Chapter 5 #2
“I wanted to kiss you too.”
She went still.
Good.
At least now we were both uncomfortable.
“Oh,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And Rafe doing it first bothered you.”
“Yes.”
“Because you think he called dibs?”
“No.”
“Because you think I did?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I stared at her for a second.
“Because wanting you was already inconvenient. Wanting you after you kissed my best friend is more inconvenient.”
Her mouth twitched.
“That is possibly the least romantic declaration I’ve ever received.”
“It wasn’t a declaration. It was a complaint.”
She laughed.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead the sound went straight through me.
Piper pushed away from the counter and came closer.
“For a man who likes clear rules, you are being very unclear about what you want.”
That landed exactly where it was supposed to.
My whole life, I had been excellent at telling people how something should work.
Schedules. Custody handoffs. Repair sequences. Cash reserves. Bedtimes. Load limits.
Saying what I wanted was different because if I named it, someone could say no.
“I want to kiss you,” I said.
Piper looked at my mouth.
My pulse changed.
“That’s clearer.”
She took one more step.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I want to know whether this is going to blow up my house.”
Her gaze came back to mine.
“Those are two different questions.”
“I know.”
“And only one of them can be answered tonight.”
I almost smiled.
“I know.”
Piper reached up, caught the front of my shirt in one hand, and pulled me down.
Her mouth hit mine with none of the hesitation I had been stupid enough to expect.
For approximately one second, I remembered every reason this was complicated.
Then she made a soft sound against my mouth and complication became an abstract concept.
I put one hand at her waist.
She stepped closer.
My other hand settled at the back of her neck, careful until she pulled harder on my shirt and kissed me deeper.
That was useful information.
So I stopped being careful.
Not reckless.
There was a difference.
I turned us until her back met the clear section of wall beside the pantry instead of the counter edge. My hand slid from her waist to her hip. She was soft there, warm under my palm, and the first firm press of my body against hers stripped several useful words out of my vocabulary.
Piper broke the kiss just long enough to breathe.
“You kiss like you measure things twice.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“Not remotely.”
I kissed her again.
She bit my lower lip.
Control failed at a predictable point.
My fingers tightened at her hip. Her body pressed into mine. The sound I made was low and involuntary and apparently pleased her because she smiled against my mouth.
“Don’t get smug,” I said.
“Too late.”
“Rafe is a bad influence.”
“I was smug before Cape Mercy.”
“Worse.”
She kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw.
My brain supplied a detailed list of locations in the house where three children were not currently taking showers, doing homework, or likely to open a door without knocking.
That was exactly the sort of logistical thinking I had accused myself of using to avoid feeling things.
Unfortunately, sometimes logistics were just logistics.
I leaned my forehead against hers.
“We need to stop.”
Piper was breathing hard.
“Because you changed your mind?”
“No. Because there are children upstairs and Rafe has the timing of a raccoon in a trash can.”
She laughed against my mouth.
“That is very specific.”
“Experience.”
Her hands loosened on my shirt but did not let go.
“For the record, I don’t know what this is either.”
“Good.”
She drew back enough to look at me. “Good?”
“If you had a five-point plan after four days, I’d be concerned.”
“I have a six-week contract and a recent history of catastrophic judgment. I barely have a one-point plan.”
“What’s the point?”
“Don’t ruin my job.”
“Reasonable.”
“And don’t let my job ruin whatever else happens.”
I studied her face.
“Also reasonable.”
“Stop sounding surprised.”
“I’m adjusting.”
Footsteps hit the stairs.
We separated fast enough to qualify as evidence.
Rafe came into the kitchen carrying a damp towel and stopped.
His eyes went to Piper.
Then to me.
Then to Piper’s mouth.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
The man spent half his life reading nervous tourists before they lied about swimming ability.
“Huh,” he said.
Piper folded her arms. “Use your words.”
Rafe looked at me.
For the first time since I had known him, he appeared to have too many.
“You kissed her.”
“Yes.”
His jaw shifted.
There it was.
Not anger.
Not amusement either.
Something sharper.
Piper watched him.
“Are you angry?”
Rafe rubbed the towel over the back of his neck. “No.”
I said, “Jealous?”
He glared at me. “I was getting there.”
Piper’s eyes moved between us.
Rafe exhaled.
“Yeah. A little. Which is inconvenient because I am also happy for you, and now I hate emotional complexity.”
“Welcome,” I said.
“I liked it better when you alphabetized screws.”
“I don’t alphabetize screws.”
“You see? Simpler times.”
Piper laughed, but the tension stayed.
Good.
It should stay.
Pretending none of this mattered would have been easier tonight and worse later.
Rafe looked at Piper. “I don’t want you to think kissing me meant you owed me anything.”
Her expression softened.
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
Then he looked at me. “And I don’t want to punch you.”
“High praise.”
“I reserve the right to be weird for a minute.”
“Take two.”
He pointed at me. “This is why people don’t reward honesty.”
From upstairs, June yelled, “DAD! NICO USED ALL THE TOWELS!”
I closed my eyes.
Rafe started laughing.
Piper covered her mouth.
“Which dad?” Rafe shouted back.
There was a pause.
June yelled, “YES!”
Piper lost it.
I looked at Rafe.
He looked at me.
The jealousy was still there, irritating and real.
So was twenty-four years of friendship.
Neither one erased the other.
“Go,” I told him. “You created the towel crisis.”
“Incorrect. I supervised the conditions under which the towel crisis emerged.”
“Upstairs.”
Rafe saluted Piper with the damp towel and left.
I listened until his footsteps reached the second floor.
Then I looked at Piper.
She was still smiling.
“This is a terrible idea,” I said.
Her smile widened.
“You know, Mango said the same thing when I moved in.”
From the living room, as if summoned by legal counsel, Mango shouted, “Bad idea!”
Piper stared at me.
I stared at her.
Then, against every useful instinct I possessed, I laughed.