Page 6 of The Last Key (Baker Girls #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

DEVON

“Was it weird seeing your old house but not going inside?” I ask Kennedy as we drive up the road to the inn.

Instead of stopping at my parents’ apartment this morning, we’ll be going there for dinner tonight.

Mom was set on cooking. Thankfully, her hands and back don’t bother her as much as her hips, knees, and feet, so she can still cook—from a chair—and knit, crochet, and do her crossword puzzles.

Still, I didn’t want her to do too much, so I figured Kennedy and I would show up early to help.

Mom would never turn down Kennedy’s help in the kitchen.

Cooking is something the two often did together.

“Not really. I thought it would be, but something about your house feels more like home. Maybe it’s because I spent so much time there, but I think it’s partly when I think of my home, I still think of the duplex in Manhattan where I grew up.

Where my parents live again now. My house here was a place I lived.

Your house was a home. That probably sounds silly. ”

She tucks a hair behind her ear and looks out the window.

I rest my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze. “Not at all.”

She looks back at me, lips parted in surprise, but only for a second, then she smiles.

I fucking love that my house feels like home to her.

I’ve always wanted her to feel at home there.

Maybe now more than ever. When I put her bags in the master, I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but I wasn’t expecting the playful look in her eyes, the way she stared me down, or that she seems to be playing my game right along with me.

No idea what it means, but I’m taking it as a good sign. She didn’t completely shut me down.

A ball of excitement forms in my stomach. She didn’t shut me down at all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I look at her again.

What if she wants this, too?

I can’t get hung up on that thought, but as I pull into the parking lot of the inn, it’s the only thing rattling around in my brain.

“Sweet Kennedy!” Gladys says, standing up from the check-in desk and hurrying over to pull Kennedy into her arms.

“Oh, Gladys, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. How are you? Devon mentioned your job didn’t work out. That is their loss. I’d give your former boss a piece of my mind if I could.”

Kennedy laughs and lets Gladys lead her over to the desk. “I appreciate that.”

Gladys pulls her reading glasses off her nose, letting them hang from a chain around her neck.

She’s wearing her typical “uniform” of comfortable pants and a loose floral top.

She’s got a hippie chic vibe, and she exudes warmth.

She’s been like a second mother to me, and as my parents’ health has declined, I’ve been even more grateful for her.

She keeps the inn running smoothly while also checking in on my parents and trying to take care of me.

I don’t often let her, mostly because I’m self-sufficient.

My mom made sure I knew how to cook, clean, and care for myself by the time I was in high school.

She said it wasn’t just for my good, it was for hers too, because she wants grandbabies one day and men who take care of themselves are more attractive to women.

Not really sure if that’s true since I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in over three years. Not that many of the serious ones have been that serious, anyway. The last few years, it’s been hookups here and there to get me through when my hand wasn’t sufficient.

My eyes drift back to Kennedy. What would it feel like to have her sweaty body writhing beneath mine? To hear her scream my name? Watch the ecstasy on her face when she comes? To have her supple pink lips wrapped around my cock?

“Hey,” Gladys calls, snapping me out of my haze of lust.

Mostly. Because I’ve absolutely got a semi now. Thankfully, my cargo shorts shouldn’t make that readily visible.

“Huh?”

Kennedy and Gladys snicker.

“Where’d you go? On vacation in your mind? Somewhere warm, I hope,” Gladys teases.

Making my way over to the desk, it’s impossible to miss the smirk on Kennedy’s face. Like she knows where my mind was.

“Something like that,” I say, eyes on Kend and drifting down her body. She arches a brow, calling me on it. Then she smiles and turns her attention back to Gladys.

She likes my eyes on her.

I need to find out what else she likes.

“I had some of your banana bread this morning,” Kennedy says. “I forgot how good it is.”

Gladys chuckles. “Cinnamon is the key. ”

The door from the kitchen swings open and our longtime cook, Martin, steps out.

“Hey, boss. Glad you’re here.” He’s white as a sheet and looks horrible, though his eyes brighten for a moment. “Kennedy. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Martin.” She steps toward him, but he holds up his hand.

“You should stay back. Something hit me in the last hour or so. There’s no way I can work the rest of my shift. I’ll be lucky if I make it home before I—” he gags.

“Get out of here, now,” Gladys commands in a firm, motherly voice.

He nods. “Going.”

“I’ll bring you some soup later, hon,” she calls after him.

He waves in response, then staggers out the door and down the stairs.

“Poor Martin,” Kennedy says.

“He’ll be all right,” Gladys says. “But we’ve got an hour until we open for lunch. Only two reservations today, but several of the guests have been coming down routinely, and you know people from town always stop in. If we’re closing, we need to decide.”

I glance over at Kennedy. “What do you think? Want to work the kitchen with me? I think the two of us could handle it. It’s all sandwiches, salads, soups, and burgers.”

She smiles brightly. “I’d love to. Let’s do it.”

Gladys smiles, too. “Good. Crissy should be in soon to help you out. She had an appointment this morning. All the cold foods should be prepped, it’s just a matter of assembly and warming or cooking a few hot dishes.”

“After you,” I say, gesturing for Kennedy to go first.

We walk through the nearby door that leads down a hallway. Beyond the double doors is the kitchen, gleaming with stainless steel counters and bright white lights.

“Just like I remember,” Kennedy says. “When I used to help Martin in the kitchen some weekends, the first thing he’d have me do was check the pantry.”

She turns and walks over to the side of the room where the small pantry is.

Slowly, I follow her, then stand in the doorway, watching her look over the supplies. After a moment, she turns and puts her hand on her hip. “You could help, you know.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Walking into the room is like walking through a time warp.

We could be fourteen looking for something to play spin the bottle with all over again.

My eyes follow the same path they did that day, watching her ass stick out as she bends over—though she has a much rounder, sexier ass to look at now—and watching her sweater lift and show off the skin of her low back whenever she presses onto her toes.

She spins around. “You’re still not doing anything.”

“Do you remember that day?” I ask, lost in the memory.

“Uh, we’ve known each other a long time, Dev. You might have to narrow it down.”

A smile curves up my face. “Spin the bottle.”

The words cause her eyes to widen. She sputters for a second. “Yeah. Of course I remember it. Every girl at the party wanted to kiss you.” She rolls her eyes.

I step closer. “Yet, when you asked me who I wanted to kiss, I didn’t mention their names.”

“Devon,” she breathes, but I’m not sure if it’s out of anticipation or annoyance. So I keep going, resting my hand on her arm, just like I did that day.

“I said there was only one girl I wanted to kiss. Then I grabbed your arm.” I run my thumb over her skin. “Just like this. I looked into your eyes. What did you think I was going to do?”

She stares at me for a moment, then licks her lips.

They part and my heart hammers. I move closer, still waiting for her answer.

Her eyes roll over my face, then she glances at the pantry door, and the magic of the moment is broken.

The tension dissipates, and just like she did that day, she steps back.

“It doesn’t matter. Because that’s when those girls showed up at the door, and I knew…” She takes a breath, looking for the right words. “It would’ve been stupid.”

She doesn’t make eye contact with me before spinning around and focusing on the shelves again.

Damn.

All these years, I thought she stopped things because she didn’t want more from me. It never occurred to me she was jealous or frustrated by the attention the other girls were giving me.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lean down and whisper, “For the record, Kend, it never would’ve been stupid.”

Then I walk out of the room, on fire from those slight touches, and sweating through my shirt.

If we keep going like this, I might combust before anything ever happens with her. But I know with certainty now, I’m not letting her leave Brighton without kissing her, tasting her, letting her know exactly how I feel.