Starlee's Home (The Wayward Sons 3)

The coffee shop has been dead all day—just like us--and I can tell walking up that Dexter’s using it as a baking day. The scent of butter and sugar slaps me in the face the second I open the front door, followed by Neil Young. I grimace. Neil Young isn’t my favorite—his whiney voice grates on my nerves but I learned the hard way, including an hour-long lecture on him as a solo artist and as a member of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, that this wasn’t a popular opinion.

The bell over the door rings and Jake stands behind the counter, holding a copy of the book he’d been assigned over the break. I can’t help but smile at the sight of him reading. He’s come a long way in the last six months.

“Hey,” he says. “Thank god you’re here. How the hell do you say this word?”

He hands over the book and our fingers brush and a feel warmth spread down my limbs. Jake points to the word. “Prodigious.”

“Do you know what it means?”

I look at the sentence for context. “I think it means big or large.”

He smiles. “Thank you. Dexter was getting pissed every time I interrupted him.”

I glance back i

n the kitchen but don’t see him. “I saw Mrs. Delange come and go. How was the appointment?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, giving me a nice view of the long muscle in his forearm. “I think it went pretty well. She just took notes today, going over our files and everything at the house—you know, the basic safety things.”

“When will she find out?”

“I think in two weeks.”

I nod. It’s not quite soon enough but better than nothing. “Where’s Dex?”

“He ran next door for a second. I’m supposed to listen out for the timer.” He makes a face. “I hate being in charge of anything that has to do with the baking. You know how he is.”

A perfectionist.

“I do.” I lean against the counter. “Leelee wants some cream puffs and I’ll take a mocha.”

“You got it.” He turns to make my drink and I watch his broad shoulders and the way they fill out his black T-shirt. Jake is ridiculously handsome and insanely built. I should be used it by now, but I’m not.

“Have you heard anything from the colleges?” I ask, eyeing the muscles in his biceps as he works the coffee press.

“I have a few interviews coming up. Coach sent my tapes in to the interested schools. Hopefully, I’ll hear something by February.”

Everyone’s working on their plans for next year. I’d derailed mine when I flew out here and it’s taken me this long to get my bearings. I don’t even know what I want to do. As if he’s reading my thoughts, he says, “If you ever want to go with me to check out any of the schools, you’re welcome to tag along.”

“Thanks. I’ll definitely think about it.”

“I heard Charlie say he’s going down to Fresno tomorrow. He’s got some tournament down there.”

“His father’s letting him go?” I’m surprised.

He laughs and pushes my drink and a bag of cream puffs across the counter. “I’m not sure he asked.”

The timer buzzes in the kitchen and it’s a reminder he needs to get the baked goods out of the oven, and I need to get out of here before Sierra sees me.

“You better get that,” I say, taking a step back.

“See you later, Star.”

“Bye, Jake.”

I turn and feel his blue eyes on me as I leave the shop, the buzzer going crazy in the background. We’ve got to figure out a way to see each other more often, because being apart? I think it’s making us even more likely to get in trouble.

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