He’s tall with wide, thick shoulders. I’d bet that he has enough muscles to pick me up with ease, but he’s not strong enough to lift a refrigerator. It’s a nice balance that’s underappreciated.
His thighs fill out the denim that, upon quick glance, makes him seem like an average Joe. A heather-gray thermal shirt adds to the vibe. But it’s the details—the quality stitching on the jeans, the heavy watch, the clean lines of his haircut—that level him up.
And he’s charming.
It’s an enticing package.
For people who want to be enticed.
“Coy is sending a guy over here to get you inside,” Boone says as if he owes me an explanation. “It shouldn’t take too long since he was already at Coy’s.”
“Do all of your brothers live that close?”
“None of them live too far away.” He slips his phone into his pocket. “They’re having a family dinner at Coy’s now. He and his new wife just moved to a new place, and it’s a housewarming thing or whatever you call it.”
My stomach sinks. “And you’re here. Because of me.”
“It’s fine. They get on my nerves anyway.”
He smiles at me as if to say, See? You’re doing me a favor. But I don’t buy it. There was too much easygoingness from him on the phone, and it rang too many times without any grumbling for him to be annoyed.
“So, did you fly in?” He looks up and down the street. “Did you drive?”
“I got an Uber from the airport. Didn’t figure I’d be going many places this week, so I didn’t get a rental car. If I have to go somewhere, I can borrow Libby’s car.”
He furrows his brow. “Where did you say you were going?”
“Hawaii.”
The word comes out cheerily—as it should. It’s freaking Hawaii. I have dreams of pristine beaches and fresh pineapples and early morning hikes on the weekends. Time spent with a journal or a good book. There’s nothing not cheery about any of that. But there are less-than-joyful reasons as to why I’m going across the world, and I can see in Boone’s eyes that’s what he was really asking.
And I’m really not answering that.
“I need to grab my bag,” I tell him, stepping onto the manicured lawn that I mentally gave Ted props for maintaining when I got here.
“Where is it?”
“Over here.”
I pass a short, thick palm of some sort and green bushes cut to the exact same size. At the far corner, behind a plant with large, waxy leaves sits my backpack.
“You hid your backpack in my landscaping?” he asks from the steps.
I sling it on. “Yup. What else was I supposed to do with it?”
“Good question, I guess.” He watches me approach. “That’s all you have?”
I stop in front of him and try to ignore the way he smells like fresh laundry mixed with faint notes of cinnamon. “This is it.”
“Did you say you sold everything you own?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Because you’re moving to Hawaii, right?”
“That’s what I said.”
Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “You’re not going to talk about that, are you?”
I press my lips together in displeasure.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my woes to him specifically. I don’t want to talk about them at all. The more time I devote to time in the past, the less time I can spend in the right here and now. And, considering the right here and now includes a guy with cheekbones to fit a model, I’m good without spilling my dirty laundry in the front yard.
“Do you really want to stand here and listen to me tell you all about my problems and failures in life?” I ask.
The mischief spreads to his lips, quirking them up in the corners.
“I didn’t think so,” I say, gripping the backpack straps at my shoulders.
“I didn’t say no.”
“You didn’t say yes, either. When people are sure of something, they just say yes.”
His brows pull together. “I have to disagree.”
“Good for you.”
I start across the lawn toward Libby’s. I don’t look to see if he’s following me. It’s not necessary. His energy bounces off me from behind.
“Saying yes to things too quickly is a bad idea,” he says in a rush from what can’t be more than two steps away. “You should listen to a question before you answer. Trust me. If not, you get roped into things like dates and events and favors. And work.”
I chuckle. “Work?”
We stop on the sidewalk leading to Libby’s door. He shoves his hands in his pockets and wears a sheepish grin.
“I didn’t mean work, work,” he says. “That made me sound super lazy, didn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. It did.”
“Great,” he says with a groan.
My cheeks ache from smiling. “Who am I to judge you? You want to be lazy? Fine. What’s it to me?”
“Exactly. You can’t break into my house and then start throwing around judgment. What kind of person would that make you?” He narrows his eyes. “It would make you a criminal judging me for not being passionate about spreadsheets.”
I gasp, making him laugh.
He leans against a pillar on Libby’s porch, one long leg crossed in front of the other. He chuckles to himself while his fingers fly over his phone screen. A shit-eating grin spreads across his cheeks.
As soon as his eyes lift to mine, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Libby.
Libby: YOU BROKE INTO BOONE MASON’S HOUSE? OMG JAXI.
My gaze snaps up to Boone’s.
“You told Libby?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I wanted to make sure she knew you made it.”
I roll my eyes. “I think you were trying to embarrass me.”
“I just told her the truth.”
“Which was …?”
“That we met.”
“I bet.”
A truck pulls up to the curb and honks twice. A big, burly man hops out of the truck. He makes his way to us.
“Heya, Boone,” he says in a thick accent I can’t quite place. “Heard ya need some help.”
“Thanks for coming, Leo,” Boone
