Page 2 of Falling Again For My Best Friend's Brother

"Talk to him?" I nearly choked on the words. "And say what, Emily? 'Hey Trevor, remember that time you broke my heart? Oh, and while we're at it, could you please stop working out at the crack of dawn?'"

Emily raised an eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. "Well...yes? Minus the part about the kiss. And try not to be so...Amelia about it."

"Me? What's that supposed to mean?" I bristled, feeling defensive.

"Let's just say your words can pack a mean punch sometimes. Try being more...diplomatic?"

I snorted. "You mean, less 'snarky sweet' and more 'sugar dipped'?"

"Exactly!" Emily grinned. "Who knows? Maybe Mr. Morning Glory is oblivious that his early bird routine is affecting your beauty sleep."

As much as I hated to admit it, Emily had a point. I had avoided Trevor like he was a particularly aggressive weed since he moved in. Maybe it was time to address the situation.

"Alright, enough boy talk." I desperately wanted to change the subject, at least for THAT boy. When it came to my nephews, I was all ears. "How's my adorable baby nephew doing? Any new tricks up his sleeves?"

As Emily regaled me with tales of Trent's latest adventures, my mind kept trying to wander back to my noisy tenant upstairs. I forced myself to focus, nodding and cooing at all the right moments.

"And just yesterday, he tried to take his first steps," she beamed. "It was the cutest thing ever."

"Aww, I bet," I replied. "I can’t believe he is getting so big."

As Emily pulled out her phone to show me some cute videos of Trent, the bell on the cafe door jingled. I glanced up absently, then did a double take as Trevor himself strolled in.

I quickly ducked, pretending to search for something in my bag. "Emily," I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper, "create a distraction. Trevor just walked in, and I can't talk to him right now. I'm not prepared for this!"

Emily's head whipped around, her eyes darting between me and Trevor. "Fine, but you owe me big for this one, Amelia Carter. I'm talking premium babysitting services."

As Emily intercepted Trevor with an overly enthusiastic greeting, I gathered my things and bolted for the side exit. My heart pounded as I escaped into the morning air.

"Tomorrow," I promised myself as I speed-walked away. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. Or maybe next week. Yep, next week sounds good. Plenty of time to prepare."

Dealing with Trevor was going to require more courage than I currently possessed. But for now, I had a flower shop to run and a busy day of arranging blooms and avoiding uncomfortable conversations ahead of me.

Chapter two

Trevor

The burn of the last deadlift rep coursed through my muscles as I bent over, hands on my knees, sweat dripping onto the floor. The old Trevor might have celebrated by picking a fight at the Rusty Nail. Now, I grinned at the clock—0600. Just another Tuesday.

"Alright, Hero. Breakfast time," I called out, peeling off my sweat-soaked shirt.

A blur of tan fur zipped across the apartment, nails clicking on the hardwood. Hero, all four pounds of him, skidded to a stop at my feet, tail wagging so hard his whole-body shook.

"At ease, soldier," I chuckled, scooping him up. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of sweat on my chin. "Hey now, that's not regulation."

In the shower, I let the hot water sluice away the morning's exertion. My mind drifted to those early days of basic training—the grueling PT, the camaraderie, the structure I'd desperately needed. It had shaped me and molded the troublemaking kid into someone I could be proud of.

Someone worthy of wearing the uniform hanging in my closet.

Tugging on a clean shirt, I surveyed the modest apartment. Sparse, tidy—a habit ingrained by years of barracks inspections. My gaze landed on the file folder on the coffee table. Inside was the lease agreement, signed by one Amelia Carter.

Amelia. Now, there was a complication I hadn't counted on.

I pushed the thought aside and focused on breakfast. As I scrambled eggs, Hero sat at attention by his bowl, eyes locked on my every move.

"This isn't the chow hall, buddy. No handouts," I said sternly. His ears drooped, and I sighed. "Fine. One piece of bacon. But don't tell your CO."

After breakfast, I secured Hero in his special backpack. It had taken some getting used to carrying a Chihuahua around like a piece of tactical gear. But Hero had been through his own battles at the shelter, and if this made him feel safe, so be it.

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