Page 95 of Yes No Maybe

A groaning sigh escapes me. “What’s he doing?”

Sara chuckles. “The same thing you are.”

Thirty-One

Jack

Puttingmyhouseonthe market may be retaliatory and immature, but who cares? If she goes through with selling the little house, then I’ve lost her.

Ican’tlet that happen, even if it costs my house. If it comes to that…

Eyeing the old-school clock above the printing counter at Staples, I imagine Rowan arriving home from school about now, already pissed and frustrated that I’ve hijacked her bullshit plan. I’m even using her sister-in-law as my agent. I smirk, imagining the family conversation over that tidbit.

“Sir? Can I help you?” The young employee gives me an indifferent glance.

Did he call me sir?“Pick-up for Jack Graham.”

He fingers the computer before searching his workspace. He pulls out my manuscript, freshly printed and bound with plastic rings. He eyes the scrawling title on the cover,Bare, and my name underneath.

“Is this it, sir?”

My eyes narrow. I long to give a sarcastic answer or send him searching for another bound manuscript with my name on the cover. But I don’t have time to play with this young-as-fuck Staples employee. I have things to do.

“That’s the one.”

He rings up the printing cost and the colorful pens—good pens—and sticky notes I’ve dumped on his counter.

Walking to the car, my phone chimes.Motion at the front door. Doorbell. Doorbell. Doorbell.Rowan stands on my porch, tapping her high heel on the concrete, arms folded over her silky blouse.

My voice over the doorbell’s speaker makes her jump. “I’m not home.”

Her brow pinches as she leans into the tiny camera. “We need to talk.”

“No shit. I’ll be by later.”

She grunts and storms away from the door. It may not be the smartest move—irritating the woman who’s already pissed at me. But I’m pissed, too. My attempt to get rid of Dean was misguided, yes, but done out of love—why can’t she see that?

Leave it to me to fall in love with the most untrusting, jaded woman on the planet.

I show up after dark when Sara assures me that Rowan’s calmed down and all I’m interrupting is them binge-watchingThe Walking Dead. Apparently, Rowan has claimed Darryl as her rebound guy. I set my peace offerings on the porch swing, out of the way, before knocking.

The wind is knocked out of me when Rowan answers. She looks gorgeous. Her Cleopatra hair holds soft waves and artful crimson tips, making her look fiery and badass. A long, thin white sweater covers a pink cotton tank and soft gray shorts, but barely. My eyes drift over her lips, down her neck, and across her bare collarbone, where her scars spread before ending just over her heart.

She doesn’t smile and pulls the edges of her sweater closer together.

“Um, you look amazing,” I say.

Her hand goes to her hair. “Sara said everyone gets break-up bangs, but I shouldn’t follow trends. We settled for break-up hair dye.”

“It’s working for you.”

She leans against the doorjamb, looking expectant.

“Take the fucking sign down, Rowan.”

Stepping onto the porch, she closes the door behind her like she doesn’t want Sara and Christine to hear us.

“My sign isn’t coming down. Take yours down.”

---