Don't Go Baking My Heart

“I talk to people,” he said unconvincingly.

The only people he regularly spoke to on his phone were work colleagues, and he rarely texted, preferring to get on a phone call with Dax and the rest of the team. He couldn’t fathom casually texting Dax for anything, even work-related.

Otherwise, he had sort of alienated the handful of friends he’d managed to keep over the years—declining their numerous invitations, saying he was too busy—so they had eventually stopped asking him to anything. Or speaking to him on the regular. It wasn’t ideal, but he was trying to make partner, and that meant showing the team he was willing to put in the work. He had hoped his friends would understand, but that hadn’t quite happened.

Maxi folded her arms. “Right. When was the last time you spoke to Jeremy? You two even still friends?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He hadn’t spoken to Jeremy in almost a year. They weren’t the sort of friends who needed to be in constant daily communication, but now there was just nothing. Devon kept thinking he should reach out, but then he’d get busy with work, and all of that fell to the wayside.

He swiped to unlock his phone, ignoring Maxi, not at all surprised to see Reba had sent him another message. He didn’t click on it. Her last message with that damn photo had left him reeling. He didn’t need any more surprises. Two in one day was more than he could handle.

“So, who was it?”

He looked up to find Maxi right in front of him, drink in hand. “Jesus, Maxi.”

“Leave him alone. Maybe he has a lil’ girlfriend he doesn’t want to tell us about,” Keiran joked, moving to put the marinated meat on the grill.

Cherisse looked up from where she had been arranging a table to lay out some snacks. “Oh, really?”

Great, just what he needed—for everyone to go into interrogation mode over nothing. There was no girlfriend. He could have easily said it was Reba, but then he’d have to explain why they were exchanging texts. He didn’t want to let them in on his bake-off mission. He had sworn Reba to secrecy. The jokes would fly all weekend if they knew.

“It’s no one of importance. Just work,” he lied. It was easier than listening to his family speculate and be totally wrong if he told them who had messaged him. “So I’m putting away my phone now, okay?”

He did just that, trying his best to be present when all he wanted to do was check his phone, not work emails but to see what else Reba had sent him. She had him curious, and he hated that. He didn’t want to be distracted by her or any more random bathing suit shots. Who sent someone they barely knew a photo like that?

As his family laughed and ate around him, he suddenly wondered if he was reading too much into it. Is that what people did with mere acquaintances these days? Ask for clothing advice? He’d never done such a thing. When he was still living at his mother’s place, his family would offer up unsolicited fashion advice constantly, the twins deploying good-natured ribbing of his staid clothing choices. Nothing malicious, really, but he was glad he didn’t have to deal with any of that now.

Peace and quiet was what he had in his new home. None of this raucousness that was currently happening. It occurred to him like a bolt of lightning shocking his entire system that soon he would have Reba in his space. Good Lord, what had he done?

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he realised the whirlwind he was about to allow into his house come next weekend.

“Uncle said a bad word,” Leah sing-songed because apparently, she had supersonic hearing.

“Sorry.”

“What’re you thinking so hard about over there?” his mother asked.

“Nothing.”

“It’s always nothing,” Keiran piped up. He had a lap full of his girlfriend, and all eyes were trained his way. “You know you can talk to us. We won’t judge.”

That was an absolute lie. “You all judge me all the time.”

Keiran shrugged. “Okay, true, but you make it so easy, Mr. Broody. We’re all having fun over here, and you’re off probably thinking about how many storeys some building needs to be. C’mon, man. It can wait until Monday.” His brother slid another beer over to Devon’s side.

He wrapped his hand around the cold can. He didn’t overindulge, knew his limits quite well. Two beers wouldn’t have him doing anything over the top to make him a mess. Even when he was with his family, he was a moderate drinker. Especially after that one time with some school friends when he had made a total ass of himself. It still haunted him. Being that out of control? Never again.

“I’m here,” he insisted, popping the tab on the can and taking a sip.

He needed to pay attention, not think about Reba in any capacity until he absolutely had to. God help him.