Page 8 of Undeniably Unexpected (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires #6)

L oomis

“You know you only live about four blocks from me. No wonder we’ve started running into each other,” Keegan says as she looks around my small first-floor flat. “How long have you been in town?”

“About a week. We start filming here in a month, and there are some pre-production things I have to attend to. I like this neighborhood. It’s quiet and the buildings are old, which reminds me of home.”

“Boston definitely has old going for it. This is a cute place. This is where you stayed last time you were here, right?”

“Yes. Good memory. Though back then it was just me, and now it’s me and Fen, so it likely wasn’t the best choice.”

She follows me into the kitchen, where I have the remnants of breakfast on the counter, some dishes in the sink, and my script on the table.

I have no idea what I’m doing. I texted her last night to find out about her wrist, and when she didn’t reply, I told myself I wasn’t disappointed.

I told myself I was going to let it go. Then I saw her in the supermarket, and I spent the better part of my shopping trip following her as I placed items I doubt I needed in the trolley while poor, sick Fen slept.

So yeah, I have no idea what I’m doing. Or why I invited her here.

Maybe it’s because she makes me smile when smiles other than for Fen have been hard to come by lately.

Maybe it’s because I trust her in a way I don’t trust many people because her face is an open book, showcasing her emotions and displaying her vulnerabilities, whereas I hide everything from everyone without exception. A necessity I learned as a child.

Or maybe it’s because I’m so out of sorts I hardly know how to make sense of my life anymore, and I’m hoping some of Keegan’s sweet perfection will rub off on me. Just for a little while.

I could use a friend.

That wasn’t a lie, and I don’t even care if it makes me sound weak or desperate.

I have Tinsley, but she has Stone, and I can’t help but feel isolated and alone.

I have more problems than I know how to handle.

Lack of a nanny problems, secret son problems, work problems, and instead of things feeling easier, they’re getting harder.

I put my things away in near silence, watching Keegan out of the corner of my eye as she continues scanning from space to space.

Fen gives a little cough in his sleep, but it’s not enough to rouse him.

He slept horribly last night, his nose unbearably stuffy, and with that, I didn’t sleep any better.

She bends and examines his sleeping face and red, runny nose. “He has a cold, huh?”

“A small one. But Fallon Monroe promises it’s nothing more serious than that. He also got a shot last night, so that exacerbates his symptoms.”

Keegan nods. That’s it.

It’s a bit awkward, and I realize at this moment I don’t know her all that well.

She’s the sort of person who makes you feel as if you’ve known her your entire life within minutes of meeting her.

It’s comforting and puts you at ease. But the truth is, we’ve spent some time together here and there, but other than knowing about her family, that she’s a doctor, is playful, a bit quirky in a fun and endearing way, kind as the day is long, is in love with all things Boston sports, and won’t eat raw fish, I don’t know much else.

Which again brings me back to, what the fuck am I doing?

Here I am, about to trust her with my biggest secret. With my life, essentially.

Suddenly I’m second-guessing everything, and that’s never been who I am.

I discover I’m standing here immobile in my kitchen, a packet of nappies in my hand, my gaze locked on her, and my heart thundering in my chest.

“I told him I loved him,” she blurts out of absolutely nowhere, and I find the random and slightly nonsensical thought snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what? Who?”

“Alden.” She laughs at my bewildered expression. “I told Alden I love him.”

“Oh,” is my witty response. He mentioned that last night, and I don’t like hearing it anymore now than I did then, which makes zero bloody sense to me. What do I care if she loves him?

She rights her body and does an odd little twirl in my kitchen before she skips over to the dining room and drops herself in a chair with her arms on the table. “Yep. So you see, you’re not the only clingy bitch here.”

I chuckle, but there’s little humor in it. She’s not clingy for telling him she loves him. She’s brave for it. I admire her for putting herself out there like that, knowing it’s something I’ll never be able to do, let alone feel for someone.

“We dated years ago,” she continues. “It was back in college for a little less than a year before it fizzled out when we went to different medical schools and decided it was impractical to try to stay together. I hadn’t seen him in years until we ran into each other at a bar in the early fall, and things picked back up for us.

Hell, he asked us to be exclusive after our first weekend together. ”

“That’s rather fast.”

She shrugs. “It didn’t feel that way, though.

It felt like the perfect rekindling of something we hadn’t wanted to let go of.

Things were great between us. Then one night I got drunk at a friend’s party.

We were dancing, and I told him I loved him.

” She shakes her head ruefully. “I said, I love you so much .”

“I see,” I remark absently, realizing she’s telling me hers so I’ll feel comfortable telling her mine. It’s amazing how well she was able to read that I needed that from her. “Did he say it back?”

“No.” She snorts a sardonic laugh. “He kissed my cheek, and we kept dancing. That was it. And that night I didn’t stay over at his place as we planned.”

My jaw inadvertently locks, but I do my best to relax it. Fucking prat. “That’s rough.”

“It was. I was pretty hurt by it. We’d only been dating a couple of months, but I was serious about us, and I thought he was too. He acted like he was.”

Now it’s my fist locking up. “But he wasn’t?”

She holds her good hand out to the side as if to say obviously not, since I’m here telling you about it . “The next morning, I panicked that I had said it, and he didn’t. But he never mentioned it, and things seemed, well, normal after that for us, I guess.”

“What changed?”

She peers up at me, all big, green eyes fanned with thick, dark lashes, and adorable freckles across her cheeks and nose. “He became a bit distant with me and it was noticeable. To the point where I called him out on it.”

Strong girl. Not many would do that, I suspect.

She stops there, her pointer finger on her good hand drawing patterns along the woodgrain of the table. “Then what?” I prompt.

A stricken look crosses her face, her body going stiff, and her eyes glassing over. “A week later he came over and told me that things were moving too fast between us. That he cared about me a lot but wasn’t ready for something so serious between us and didn’t want to hurt me.”

“What does that even mean?” comes out before I can stop it.

“He simply didn’t love me back and wasn’t ready for me to say that to him. He thought that if we stayed together with my feelings as they are and his where they are, then I’d end up getting more hurt in the long run.”

Shit. Poor girl.

“He’s not a bad guy,” she continues, defending him in a way that chafes my skin. “It was difficult to be mad at him. He was kind and straightforward and honest about how he felt. He just didn’t love me back, and I don’t think he ever had. Not even when we were together the first time.”

“He said that?” My eyebrows hit my hairline, shocked by that. How could anyone not love her back if she gave them her heart?

“No. But it was obvious he hadn’t. He said he wanted us to continue to see each other casually if I felt I could handle that, and I told him I wasn’t interested in dating that way, and that was that. Clearly, I’m hurt. Perhaps a bit heartbroken too.”

I abandon the nappies on the counter and join her at the table. I shouldn’t do it, I know I fucking shouldn’t after how it felt to hold her last night, but I take her hand in mine anyway. It’s warm and soft and small, just like her.

“Which you have every right to be.” I offer her a wan smile. “Is he older than you? He looked older.”

“Thirty-five, and his commitment issues at that age should be a huge red flag for me.”

I try not to wince at that. I am the master of commitment issues. He’s six years older than I am. Four years older than her. I wonder if she prefers older and not younger men.

I brush that off. “He showed up last night. Why?”

A smirk flirts with her lips. “I have no clue. Some stranger I met on the street stepped in and said he was my boyfriend.”

“Some handsome stranger. You forgot to say that.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

I suck in a dramatic breath. “You wound me, darling. Besides, I make no apologies for stepping in as I did. Especially after hearing all that. Let him suffer and realize all he’s missing now that you’re mine.”

I wink at her but find myself tripping over that. I’ve never called a woman mine. Not even in jest, and I have no idea what compelled me to do it now.

“He was pretty upset,” she notes, thankfully ignoring my claim on her. “I’d like to say I’m a big person and that I feel bad about lying like that, but I don’t. I don’t know why he showed up last night, and I wish I wasn’t as curious as I am. I wish I still didn’t care.”

“That’s only natural, I imagine.”

“Probably. I’m hoping our families didn’t urge it.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Our parents were upset that we broke up.”

“How so?”

She gives me a sour look. “He’s a Hughes, and I’m a Fritz. It’s a match made in heaven. Our families are very close, and he comes from money and healthcare like I do. Our parents were practically planning our wedding from the moment we told them we were dating again.”

“Do you love him? I mean, I know you told him that, but did you mean it?”