Page 48 of Can't Get Over You
“No, but I like chocolate.”
“Well, good, because my dad’s weird. He doesn’t drink coffee or tea. Only cocoa.”
The boy cocked his head. “I only like chocolate.”
Right.He was confusing Cody. “Yeah, sorry. Hot chocolate and hot cocoa are the same thing. And let me tell you, my dad stockpiles it. He’s probably tried every brand out there.”
“Why?”
Okay, this is good. Conversation. “He’s on a quest to find the best.”
“I can help your dad do that.”
Cute.Jude smiled. “He’d appreciate it.”
They brought the needles back and dumped them in front of the snowman. Finlay grabbed a handful, lifted the boy, and showed him how to stick them around the head.
“I’m sorry for sleeping in,” he said quietly. “I’m a bartender, so my hours are off.” But that was just an excuse. “I shouldn’t have assumed someone else would take care of him.”
As he looked into her eyes, he couldn’t help remembering her sultry expression as he’d leaned in for the kiss, the way her lips had parted, and the soft heat that greeted him inside her mouth. She’d been so responsive, so fucking sexy.
“I’m a teacher.” She smiled. “I’m used to getting up early, so it all worked out. Now, you’d better get in there. Your brothers came to see you, and I said I’d keep him occupied while you guys talk. Go on. We’re fine.”
Flame doused, he focused on business. “When I’m done, I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I have a ride.”
He fought the urge to say, “I’myour ride.” But he had to cut that out. His time with her was almost up.
That shouldn’t make his chest tighten.
But there you go.
In the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee, then headed for the pantry. Before entering, he checked to be sure Finlay and Cody hadn’t come inside. They hadn’t.
His dad’s shelves were crammed with food. Even though none of the brothers lived there anymore, he still hosted the holiday parties, summer barbecues, and birthdays. He was also somewhat of a survivalist, as evidenced by the hefty bags of rice and canned tuna and sardines.
Jude reached behind the canisters of flour and sugar and pulled the lever.
The door gave easily and silently, and he pushed it along its runners. Checking behind him one more time and finding no one around, he slipped into the pitch-black darkness of the cellar staircase. Once the door closed behind him, he flipped the switch. Light flooded the concrete walls and wood steps.
The secret basement was divided into two sections. One housed storage boxes, and the other held his dad and Wyatt’s abandoned furniture projects. There was no evidence of the safe room—not even a seam in the wall—and it was fully soundproofed, so Jude couldn’t hear his brothers or smell the inevitable cigars they’d be lighting.
Kneeling, he lifted the wood panel from the floor and pressed the button. The bolts slid open, and he got up and headed inside to find his brothers laughing their asses off and his dad pouring a drink at the bar.
“It’s not even nine in the morning.” Jude pressed the button that sealed the door shut behind him.
“Thanks for the update, Father Time,” Boone said.
As Wyatt nipped the butt of his cigar, Boone flicked the switch to the ventilation system.
His dad handed him a whiskey.
“I’m good with coffee.”
Wyatt pulled the drink out of his dad’s hands and tipped it into the mug. “You’re gonna need it.”
Probably.Jude dropped into a leather club chair.
