Perfect Love Story (Love 1)

“Looks amazing.” He walks to the fireplace and picks up a picture of Crystal and me taken last weekend when we went to the farmers market. “You guys look like this is where you’re meant to be.” He puts the frame down and walks to the kitchen. “I’m starving.” Grabbing some leftovers from last night, he pops them in the microwave, then leans back on the counter. “So what else is new?”

The question is a loaded one, and he doesn’t even know. I haven’t told anyone about Jensen, only because I’m not sure what to say. “Nothing really.” I shrug. The microwave beeping saves me this time. I know by the time he leaves, he will know all about Jensen. “Did you come here right after your shift?”

He nods his head as he digs into the pasta. “I’m bone dead tired. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a shower and crash for a couple of hours.”

“Mi casa es su casa.” My house is your house. I joke with him. “There is a twin bed upstairs, but you won’t fit in it, so you can have my bed.”

“You sure?” he asks as he puts the container in the sink, and I nod. He kisses my cheek. “You look fantastic.” He looks into my eyes when I smile.

“Go, we will catch up later,” I tell him, pointing at the hallway where my room and the shower are. I walk back upstairs to my office when I hear the shower running. Opening my browser, I start working on the website for Heidi and Delores. I have all the things lined up when I hear a soft knock on the door. Getting up, I walk downstairs, but Blake beat me to the door. He swings the door open as he stands there shirtless and in his shorts. My mouth opens as I see Jensen standing there glaring. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks as Blake now stands up straight, his muscles going tight.

“Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you?” he hisses. I run down the stairs and step in front of Blake and smile to a white-faced Jensen, taking in his fists beside him.

“This is Blake,” I tell him, trying to get him to look at me and not Blake. “My brother,” I say, the words finally clicking as he looks at Blake and then down at me.

“Oh,” he says as I turn to look at Blake. “This is Jensen Walker.”

Blake doesn’t say anything and just nods, and Jensen puts his hand out. “My friends call me Walker; your sister and my grandmother are the only ones who call me Jensen.” Blake reaches out to shake his hand. They both stand there, eyeing each other.

“Okay,” I say when I push my brother so his hand releases from Jensen. “You were going to nap, so go.”

He looks at me and then at Jensen. “I’ll see you around.”

Jensen just puts his chin up, accepting the invitation. Blake walks back toward my room as I watch him and then turn back to look at Jensen. “So what brings you by?” I say, leaning against the door. The sight of him in his dusty work clothes, thick sweater, and construction boots have me almost fanning myself.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I would swing by and get—”

I smile, walking to him. “You thought you would get what, exactly?” I wrap my arms around his shoulder as his hand grasps my waist, bringing me to him.

He leans in, kissing me. “Some of this.” He kisses the side of my lips, then down to my neck. I move my head to the side to give him full access right before he comes up and takes my lips.

“Well,” I say when we pull apart. “You can pass by anytime for that,” I tell him as I bury my face in his shoulder.

“I guess you aren’t going to come down tonight?” he asks when I look behind me.

“Not sure, but I might be able to sneak over just to get some.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him as he smiles, kissing me once again before turning to walk back to his truck.

I lean on the doorjamb, checking him out. “Nice ass, Walker,” I shout, and he turns and looks over his shoulder.

“I could say the same,” he says. Climbing in his truck, he drives away. I close the door.

“So he’s the reason you look like you do?” Blake asks, standing in the doorway to my bedroom. I walk over to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. My throat suddenly dry like sand.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I tell him, avoiding his eyes.

“Your glow, your eyes, shine.” He walks into the kitchen and takes a seat at the table. “I was expecting to come here and find the shell of a woman who had her heart broken. The defeated look you had when you packed up your car and took off.” He puts his hands on the table. “I expected to see you withdrawn. I expected to see you locked away.”