Chapter 6 Greyson
GREYSON
Drew turns to me, cheeks pink and brown eyes bright. I saw the way Adam looked at her, and my protective instincts won me over.
Worry settles into my gut.
She’s lit up like I’ve rarely seen her, mouth parted like she’s going to give me a piece of her mind.
The want to treat her like the kid she was when I moved away doesn’t feel quite right, but she nods and comes up the steps.
Tightness contracts in my chest. I want to hear her lay into me if she’s got something to say, but she’s characteristically quiet as she slips past me through the front door.
“Weren’t you supposed to be at the bakery today?”
She takes off her coat and brandishes the bakery’s apron with a deadpan flourish. All the life radiating from her a mere moment ago vanishes.
“Went that well, did it?”
“Do you really need to ask? You know how this town is.”
I do. Unfortunately. The gossipers got a hold of my personal life not six months ago.
Nothing like having my marriage fall apart and people speculating over what’s wrong with me when I moved back into town.
Back to my childhood home at the mercy of my little brother’s generosity.
“Mrs. June get to you?”
Drew rolls her eyes, confirming my suspicion because gossip is a two-way street in Pinebrook.
“You might not know, but her husband left her for a younger woman a couple years ago.”
Her shoulders deflate then pull back, squaring and solidifying that defiant fire in her gaze. “I bet she blames the woman for that, too, and not her husband.”
“I think there’s probably enough blame to go around.”
I hate the wounded look in her eyes before she stomps off to the kitchen and starts taking things out to make the cocoa I offered her.
Only she does it the real way, the way her parents taught her with real dark chocolate, sugar, milk, and cream.
“Hey, I was going to make that.” My tone holds no bite. I don’t mind how she makes herself at home in my kitchen. It’s not like I’ve made much of a home in any kitchen. Give me a coffee maker and a grill, and I can survive, but I’m not skilled in this realm of the house.
Something Kim repeatedly complained about. When it was my time to make dinner, I preferred to order out.
“You mean dump two instant packets into scalded milk? Grow up.” Wow, this version of her is pulling no punches. That hit a sore spot she didn’t intend.
But then she offers me a small smile as she gets to work, heating the saucepan and measuring the ingredients by eye.
Drew is efficient, constantly moving, adjusting things, chopping the chocolate as the milk heats, scraping and washing the cutting board as it melts together.
I lean against the island across from her as she whips cream by hand. I wait a few beats before I ask, “So what did Adam want?”
She stiffens again, head tilting as she examines me, never once slowing her whisking. “He offered me a job. I start in the morning.”
“What kind of job?”
She leans in. “You’ve been back too long because you’re awfully nosy.”
She’s right, I do want to know, and those protective instincts tell me Adam has ulterior motives, but since both Gabe and I are working at the Lodge we can keep an eye on her.
It has me noticing all the things Adam probably noticed: how tall she’s gotten, how her athleticism has morphed into her womanly shape—hips and ass and just enough on top.
And she’s got more honed confidence, sharp attitude, competence…and the mouth to go along with it.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up, her whisk moving like a metronome.
“I wasn’t.”
Drew pins me with a sharp, amused gaze. “You were. Same way you used to when I dove the wrong way and left the net wide open.”
“That was different. I was your coach.”
“Mmhmm.” Her lips curve, infuriatingly smug. “And now?”
My throat tightens. “Now, I’m just trying to figure out if you’ve gotten sassier or if I’ve just forgotten.”
She laughs, satisfied, like she’s won something, and puts in that last bit of muscle to create peaks in the cream.
She licks the whisk to taste it, meeting my gaze as she does. It knocks the breath out of me.
For a split second, it’s not Drew in my kitchen but a woman—confident, easy in her own skin, unaware of the chaos she leaves in her wake. My pulse stutters.
Then she offers it to me like a treat. I hesitate, every warning bell going off in my head.
This is Speed Demon Drew. My little brother’s best friend.
I take it, licking the thing clean to prove I can. But for one stupid heartbeat, I imagine it’s her mouth I’m tasting. I catch her watching my tongue work.
She pours the chocolate, drops in handfuls of mini marshmallows, and tops it with heaping spoonfuls of whipped cream.
Drew hands me a mug, our fingers brushing with an unexpected spark that shoots all the way up my arm.
If she feels it, she doesn’t give anything away.
I sweep it to the back of my thoughts with difficulty, especially as she stirs her finger in the top of her own cup, swirling the cream and cocoa powder.
I take a sip of my own, not resisting the small moan of pleasure. It’s delicious.
She smirks at my reaction before the corners of her mouth fall again. “I can’t go back to the bakery. This place will suffocate me twice as fast if I’m stuck there.”
Her eyes flash to me then down to her cocoa as she takes her first sip. I hate the hurt she shows, but she’d always been open about her vulnerabilities with me. How to find an outlet for her frustrations, with the pressure to be perfect.
She got along with the other girls fine, but she didn’t connect with any of them the same ways she did with Gabe, even though they’re seven years apart.
Drew’s always been sensitive, but this blow has knocked her further into herself.
The town can pile it on, and she seems too raw to deal with the extra pressure.
“Don’t worry so much, Drew. You’re not alone this time.” Because the last time the town latched onto her, I was on my honeymoon. I find her elbow and make her look at me. “You know that, right?”
“You always did have a hero complex.” She’s teasing, but there’s a pause—her dark eyes meet mine again—and that spark drives a new tension that’s simply different.
I feel it in my gut but don’t have the words yet—just an unsettling awareness of her.
“Thanks.” Her voice is soft, and she pulls her mug between us, slurping through her whipped cream.
I grin down at her, and she shakes her head. “Don’t worry about what other people say and do what you need to do.”
This time, her smile is a little bigger. A little more real.
The front door opens, and Gabe comes in, snow dusting his jacket and blond hair. He stomps his feet and brushes his shoulders off, stopping and taking us in as we stand together in the kitchen.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
I feel like I’ve been caught, but I’m not completely sure why.