“Okay, good. Then don’t give up on me when I get weird.”
I clasp my arms around her waist. “I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, June.” I mean it. I’ll wait for her as long as it takes.
She smiles and reaches up to smoosh my cheeks together. Not exactly the sexy turn I thought this conversation would take, but I can take one for the team if it means watching her smile.
“Stacy and I always do this after a serious conversation.” Ah. I see now.
And because I’m a man completely secure in my masculinity, I ask if she misses Stacy while my cheeks are still smooshed together, giving me a fish face.
She drops her hands. “So much. But I’m just trying not to think about it. Or call her a million times a day. I want to give her and Logan space to get acclimated in their new life.”
I laugh. “They’ve been together since junior high. How much acclimating do you think they really need?”
She laughs too, and the sound lessens that weight that’s always on my shoulders. “You’re probably right.”
“Have you told her about us?”
“Are you going to be mad if I say no?”
“I’ll flip this table.”
“Then YEP. She knows everything.”
I shake my head and lean forward to kiss her cheek before picking her up and depositing her on the floor. “Tell Stacy. She’ll want to know.” Something tells me I’m not the only one June is worried will hurt her.
June and I don’t broach any serious topics again for the rest of the morning. She goes into her bathroom to shower and get ready for the day, and I make myself useful by snooping through the stack of papers on her counter. I notice that they are offers to buy Stacy’s half of the bakery.
My first thought is that I should add my name to the top. My second thought is to take that first thought and burn it to the ground. June doesn’t need me to help her run that bakery. She doesn’t need anyone’s help with it. I honestly don’t know why she’s entertaining offers when she should buy it herself.
But when she comes out of her room an hour later in a form-fitting, black, long-sleeve top, hair braided and draped over one shoulder, and tight jeans hugging her waist with holes down the legs that do more than hint at the soft tan skin living under them, I push the papers aside and decide we’ll talk about it later. She looks good. Better than good. This woman is a killer, and as I grab her jeans by the belt loops and tug her closer to me, I realize I’m dead.
I love her. I think I always have.
“June,” I say, dragging out her name to let her know I’m suspicious. “Why do you smell like me?”
She peeks up at me from under her long lashes and presses her lips together. She’s a kid who just got caught with a bar of chocolate smeared all over her face. “I was out of my body wash, so I had to use yours?” She phrased it like a question, not a statement.
I shake my head at her. She used my body wash.
She loves me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
June
I come home from work on Friday afternoon to a note on my bed beside an empty duffle bag that reads: Be packed by 5:00. Plane leaves for Chicago at 8:30, and we’re going to be on it. I took the liberty of starting your packing for you. You’re welcome.
I peek in the bag and realize it?
??s not totally empty. It looks as if Ryan pulled out my lingerie drawer and dumped the entire contents into this duffle bag. Ha! You wish, buddy.
After I’ve removed over three-fourths of the options Ryan and his liberty chose for me, I pack a few of the winter items I never get to wear in Charleston. Honestly, part of me thought Ryan forgot about Chicago. It’s been a few days since he mentioned it, so I assumed it was on the back burner. Or not happening at all. Which was fine with me, considering how amazing our time here has been together.
Ryan has been staying with me all week, doing lots of things that feel suspiciously like dating, although he always swears it’s not.