Page 21

I didn’t make a smartass comment, which was my normal.

Maybe because he was right.

I probably could enjoy her company if I let myself, but I didn’t plan to let my guard down long enough to find out.

I was too fucking attracted to her, and that was going to have to keep me on the defensive the whole damn day.

I watched as Tanner stood, telling us that he had to pick up something for Hannah and then he was headed home.

Kaleb followed.

I stayed in my office longer than I’d planned, trying to plan exactly how I could get closer to Reese and keep my defenses completely intact.

Reese

Iheard music the moment I walked through the door of Devon’s home Saturday morning.

He was on the piano playing what sounded like a beautiful but complicated jazz piece.

I’d had a text from Devon when I’d woken up this morning telling me to just let myself in because the door would be unlocked. He’d mentioned that he’d be in his music room and might not hear the doorbell.

I shook my head as I juggled the items I was carrying and closed the door gently with my foot.

It was still hard to get used to people leaving their doors unlocked, but that was the way things worked here in Crystal Fork.

I certainly didn’t do it.

My door got locked the moment I closed it, and that wasn’t going to change for me anytime soon.

I looked around the home as soon as I entered. It was a very open floorplan with lofty ceilings, so it wasn’t hard to spot the kitchen.

Devon’s home wasn’t just a home, it was a mansion, but somehow he’d still managed to keep it warm and welcoming. I’d felt it the moment I’d seen the exterior after driving down the long driveway.

It didn’t look like a showpiece that was meant to impress people, but it was still pretty impressive.

It was just…gigantic.

I took in the beautiful artwork on the walls as I made my way to the kitchen, one in particular that I suspected was a work by his mother. Millie had a very distinctive style.

I had to hold back an audible gasp as I entered Devon’s kitchen.

For anyone who loved to cook, it was a dream kitchen.

For a man who only used the microwave, it was funny how he’d managed to have every high-end toy and gadget any chef would love.

I opened his fridge to put in the things I’d brought and noticed that he had very little in the enormous space.

Beer.

Water.

Coke.

Mayonnaise.

Odds and ends of leftover food that he’d probably bought at the deli.

And very little else.