First

She unlocks her door and puts my purchases and her purse on the passenger seat. But she doesn’t get in yet. ‘Thanks for coming. That was definitely a different experience than I’d been led to believe.’

‘Sure thing, brown eyes. Anytime I can rescue you from attack of the sex toys, just let me know.’

‘You’re a good guy, Dally.’

I shrug, awkward at her praise. How can she possibly believe that? Especially since I agreed to help her lose it?

She fiddles with her keys.

I’m backing toward my bike, wondering why she’s still standing there. ‘Meet you at home?’

She looks up at me. ‘Why did you call me twelve times?’

‘I hadn’t heard from you and was worried.’

‘But why were you worried?’

My heart’s twisting on itself as I stare at her. Could she really not know? After all this time? All these years? I couldn’t have been that good at hiding my feelings from her, even if I’ve tried to not let her figure out how deep they go …

My voice is rough when I answer. ‘I like you, Cat—’

She makes a face. ‘If you finish that sentence with as a sister, I will kick you in the balls.’

‘I would let you.’

She tilts her head. ‘So how were you going to finish that sentence?’

‘That was it.’

Those brown eyes narrow, fix on me. ‘I like you, Cat. That was all?’

‘Yep.

’

She shakes her head, but when she looks up she’s smiling at me. It’s a little softer than normal. ‘I like you too, Dally.’

I should not get turned on by those words.

She’s getting into her car. When I don’t move, she rolls down her window and calls, ‘Let’s go home.’

Right, home. For a few more days at least.

Day 3 — Evening

When Cat and I finally get back to the house, my brain isn’t as fried from our store trip. She’s focused as I help her take in some groceries. ‘What is all of this?’ I ask, peering into the bags.

‘Don’t worry about it. Just unpack them in the kitchen, would you?’ she asks, scurrying off to her bedroom, black bag in tow.

What the hell? Lobster tails, some fancy lettuce, and random jars with shit I don’t even recognise. I step back from the counter, examining the goods. The picture slowly comes into focus. ‘You planning something, brown eyes?’

No response.

‘Cat?’

I hear her coming back and turn. How I keep my jaw from hitting the floor is a mystery. She hurries into the room, a flush rising in her cheeks, peach-coloured dress fluttering from her movement. She must not have had time to put on shoes because her feet are bare. Her hair is pulled up again, a few strands pulling loose from how quickly she rushed it.

I’m going to punch through my jeans.