The dough's smooth texture settles the jitters beneath my skin. The scent of butter and flour fills the kitchen.

“Why is she changing?” Navy asks, her hands frozen on the grocery bag’s handles, a quizzical expression etched across her face.

“Because”—Sutton says, popping back in the room—“I wanted to wear my comfy clothes, but I didn’t know what you girls would be wearing, so I brought options.” She’s changed into a matching set of mint-colored loungewear, her movements suddenly light and carefree, as if the very act of shedding her previous outfit lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“But you still look cute and shit,” Navy deadpans.

Sutton strikes a pose. “Do I ever not look cute and shit?”

“You look great, Sut,” I say. “I think Navy’s questioning her own clothing choice.” I flick my head toward her stained shirt that proudly reads I bake and I know things .

“Meh,” Sutton says, “it’s just us girls. Who cares? So, what are we doing?” Sutton joins us at the island and washes her hands. The kitchen, now warm from the oven, buzzes with her infectious energy.

“I’m making biscuits,” I say. “Not sure about Navy because she refuses to answer my question.” I grab a glass jar, then cut out perfect spheres of dough and place them on the pan.

“Well,” Navy says, “I thought maybe we could make a batch or two of cinnamon rolls.”

“Like Ground Up cinnamon rolls?” Sutton and I ask.

“Is there any other kind?” Navy takes out the rest of the ingredients. “These biscuits look great, G.” Navy washes her hands, eyeing my kitchen. I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s mentally ranking the status of my kitchen.

“They do,” Sutton says, “but there has to be like two dozen here. Why do you need this many biscuits?”

“Uh, no reason,” I say.

“Bullshit.” My eyes meet Sutton’s, and my cheeks flush when Sutton winks at me. The Bradleys sure have a thing for winking.

Navy begins washing dishes but turns at Sutton’s giggle. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, you know,” says Sutton, “just that a certain man next door, whom I love and adore, just so happens to love homemade biscuits.”

“You’re so lucky,” Navy says drying her hands. “My neighbor is eighty-four and wears nothing but flannel pajamas.”

“That’s hot,” Sutton says as her eyes rove over every inch of my home. “I love what you’ve done with your house.”

With the last of the biscuits prepped for the oven, I turn my attention to getting Duke’s dinner ready. Sutton takes it upon herself to give herself a tour, running her hand over different pieces of furniture, pausing every so often to briefly inspect a frame or trinket before moving on.

After Duke’s eaten, Navy and I get to work on the cinnamon rolls. Without a recipe in sight, Navy spouts each measurement, and I add them to the bowl. We work quickly mixing and measuring the ingredients. Sutton is still perusing my home, stopping again at various picture frames placed around the room and on the walls. I know my hope that she won’t notice the contents, or lack thereof, in each frame is a long shot—not with her keen eye.

“What’s up with you, Sut?” Navy abandons the kitchen to join her.

“Oh!” Sutton startles when Navy shoulder-bumps her. “It's nothing,” she adds quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh, though her eyes flicker with curiosity.

It’s not nothing. It’s obvious to anyone paying attention that every single frame in my house is empty or still contains stock photos of happy people I don't even know.

“Care to explain?” Navy points to an empty frame.

“Explain what?” I set the cinnamon roll dough to the side to rise before gathering plates and drinks for dinner. I avoid eye contact but catch a glimpse of sympathy in Navy’s expression. They exchange a quick look before Sutton breaks the silence.

“Greer, why are all these frames empty?”

“Oh, that .” I choke out a laugh. “I just haven’t gotten around to filling them yet.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I know they’d think I was strange if I told them the truth. The image of my locked storage room swirls in my mind.

From the corner of my eye, Navy’s toe catches on a box tucked under the table. She carefully takes it from its hiding space. Wiping off the layer of dust, she turns her gaze to me. She caresses the cover of the old photo album, then begins to flip through photo after photo showcasing memories of the joy from my life with Brian.

“You two look so happy together.” Sutton’s words float in the air between us as she gently turns each page.

“Wow, was that your house?” Navy inquires.

I stand on my tiptoes, peeking over the island and couch to see she’s landed on a picture of Brian and me holding the keys to our first home. We were so happy that day. We didn’t have a single thing to put in the damn house, but we’d bought it together. Our first adult adventure.

“Yeah, it is,” I say. “Who’s ready to eat?” My stomach twinges with guilt at my quick subject change.

They close the photo album. But instead of tucking it away, Sutton carefully displays it on a nearby shelf. We gather our food, then cozy up with blankets and settle in on my couch.

“How are you girls?” I ask.

“Ugh,” says Navy, “Ground Up has been way too busy lately, and having to work the opening shift is driving me insane. I need sleep and a vacation.”

“I feel you,” Sutton adds. “It’s like everyone and their dog needs a house. Too bad I can’t go on a trip right now.”

“Yeah, me either.” I take a huge bite of pizza.

“G, aren’t you literally on vacation right now?” Navy says. “You can do whatever you want.”

“You are not wrong,” I say, “but what would I do? Where would I go?”

“Anywhere,” they quip.

“You gotta get out more.” Sutton shoves a piece of pizza in her mouth, and Navy looks on in shock. “What?” Sutton mumbles around a mouthful of pizza.

“You eat like a pig,” Navy says. “That is . . . unexpected.”

Sutton shrugs and continues to shovel pizza in. Suddenly, she exclaims, “We should go out!”

“Why would we do that?” Navy asks.

“Because, Navy,” Sutton says, “we are hot, available women in need of social lives.”

“Who says we need a social life?” Navy asks. Sutton cuts a glare at Navy, who then says, “Um, okay, yes, we definitely need a social life.”

“Do I have to?” I moan.

“Yes, you do,” Sutton says. “We talked about this already, remember? Moving forward.” Sutton’s smile chips away at the shell around my heart.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask.

“Dancing!” Sutton blurts.

Sighing, I place my plate on the coffee table. I knew she was going to suggest dancing.

“I do not dance.” Navy tosses her plate on top of mine and snuggles deeper into the couch. Her foot hangs off and strokes Duke’s side. He’s content, enjoying the extra attention.

“C’mon, Navy,” Sutton says, “it’ll be fun.”

Navy groans and pulls the blanket over her head. I gather our plates, then meander into the kitchen. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Sutton I can’t go, but instead I am totally honest.

“I haven’t danced since the day Brian died. It was kind of our thing. We used to go all the time.”

Like prairie dogs, their heads pop up over the back of the couch. Those pesky butterflies flutter in my stomach because I know Sutton and Navy are preparing to get me to share more.

“All the more reason that you should come out with us.” Sutton’s eyes are glassy as she places her hand over Navy’s. “Right, Navy?”

Navy glances at her. “Oh, yeah, absolutely. Dancing will be great,” she says, her tone light.

"I bet Luke and everyone will go too,” Sutton says. It's not hard to hear an uptick in her voice when she mentions his name.

“I’m sure he has other things to do than go dancing with me,” I say, then quickly add, “I mean, us.”

Navy waggles her eyebrows, not letting my slip of tongue go unnoticed. "Oh really?" she grins.

“It’ll be fun,” Sutton says, her voice calm and reassuring. “Plus, if it isn’t, at least we’ll be together.”

“Ugh, fine,” Navy says. “Rowan goes back to his dad’s next weekend, so let’s go Friday?”

Wide, expectant eyes turn to me. I ignore the no on the tip of my tongue and instead say, “Sure.”

“Yeah?” They grin ear to ear. Those butterflies officially take flight at the surprise in their voices.

Nodding my head, I sink back onto the couch. “Forward, right?” Sutton crawls over the couch and lays across my body.

“You got it, babe. Forward.”

“Now that that’s decided,” Navy says, “can we talk more about your sexy-as-fuck neighbor?”

My phone buzzes as a text from Luke pings through.

Luke : Hope you’re having fun. Good night.

Me : Good night.

Sutton groans reading the messages over my shoulder and falls to the floor.

“Well, well, well,” Navy teases, taking my phone. “Spill, G. How are things?”

The oven timer pings, giving me a momentary reprieve from her prodding. Truth is, things have been good. Better than good even. I’m surprised how okay I’ve been living on my own, having my own space, even if my house remains devoid of any personal touches. And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t enjoyed getting to know Luke and that I can’t stop thinking about him or looking for him or hoping he stops by.

“Things are good. Luke has been great.”

“I bet he has,” Navy mumbles.

Rolling my eyes, I switch out the pans of biscuits. “It’s not like that.”

“Do you like him?” Navy asks.

Sutton elbows her in the arm.

“What?” Navy says. “It’s an honest question.”

“I know,” Sutton says through clenched teeth, her eyes bright in anticipation.

“Luke is . . . unexpected,” I say. And that’s the truth. I’d envisioned moving into my house, starting my new job, and getting through to the next day. Nowhere in this vision did I ever imagine meeting someone like him. Every time he’s near, he reminds me what it feels like to want and be wanted in return. “He’s really sweet and patient.”

“And handsome?” Navy adds. Sutton gestures impatiently for me to continue.

“It’s unfair, really,” I giggle. “But he makes me nervous. I don’t know how to do this.”

“ This ?” Sutton asks. “As in crushing on someone new?”

I nod.

“Well,” Sutton says, “if it makes you feel any better, he’s crushing on you too.”

“And how would you know that?” Navy asks.

Sutton lifts a shoulder with a sly smile as heat tickles up my neck and my cheeks flush.

“Has he said anything to you?” I ask.

“Uh-uh,” Sutton says. “That’s for you two to figure out, and dancing is a perfect opportunity.”

Outside, the sun sets and stars wink into being. Our conversation never stalls, moving from one subject to the next as we finish our baking. A lot of things about this new chapter of my life have been unexpected, especially finding Sutton and Navy. I’ve never felt so at ease and accepted by two people before. It makes it easy to lay bare something that’s been weighing on my heart.

“Sutton,” I say. “I have a favor to ask.” She’s scanning through Netflix titles as Navy and I finish cleaning the kitchen. After wrapping a plate of goodies that I’ll bring to Luke later, I return to my spot on the couch.

“What kind of favor?”

Just rip the Band-Aid off. “I need a realtor.”

She springs up from the couch, turning to face me. “But you just moved in?”

Shaking my head side to side, I reassure her. “No, I’m not moving, but I do have a house to sell.” Sutton’s eyes gloss over already guessing which house.

“You have another house?” Navy asks.

“I still own mine and Brian’s house.”

“Are you sure?” Sutton’s voice clogs with emotion.

“Yeah, I am. It’s just sitting empty, and I don’t plan on moving back into it, so I think it’s time.” They share a look, silently communicating their shared understanding of this complicated life of mine

“Gosh,” Sutton sniffles, wiping snot running from her nose. “I’m sorry, this is just . . . this is just . . .”

“A good thing?” I smile brightly, trying on her sunny-side-up attitude, hoping maybe it'll rub off on me permanently.

“Yeah, babe,” Sutton says. “It can definitely be a good thing if you want it to be.” Wiping her eyes and nose, she pulls the blanket up under her chin. “I’m really glad I met you girls.”

Navy places her hand on Sutton’s leg. “Me too.”

“Me three,” I add. And I am. If there’s anything I’m certain of, it’s that meeting Navy and Sutton has been a wonderfully good thing.

We spend the majority of the night ignoring the movie, choosing instead to talk about anything and everything. It’s late by the time they leave, and I should be exhausted, but my body is wired.

Growing up, I was always envious of all the girls who had tight-knit groups. How could these girls find so many close friends to spend time with on girl’s night or trips, celebrating their lives together, while I could barely keep one or two friends in my life? I could never seem to find people I fit with. It’s exciting that maybe it’s my turn to experience what I’ve always coveted from afar.

The TV’s glow fills my great room, the room warm from the oven and endless conversation. Duke jumps into the pile of blankets on the floor and buries his nose. One by one, I take blankets from his makeshift bed, folding and placing them in a wicker basket. The tray of goodies I’d prepared for Luke catches my eye.

“It’s not that late. I’ll just pop over and see if he’s awake.” Duke doesn’t bother moving.

After slipping on my sandals, I dip into the yard. The air is cool and moist after days of rain. Goosebumps pebble over my bare legs. The glowing light behind his shutters illuminates the ground at my feet. I take a few calming breaths, then step onto his patio and rap lightly on the glass.

The night stills around me, waiting alongside me on bated breath for him to answer. He doesn’t, so I knock a little louder this time. Still, he doesn’t come to the door, and I can’t see any movement behind the curtains.

“Maybe he’s already asleep,” I say aloud. I’m halfway back to my house when I hear him.

“Greer?” His voice is heavy with sleep.

“Hi.” I wheel around to face him. Holding the tray of goodies in one hand, I give him yet another awkward wave with the other.

“Everything okay?”

Stepping back onto his patio, my eyes immediately zero in on his very shirtless chest. He runs his hands through his sleep-tousled hair. His stomach muscles move and flex as he stretches his hands above his head. I can’t help but stare at his broad upper body with hair sprinkling his chest and stomach before it disappears beneath the waistband of those damn blue shorts. Shorts that hide nothing. I’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning when he thought I wasn’t looking, but I saw enough that even icy water on my face couldn’t cool me down.

My eyes are locked on his body when he clears his throat, dragging his hands down his chest and over his stomach before resting them on his hips.

“Eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know.” Seconds tick by as I take my time cataloging every visible speck of skin. By the time I make it to his eyes, I’ve forgotten what I came over here for. He adjusts himself, but I’ve already seen the heavy length of him straining against the fabric.

“G, baby, you’re killing me here.”

“Oh, uh, sorry about that.” Tilting my smile to one side, I don’t bother hiding my peaked nipples or the chill bumps or the fact that it’s suddenly very, very warm out here.

“No need to be sorry. Everything okay?” This time it’s him who bites his lower lip. Pay attention, Greer.

I shake my head in a weak attempt to clear the haze of lust. “Everything is great.”

“Okay. Not that I mind you being here, but do you need something?”

“Um . . .” My eyes drop to his chest and stomach. I flex my hand to keep from reaching for him. “Yes, I mean, no, I don’t need anything. I came to bring you these.” I shove the plate of goodies at him. He steps close, crowding me. Close enough that I’m overwhelmed by the masculine scent of his body wash. So close I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.

“Did you make me biscuits?” His voice is low and measured.

“I did. Oh, and cinnamon rolls, too. Not the cheap tube kind either. They’re actually the Ground Up recipe. I was just going to make you biscuits, but then Navy and Sutton came over and Navy brought the ingredients, so we ate pizza, baked, and hung out. Do you know—”

“Slow down, sweetheart. Just breathe.” I blush but do as he commands.

Inhale. Exhale.

He takes my free hand and leads me toward the sliding door. The broad muscles of his back are now on full display. The light above the sink casts a soft glow over the cozy space. Normally, I’m one who loves to admire the inside of someone’s house, but right now I couldn’t care less. I only have eyes for him.

He takes the plate from my hand and sets it on the counter. “You didn’t have to make me anything.”

“I know, but I did anyway.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. I love watching his mouth when he speaks. His hand is gentle under my chin as he brings my gaze to meet his. I most definitely wasn’t staring at his lips.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I woke you up.” Without thought, I rest my palm on his bare stomach, and he covers my hand with his.

“I like being woken up by you.” Silence and anticipation fill the empty spaces in the room.

“I should, uh, let you get back to bed.” It takes great effort to pull my hand from under his warm one.

Neither of us moves away.

“I’m glad you had a fun time with the girls.”

“Me too. It’s been a while. Actually, it’s been forever because I’ve never had that. A girl’s night, I mean. I’m kind of a loner if you haven’t gathered. It’s not like I want to be a—”

“Woman,” he interrupts. “Do you ever breathe when you talk? Because I’m starting to think I need to be prepared to catch you when you pass out.” He invades my space to brace his hands on each side of my face, and I cover them with mine. I know I’ve got a goofy smile, but I can’t help it; he makes smiling easy.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I told you that you make me nervous.”

“And I told you the other day,”—he steps closer, and his thighs brush mine—“it’s just me. No need to be nervous. Would you like to eat some of these with me?”

Luke tugs my lower lip from between my teeth. “It’s late.”

“It is.”

“And you were just sleeping.”

“I was.”

“They’ll still be good in the morning.”

“They will, but they smell amazing, and I’m really hoping I can talk you into staying with me.” I gulp.

“Okay.” I can’t take my eyes off him as I tuck myself into a chair at his table. Luke moves in an unhurried and confident manner, gathering plates and forks. He settles into the chair next to me and slides a set my way.

He’s opted for biscuits topped with butter and honey. The groan he lets out after the first bite makes my stomach flop over. I wonder what else could elicit a groan like that from him.

“Shit,” he says, “these are so good. You really like to bake, don’t you?”

I definitely don’t notice when his leg presses against mine. “I do. I used to cook all the time.”

“Used to?” He doesn’t miss a beat.

“It’s hard to cook for just one person now, so I stick to the basics.” Ignoring the thrumming in my veins, I focus on my food. He nods in reassurance but says nothing. I like that about him; he doesn’t try to dig at me for information.

Conversation flows between us, each of us grasping at any topic, eating our late-night snack at a snail’s pace, trying to drag out each minute so we don’t have to say good night. I’m halfway done with my biscuit when I tap out, letting my fork cling against my plate. Before I have a chance to grab the dirty dishes, he’s out of his chair and already to the sink.

“I’d have gotten those.”

“I know.”

Unable to resist the pull between us, I stand beside him while he handwashes the dishes. He’s methodical and thorough as he runs the sponge over the plates. I definitely don’t notice how large and strong his hands are. I grab a nearby towel, then I dry the dishes before handing them back to him to put away.

“So . . .” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking as he stares at me, waiting for a response.

“I should let you get back to bed,” I say. He nods, placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me to the patio. “Sorry for interrupting.”

Luke stops short, and his hand slides up to the base of my neck. I think I might be on fire.

“Feel free to interrupt me anytime you want.” He leans forward, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.

“Okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat; desire encourages me to close the distance.

But right before I think he will kiss me, Luke places a quick peck on the apple of my cheek. And for that I’m grateful. I’m in uncharted territory now, and I know crossing any boundary with Luke will be monumental. We both deserve to know I’m truly ready to take that leap.

With great effort, I pull away and walk back to my house, trying to slow my breathing. Before I disappear from sight, I take one last look at him. He’s got his arm braced against the house. The light from his kitchen illuminates his figure, accentuating each dip and curve.

“Greer,” he warns, making me jump.

“Yep. Okay. Well, good night, Luke.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

With another awkward wave, I disappear into my house. I replay each time he’s called me sweetheart when I tumble into bed and eventually fall into a dreamless sleep.