Page 94 of One Big Little Secret

How well do they really know each other?

The thought of some pizza slinging doofus on her home turf climbing through her window for a quickie after Arlo’s asleep robs a little enjoyment from the cheesy goodness.

I swallow roughly.

I know, I’m being ridiculous.

But I can’t get mad at Arlo for making friends with a guy who isn’t true competition for a woman I’m not fucking after.

All around the apartment, you can see how simple his life is.

His small toy pile in the corner. A little desk with pencils and pens and crayons piled on top, mostly bundled together with rubber bands. A few photos of Salem and Arlo on the wall.

There’s one propped up on the windowsill, showing him as a baby. A worn-looking Salem holds him with a tired smile on her face.

In that photo, she looks a lot like the girl I remembered.

Not as glamorous, maybe, but with the same reddish tint to her hair and the same youthful glow to her face.

“Sorry it’s a mess here. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve straightened up,” she says, bringing my attention back to her.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Even if I hadn’t seen her photos, I’d remember better times, when we were younger and more carefree.

The way her hair, still half-damp from the snow, falls around her face probably has a lot to do with that now, making her glow. Plus, the way her cheeks look deliciously red.

Damn, the last time I saw her this flushed was—

No.

The intrusive thoughts about sexy times that can never happen again must end.

I can’t believe I ever gave Dexter so much shit about his fake-engagement-turned-real when I’m this goddamn obsessed with a hookup from ancient history.

“Your place is charming,” I say, remembering my manners before the silence stretches too long. “Homely and real.”

“Um, thanks.” Her eyebrow quirks. “You can spare me the compliments. I’ve been to your mom’s house. That place is a palace compared to here.”

“Yeah. Hasn’t changed a beat since I was Arlo’s age. I don’t like it.”

“Your mom’s house? Come on.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t cozy. Just that the big Victorian mansion isn’t my style with its size and suffocating history. If you ever visit my place, you’ll see.”

For fuck’s sake, man. Stop encouragingmorevisits from her outside the office.

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea what you like.” Her mouth presses together like she’s suppressing a smile. “Minimalist. Modern. Black and white and grey.”

“Is that so awful?”

“No, but this apartment isn’t any of those. More like a cluttered box from the Great Depression.”

“It’s homey.” I’m adamant.

“Yeah, okay. But thanks for not using more choice words where little ears can hear.” She snorts.

I nod at Arlo’s pictures and the photos on the wall. Everything is worn, just enough that it feels like they’ve lived here for a long time, settling into the very bones of the apartment.

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