Page 12 of Sunny Skies Ahead
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Kam!”
I spun around to see Imogen jogging down from the porch.
“Everything okay?” I asked, suddenly concerned that something was wrong.
That was how it had always been with Imogen, though she wasn’t a woman that needed my protection. I didn’t feel this way about Abbie, or any of the women I’d dated in the past. It was scary to acknowledge that there was something about Imogen that felt different from anything I’d experienced before.
Which is why I didn’t dwell on it.
Most of the time.
“When do you need an answer by?” Imogen asked, tucking a stray black curl behind her ear. Something about the simple gesture soothed an ache in my soul. God, she was gorgeous. “About the job, I mean.”
“Take as long as you need to think things over,” I said, waving a hand noncommittally, feigning a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “The offer stands.”
Imogen pressed her lips together in that way she did when she was deep in thought, and I felt like I might pass out.
“If you take the job, we can be roomies,” Lucas said. I scowled at him, not having realized he’d climbed over the center console to stick his head out of the driver’s side window like some kind of feral creature. Imogen’s laugh was bright and beautiful, even in the night’s darkness, lit only by the faint orange glow of her porch lights.
“There’s no way in hell I’ll be moving into your house,” Imogen said with a shake of her head. “But I’ll think about the job offer. Thank you.”
“For what? Besides the job, I mean.”
Idiot. She obviously meant thank you for the job offer, and nothing else.
Imogen hesitated, as if considering the answer to that question herself.
“For caring enough to offer me a place to figure things out. That’s more than most people get in their lives. It means a lot.”
I wanted to say more, but Lucas Morales honked the horn with his ass as he climbed back over into the passenger seat, letting out a string of expletives and “sorry, sorry.”
I sighed heavily, flashing Imogen my best attempt at an apologetic smile.
“I better go handle that.”
Imogen clasped a hand over her mouth. I put one hand on my hip and pointed an accusing finger in her direction.
“This is no joking matter, Imogen Phillips. I’ve got an hour long drive with this man child in the car.”
“I’m twenty three!” Lucas cried, indignant.
“I’d never laugh at such a horrifying prospect,” Imogen said, removing her hand and revealing a smirk that was equal parts the cutest and sexiest smile I’d ever seen on a woman.
“Talk soon?”
Imogen nodded. “Talk soon.”
I slid into the driver’s seat and pinned Lucas with a glare. I cranked the engine to life and headed towards the backroad that would lead us out of Watford and back towards the farm.
“Look, I’m not trying to be in your business.”
“So don’t be,” I said, trying to keep up the appearance of nonchalance.
I was the chill guy. I had always been the chill guy. I was the guy who kept it together, even when everything else was falling apart. I was the guy people came to when they needed someone to help shoulder their problems. I did all of that and more, and I did it gladly, because it really felt like my mission in life most days.
“You and Imogen. . . are you into her?”
