Page 10 of The Last Key
“Well, it was silly. But it would’ve come in handy tonight. If you hadn’t answered, I would’ve used the key. Then probably would’ve crawled into your bed and snuggled up to you until you woke up.”
Again, physical touch. She’s always been snuggly. But does she do that with everyone? What if she could want me? What if she does?
That thought makes my throat dry. Forcing myself to swallow, I look at her.
How the hell do I figure out the answer to this question?
“Kend?”
She stops blowing on her latte and looks up at me. “Hm?”
I stare at her for a moment. Long enough that she raises her eyebrows. Swallowing thickly, I say, “I’m glad you’re here.”
She smiles and rests her head against my shoulder. “Me too.”
Yeah, I’m a chickenshit.
But I can’t risk everything on a whim.
Icanpush the line, though. I can test to see what her feelings might be. What she’s open to. Whether she might want this too.
If I get even the slightest indication she does…
Well, I’ll have to man up.
Until then, it’s time to be the most flirtatious, playful version of myself.
Game on.
CHAPTER THREE
KENNEDY
I wakeup to the sound of typing and blink my eyes open. Warmth fills my chest as I look around and realize where I am. I hadn’t realized how much this house feels like home, but it does. I’m not sure if it’s Devon or the memories here—probably a combination—but it’s cozy and comfortable. For the first time in too long, I feel completely at ease.
Realizing I’m lying on a pillow half on Devon’s lap, I quickly sit up.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says with a laugh. He has a tray table pulled over the edge of the couch and is typing away on his laptop.
“Sorry. How long have I been asleep on you? You must be hungry or need to pee. What time is it?”
He laughs again. “It’s nine. You fell asleep about two hours ago. I’m assuming you didn’t sleep much on the flight. And have you forgotten what a heavy sleeper you are? I shifted you over,went to the bathroom, then came back and put you on the pillow about forty-five minutes ago.”
I rub my eyes and yawn. “Yeah, I’m not someone who sleeps well on planes. Or anywhere remotely public for that matter.”
“I know,” he says casually. Of course he knows. Most flights I’ve taken as an adult have been with him. Sometimes I wonder if he knows everything about me. Like he has some kind of direct line to my brain.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as my stomach growls. “Can I make you anything?”
He smiles sweetly at me. “There are bagels in the bread box and eggs and bacon in the fridge if you feel like making some breakfast sandwiches.”
“You’ve missed that, huh?” I ask, remembering how I’d make us breakfast sandwiches every Saturday morning when we lived in New York. He and Justin would come over early with lattes, and I’d make breakfast sandwiches for us, Hallie, and Frannie.
“Constantly. I’ve made them myself and bought them locally. Even the freshest ones at the farmers’ market never taste as good as yours. Must be the love you put in them.”
My throat constricts when he says the word love. It’s so innocent, and yet there was the slightest inflection to it.
Pushing past it, I say, “Well, as long as you keep things stocked, I’ll make them every day I’m here. As long as you make me lattes.”
