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Weston’s expression remains calm and collected; his relaxed demeanor grounds me. “Only one question: is your sister hot?”
“Asshole,” I mutter, tossing a sugar packet at him. “But, yes, she’s gorgeous. Intelligent. High maintenance.Blonde.She’sexactly your type. Plus, she’ll turn thirty-five next month, so not much of an age gap. But there’s one kicker: she’s been divorced twice.”
His brows waggle. “Maybe the third time’s a charm?”
“I’d join my brothers in murdering you if you got with my sister.”
“And what about your dad?” he asks.
“Well …” I breathe deeply. “He’s off living his best life with his other family—the one I didn’t know existed until I was fifteen,” I say bitterly, my heart tightening. “I have siblings I’ve never met.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a comforting volume as he studies me.
“Daddy issues,” I say, a smile breaking through my melancholy.
“Explains a lot,” he replies with a chuckle before his expression turns serious. “Thank you for trusting me, Firefly.”
I’ve only ever shared that with Lexi, and we hardly ever talk about it. But I find myself wanting to tell Weston everything I’ve kept from him. He deserves to know.
I catch myself staring at his lips, lost in his intensity. My body craves more of him already.
I’m addicted.
“We probably shouldn’t kiss again,” I whisper, half teasing, half serious.
“Are we renegotiating?” His eyes flick around the room before meeting mine again. “Because if so, I want you to start texting me first instead of forcing me to initiate every conversation we have.”
I laugh as I lean in closer. “You’re averybusy man.”
“I’mnevertoo busy for you.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper as my heart does somersaults in my chest.
“I’ll always speak my truths, and I won’t hold that back.”
“Your truths?” My cheeks flush as his words linger in the air, charged with unspoken intensity.
“Communication is my love language, bestie. Hearing from youis a highlight. You remind me there’s a whole world beyond my own. Our friendship is myfreedom.”
The weight of his revelation settles between us.
“And I know you want to text me sometimes,” he adds. “So, when you do, you should reach out to me. Stop pulling moves from the player’s handbook.”
“Hilarious, coming from you, considering you wrote it.” I try to hold back a smile but fail. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
His gaze remains steady, unwavering. “You know, my grandfather believed he discovered the secret of happiness while running a billion-dollar company.”
“Really?” I ask.
“He believedlovecould conquer all.”
“Oh, so Pawpaw Calloway was a hopeless romantic too?” I inquire.
Weston rolls his eyes.
“What do you believe?” I study the curve of his jaw as a flicker of doubt appears in his sea-blue eyes.
He contemplates my question. “I don’t know if love is necessarily the key. I used to believe it was, but now I think it’s friendship that’s actually needed. Love is fleeting. Friendship is forever.”