Chapter 18 #3
He adjusts his hold on my butt, reaching beneath my skirt one hand at a time to palm me with just the thin barrier of my cotton panties between his skin and my bare ass, and I jerk my hips harder against his erection.
Naked.
We have to get naked.
We have to—
A door slams.
“Ginny?” Heath calls. “You in here?”
I jolt out of the kiss with a startled, horrified gasp.
Declan goes still, his large hands still palming my ass, still pushing me into the wall with his body and his boner.
“Shit,” he whispers, and then I’m on the ground, my clit whimpering at the sudden lack of Declan against me, the rest of me horrified at what I’ve done.
I kissed Declan.
I kissed my ex’s best friend.
A man I shouldn’t trust after the years of disdain he demonstrated around me, but a man whose approval I crave like normal people crave chocolate or coffee.
And I would’ve done so, so much more if Heath hadn’t interrupted us.
I pat my dress down, cheeks burning.
“Ginny?” Heath calls again, closer.
“In the gift shop,” I call back, my voice high and wavery and wrong.
He’ll worry if I don’t answer, and stars know he worries about enough.
Though if he’s hearing what I’m hearing in my voice, he’ll worry anyway.
He comes into view in the doorway. “Cricket said she saw you coming—oh. You’re not alone.”
Heath’s been here almost as long as I have. He arrived with his terminally ill wife and their almost four-year-old daughter, and he stayed after his wife passed.
Partially for the privacy—their viral story makes my heart ache—and partially for the help, since his in-laws immediately tried to take Lavender from him, claiming he was a terrible father, when he’s actually the best.
He’s been here over three years.
Not as long as I have, but long enough that my heart would break a little if he ever left.
It would be like losing a sibling.
A sibling who knows me entirely too well.
His gaze ping-pongs between Declan and me and the dog, who—are you fucking serious?
Flow’s on the floor with a paw over her face.
Like she, too, is horrified at having been a witness to what just happened.
I say a silent apology to the dog, which she clearly doesn’t hear.
Dog treats.
I owe her dog treats.
Walks.
Pets.
If she hasn’t lost all respect for me.
Heath growls low in his throat as he studies Declan. “Something going on here?”
“Cricket told me it’s a good place to find wine,” Declan replies, calm as calm can be.
Heath shifts his gaze to me.
“I wanted to map out ideas for the gift shop layout, but when I got here, I found an envelope of cash,” I blurt.
My cheeks are on fire. I’m positive I’m blushing from my roots to my toes.
Not because I’m embarrassed that I’m a grown woman who kisses men on occasion.
More because I’m embarrassed that I did it because I wanted to be bad.
I’m such a goddamn expert when it comes to self-sabotage.
“Cash?” Heath repeats.
“Probably at least 10K,” Declan says, completely unaffected, goddamn him. “And a note.”
He passes Heath the hundred-dollar bill with the pink sticky note.
“These real?” Heath asks.
Declan lights up.
He fucking lights up. “One of my Foxy Goes There videos that I haven’t posted yet is about a day I spent working at the Denver Mint. Look. See this mark when you hold it up to the light? I think it’s real. And I still have one of those markers. We can check it the official way too.”
Heath stares at him.
“What?”
“You sound like Cricket.” He glances at me. “Who did this?”
“Someone who could’ve gotten into the tasting room,” Declan answers as I hold up my hands, my face still burning.
Heath turns the bill over like the backside might give him clues, then shakes his head. “It was open during the wedding.”
“It was?” I whisper.
He grimaces, which is a face you don’t get out of him often, but which suggests Lav had something to do with it.
Possibly his cat and Pip too.
“So it could’ve been anyone,” I say.
Anyone from a neighbor who realized the door was open to one of the wedding guests.
Or even Pip herself.
It would be like her to have a secret stash of cash in the house that she wanted to donate to the cause without drawing attention to the fact that she’d been sitting on a pile of cash while we’ve been fretting about money and foreclosure because of the loans Dean took out before he died.
“We’ll take it to Mabel.” Heath looks at me as a roll of thunder rattles the windows. “You want a ride back to the house? I drove.”
I don’t.
I want to stay here.
But I can’t look at Declan, and Flow’s whining again.
So I nod to Heath. “That would be great. Thanks.”
He looks at Declan.
And while I half expect Heath to tell Declan he can walk his ass back to the apartment, instead, Heath says, “You can ride in the back seat.”
“My legs are shorter,” I say.
“He can ride in the back seat,” Heath repeats.
“Flow too?” Declan asks.
“Sure. Better hope my cat didn’t hitch a ride though.”
“She does that?”
“Sometimes with glitter.”
And so that’s what we do.
Heath drives me back to the main house, Declan smushed with Flow in the back seat of the extended cab truck.
I don’t look at Declan again.
The embarrassment has sunk in even deeper.
And that’s probably a good thing.
Making out with Declan—that would be complicated.
And I need simple.
End of story.