Cross (The Gibson Boys 2.5)

“A lot.” I smile. “How many times did she make corn because you liked it and not green beans because you didn’t? I hated you because green beans are my favorite.”

We exchange a laugh that’s easy and carefree, like two friends on a level most people never ascend to. Once our voices have died down, he pulls away and looks me in the eye. “For the record, I’ve never hated you. Not even when you left here with half of my heart.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. The searing gaze penetrating mine halts any words from flowing through my lips.

“I want you to know that.” His head dips, his sneaker running back and forth across the lawn. “I take responsibility for everything that happened between us.”

“Cross—”

“No, it’s my fault. I was the shithead who couldn’t get my life together.” He raises his eyes, a glimmer in the jade orbs. “I admire you.”

“Me?” I snort. “Why?”

“You were smart enough to know your worth.” He lays a hand over mine, his palm hot and heavy and swamping mine in size. I can’t look away from them, his tanned skin sitting atop mine. “You taught me a lot, made me who I am, in a roundabout, heartbreaking kind of way.” He chuckles.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” I ask, his words wrapping around my chest and squeezing it so tight I can barely breathe.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

There’s a niggle in my stomach, something rooted terribly deep, that tells me he’s being honest.

“Strangely, I believe that,” I admit.

He twists around and leans against the fence. “Good. I’m an open book, you know. Want to talk? Ask questions? Kiss me?”

“No.” I laugh, taking a step back for my own good. “I just got out of a job that had federal investigators asking me a million questions, and then I packed up my things and moved home. I don’t need any more complications for a minute.”

“Maybe I won’t complicate it.” He shoots me a grin that melts me from the inside out.

Pointing a finger his way, I giggle. “You always do.”

“How’s that?”

“That grin—it complicates everything, every time.”

It stretches across his face, reaching from ear to ear, and it pulls mine right along with it. We stand in the setting sun, grinning at each other like two kids as my mother wanders into the back yard.

“What are you kids doing out here?”

My entire body sags at the interruption as Cross snickers.

“Just taking the garbage to the road, Brenda.”

“Looks to me like you were doing more than that, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Oh, Mom, hush.”

Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I just want to say seeing you two together makes this old woman’s heart feel full. Reminds me of old times, my two kids happy and together.”

“That sounds disgusting and illegal,” I say as I laugh.

“Good thing I’m not known for my law-abiding tendencies,” Cross chimes in, looking at me out of the corner of this eye.

Mom and I laugh as I punch him in the arm. He feigns injury, shaking his bicep back and forth.

“Stop it,” I say, shaking my head.

“You have a terrible punch. It’s embarrassing.”

“What? If that’s embarrassing, it’s your fault.”

“How do you figure?” That grin still plays on his lips.

“You’re the one who taught me to punch!”

“Oh, no,” he says, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t teach you that. Don’t blame that crap on me.” He captures my gaze, his eyes sparkling. “If you want me to teach you again, I’m happy to.”

“I don’t really punch people a lot.”

“Never know,” he teases. “You wouldn’t want to rest on those laurels.”

“You’re an ass.”

He pretends to consider this as he circles me and heads to the gate. “Trash is out, Brenda. Fixed the latch on the shed—try not to break it again.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promises. “Want to come in for dinner? I brought home Carlson’s.”

He stops at the gate and looks at me over his shoulder. My heart skips a beat as I watch him make up his mind. I wish I could ask him to stay, wish I could enjoy our banter for a little while longer, but as he looks back at my mother, I know I’m better off if he says no.

“I have a private session in fifteen minutes with a client. I better go, but thanks for the offer.” With a final look at me, he opens the gate. “See ya around, Kallie girl.”

I hope so.

Five

Cross

A beer slides across the bar in front of me, stopping only when it hits a set of hands at the end. Machlan’s brother, Walker, snaps it up and shoots me a curious look.

“How’s it goin’?” he asks, sitting on the stool next to me.

“It’s goin’.”

“That good, huh?” He takes a long, steady gulp of alcohol before letting the bottle plunk against the wooden bar top. “Peck took a last-minute job at the shop tonight and I’m just getting out of there.”