Cross (The Gibson Boys 2.5)

Wearing a pair of grey jogging pants and a red t-shirt, he looks tall and lean and as broad as the shed. A darkened spot between his shoulder blades flexes and pulls as he works the cable. The fabric pulls tight along his muscles, giving me an idea of their definition and making my knees weak.

He turns around abruptly, catching us both off guard.

“Hey,” he says, stopping in his tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

There’s a smile that flashes briefly, but it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies. “I’m not here to bother you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Cross…” A lump takes root in my throat as I step across the soft grass. Sitting on top of the picnic table, I look at him still standing by the shed, just a few feet away.

So many summers we hung out back here in a swimming pool that’s since been removed. We played badminton when I went through an obsessive stage with that game and watched the fireworks from a big trampoline we sold in a yard sale the summer before I left.

Our first kiss took place back here under the oak tree, and we buried Fluffy, my poodle, together near the back fence.

All of this hits me like a flood as my gaze locks with his, and when he speaks, the tone of his voice makes me think maybe it hit him too.

“I take your mom’s trash to the road every week. While I’m here, I do some odds and ends I see she needs done. It’s not a big deal,” he says softly.

My heart slams against my ribcage, knocking the wind out of me. “You do? Since when?”

“I’ve done this for a long time, Kallie. It’s no big deal.”

“But…why? Why would you do this?”

His shoulders rise and fall. He rocks back on his heels, twisting his lips together. “What does it matter?”

“I had no idea,” I say, forcing a swallow.

“I asked her not to tell you.” He heads toward the gate, taking a curved path so he doesn’t get too close to me.

“Cross, wait,” I say, jumping off the table. The words are out of my mouth before I even know I’ve said them, and I have no idea what to follow them up with. There are so many things in my brain competing for a chance to roll off my tongue, and I know I better weigh them all carefully before I choose a thought I don’t want shared.

He turns to face me, his brows lifted toward the sky. “What?”

Sucking in a breath, I plead with my brain to use the right filter and go for it. “Thank you.”

He averts his jade eyes, settling his gaze somewhere in the distance. I take the opportunity to study him without the usual glare of a computer screen.

His jawline is more defined, the angle visible even under the day-old scruff. His lashes are thicker and darker, outlining the set of eyes that seem to have seen so much and, when they turn back to find mine, it causes me to jump. He tries not to notice, but his sly smile gives it away.

“Sorry,” I grumble, fiddling with a strand of hair.

“Let’s flip the script for a minute and you tell me why you moved back to Linton.”

Clearing my throat, I pause. “Well, my old boss seems to be heading to jail for a while. Skylar moved away so Mom was alone, and it’s easier to start again here than in Indy.”

He doesn’t blink.

“What?” I ask, furrowing a brow at his lack of a reaction.

“Just waiting for you to tell the truth.”

“Um, I did.” On instinct, I tilt my head at him, annoyed.

“Uh, ya didn’t.”

“Whatever,” I huff, walking away from him. I stop at the fence and look over the top at the setting sun, feeling a little peace fall over me. The sky is painted a beautiful mosaic of pinks and purples, like a painting done by a master artist. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

His hand touches the small of my back as he steps beside me. Suddenly, the sky isn’t on my radar anymore. All I can focus on is how his hand feels on me, how every nerve is acutely aware of his presence and the pull of his body on mine.

“It is beautiful out here tonight,” he says softly, “and the sky is pretty too.”

My cheeks flush as I look at him. “You really can turn on that charm, huh?”

“I don’t try it too often, but I’m hoping it works out for me today.”

“Why are you helping my mom, Cross?”

“Well, the way I see it,” he says, leaning on the rail, “she took care of me for a lot of years when I needed it. She hemmed my baseball pants, went to bat for me when Mr. Varian suspended me my junior year…and how many nights did she have something hot and ready for me to eat after practice?”