Page 4 of The Last Key (Baker Girls #2)

CHAPTER TWO

DEVON

Tuesday

I can’t sleep.

Other than in my teen years when sleeping was a full-time job, I’ve always been a light sleeper. A weird dream, a small sound, or my brain’s inability to shut up will drag me out of sleep, especially in the bleary-eyed morning hours.

Fuck it.

It’s almost five. That’s a reasonable waking hour.

If you’re ninety-two.

Or one of those crazy people who gets up before the sun to run.

I like staying in shape, but the thought of getting out of bed to run when it’s still dark is a hard no for me.

But coffee and staring at a computer are doable, so I throw the covers off, slide my feet into my slippers, grab a sweatshirt, and head downstairs .

My first stop is the simple espresso maker I have. I throw a pod in, then grab the milk from the fridge and pour a cup in the steamer/frother combination and turn it on. A few minutes and some toffee syrup later, and I have my favorite latte.

After warming up a slice of chocolate chip banana bread, I grab my laptop and sit down at the kitchen island.

Damn, Gladys makes the best banana bread ever.

Gladys Tipton is the innkeeper at Brighton Manor and has been for most of my life. She’s in her midfifties, sweet and motherly, and always brings baked goods to work. She’s like a second mother to me, and I wouldn’t be able to run the place without her.

I moved back to Brighton a few years ago to take over Brighton Manor operations from my parents after my dad was diagnosed with MS. My mother has been dealing with rheumatoid arthritis for half of my life, so with my dad’s diagnosis, anything more than living became too much for them.

My parents are only in their midfifties, so it’s hard to see them struggle like this so soon.

Since getting up and down the stairs of this house was tough for both of them, I bought the place—for much less than they should’ve sold it to me—and they moved into an apartment building in downtown Brighton with an elevator and a concierge service.

When I packed up and moved back here, I was a son doing his duty. I love my parents, they’re incredible people, and as their only son, I wasn’t going to leave them alone to deal with this. That doesn’t mean I was excited about it.

I’d spent the previous years living in Chicago and New York with Kennedy and our friend Justin, and we’d had a lot of fun.

While I was tired of modeling, it got me through my college years.

As I grew older, it began feeling like an invasion of my privacy.

Social media was taking over my life. I didn’t like it, but I was still loving my life in the city with my best friends.

I’d accepted a job as a modeling agent, putting the business degree I’d earned in college to use.

I traveled when I could, and was, as they say, living my best life.

Then it all changed. I thought I’d go crazy living in Brighton, and don’t get me wrong, life is slower here than in a big city, but not as slow as I thought it would be.

I was surprised I didn’t feel any resentment and settled in here easily.

With San Francisco nearby, I have access to everything I could want or need. Minus one thing. Kennedy.

Yep, that’s me. The sad sack who’s hung up on his best friend, despite the fact she has never been interested in having more with me.

As far as I know, at least. For a moment, when we were young, I thought it might happen, but she shut me down before I could even kiss her, and since then, nothing romantic has ever happened.

We’re close. Maybe even more affectionate than two best friends should be—we cuddle and sometimes share the same bed, but never once have we inappropriately touched each other or even kissed.

God, what I wouldn’t give to taste those plush pink lips. Other parts of her, too. Bury myself deep inside her until she’s screaming my name.

At that thought, my cock comes alive.

Sorry, buddy. Still our little fantasy.

My phone buzzes on the counter, making me jump.

It’s a fantasy I need to let go of, though, if I’m ever going to fall in love, get married, have kids—all things I want someday.

Flipping my phone screen on, I see a text. From Kennedy.

Does she have a sixth sense?

Kennedy: Any chance you’re awake?

I smile and type a reply.

Me: Yep. Couldn’t sleep. What are you doing ?

I get an immediate text back.

Kennedy: Standing on your front porch.

Me: Very funny.

I shake my head and set my phone back on the counter, but as soon as I do, there’s a knock on the front door.

No fucking way.

Heart pounding, I launch off the stool and run to the front door, unlocking it and throwing it open to see Kennedy’s beautiful face.

“Hi,” she says, wearing a huge smile.

“Get in here.”

I shut the door behind her as she steps inside the house and drops her bags, then I wrap my arms around her in a massive bear hug. God, I’ve missed her so damn much.

She squeezes me back tightly and sighs softly.

I lean back just enough so I can see her face. “What happened?”

“I got ‘laid off.’” She puts air quotes around the words. “Really, the department head hated me and was happy to let me go.”

“Ah, Kend. I’m sorry.” I hold her close, knowing if she flew here in the middle of the night, it’s because she needs me.

She needs the comfort of my arms. That’s not me being egotistical, I just know her.

Kennedy’s preferred love language is physical touch.

Especially when she’s hurting. Knowing how excited she was for this job and feeling like she was finally beginning her career, I know she’s hurting a lot right now.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“Missed you more.”

She laughs as she loosens her grip and steps back.

“Doubt it.” Though her eyes are glistening, she has a playful smile on her face, but it softens as she looks around.

“Gosh, this place is just the same as I remember it. Still feels like home. Can’t believe it’s been ten years since I’ve been back.

Definitely not waiting so long next time. ”

“You better not.”

She sighs happily. “Mm. What smells good?”

“Latte and banana bread.”

She grabs my arm and her eyes light up. “Gladys’s banana bread?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Gimme.”

“Go sit down on the couch. Get comfy. I’ll bring it.”

She doesn’t move, instead staying in place and looking at me reverently. The look is so potent it hits me square in the chest.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I really missed you.”

I smile and nod toward the living room. “Get settled.”

She nods and walks into the living room as I head down the hallway toward the kitchen.

She’s really here.

I start her latte, then slice another piece of banana bread and stick it in the toaster oven. My heart’s pounding as I glance at the living room.

What if I told her?

I swore to myself a long time ago that I never would, but maybe…

Fuck. What if it ruined everything?

I can’t lose her. No one else makes me feel like this.

And I guess that’s part of the problem. It’s not a crush anymore.

It’s far beyond the desire to fuck her. I love her.

My stupid ass is in love with her. Maybe I should man up and fucking tell her.

Tell her I’m all hers. That I don’t want to live without her.

That I’m fucking crazy for her, and I’d worship her every single day if she gave me a chance.

Maybe …

Maybe those three sentences would destroy everything.

It’s too big a risk if she doesn’t feel the same way.

Shaking my head, I finish making her latte, add her banana bread to my plate, and spread some butter on it, then grab my latte and join her in the living room.

She happily takes her mug and pulls her knees up to her chest, nestling into me as I sit in the corner of the oversized leather sofa.

I laugh and look down at her. “What would you have done if I hadn’t answered your text?”

Her eyes dance as she looks back at me. “You gave me a key, remember?”

She gave me so much crap when I gave it to her, saying it wouldn’t help me, given she was on the other side of the country. But that’s not why I gave it to her. I wanted her to know this would always be a safe place for her. Like it is right now.

“I remember you sassing me.”

“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.

I can push 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.