Easy Melody (Boudreaux 3)

“So you’re not seeing each other?”

“We’re friends,” I reply, making sure Adam knows that the subject is closed.

I didn’t lie. Declan has been nothing but a complete gentleman in the past few weeks, just chatting with me about our days as he walks me to my car.

The fact that I keep parking just a little farther away each day is something that I’ll deny until I take my last breath.

I walk around the bar to where Declan’s sitting.

“Hey, friend, can I get you anything?” I smile, but I’m cringing on the inside. Friend. Even though it’s true, why does it feel wrong?

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head and offers me a smile, but his eyes look tired. “I’ll just wait here.”

“I can bring you a water if you like,” I offer, but he simply shakes his head again, so I nudge his shoulder with mine playfully. “Hey, you okay?”

“Of course.” He nods again, so I return to the bar and help Adam with the last of the clean up and shoo out the few remaining patrons.

Finally, I slip into the back office to grab my handbag and check my hair in the mirror, then join Declan. “I’m ready.”

He waits for me to lock the door, and then we set off down the sidewalk.

“How was your day?” I ask, as I always do.

“I can’t complain,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. Silence falls between us, and I frown up at him, confused. Something’s wrong.

“Well, my day was just dandy, thanks for asking.” He smirks, but still won’t look me in the eye. “I had to have a plumber come in to look at a toilet in the men’s room because some idiot tried to flush his pants last night. My wine order didn’t come in; it was routed to freaking Delaware for some reason that only God knows.”

“Sounds like a busy day,” Declan says. I don’t know what else to say, so we walk a couple blocks in silence. It’s getting cooler at night now, thankfully giving us a break from the blistering heat of summer. There’s a breeze blowing through the trees. Any other night, I would say that it was lovely.

If I said words like lovely.

But tonight I’m just irritated. Finally, I pull Declan to a stop, grip his arm, and turn him toward me so I can look him in the eye. “Fuck this. Spill it. What in the hell is eating at you?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, but I shake my head vigorously no.

“No, you’re not. You’re sad or angry or something. If you don’t want to walk me to my car, it’s okay. It won’t hurt my feelings if you tell me you don’t want to do it anymore.”

Except it might hurt my feelings a little.

“It’s not that at all. I’m usually working near here anyway, so this isn’t out of my way.” He sighs and wipes his hand down his handsome face, and then he pins me in that whiskey-gold gaze of his. “Okay, I’ve been wanting to ask you to come to the house and give me some help. I want to spend the day with you tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

“Okay.” I frown up at him, completely confused. “Why does that make you mad?”

“Because I’m fucking nervous as hell, and I don’t get nervous, Callie.” He chuckles and paces away two steps and then back again. “Because I don’t know how you’ll take it when I ask, and I really just want to enjoy your company in my house tomorrow. That simple.”

“Sounds good,” I reply with a smile. “Is ten in the morning okay? Given how late it is now, I’d like to get a little sleep.”

“That works,” he replies and sighs, and then breaks out into a laugh. “That was way easier than I thought it was going to be. I thought I’d have to really do some fast talking.”

“I’ve wanted to get my hands on your house since I first saw it,” I remind him. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since I first saw you too.

Damn Declan for being so damn hot.

“Well, there are two rooms that I don’t know what to do with, and I figure you’ll have some ideas.” He opens my door as we approach my car, and I lower myself inside before I do something stupid like lean in and kiss him.

We’re friends.

“I’ll come up with something awesome,” I assure him. “See you tomorrow morning.”

***

Declan opens the door at exactly ten o’clock sharp and my mouth goes dry. Why, for the love of the baby Jesus, is he shirtless?

“Are you early?” he asks, eyeing the coffees in my hands and the bag full of bagels and cream cheese. “And is that food?”

“No and yes,” I reply and shove past him before I start to drool. “I’m right on time. And this is breakfast.” He follows me into the kitchen and reaches out to help me, but I wave him away. “Shouldn’t you go put a shirt on?”

Please, God, go put a fucking shirt on.

“You don’t like me like this?” he asks with a teasing smile. When I simply stare at him, he shrugs. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

As he jogs up the stairs, two at a time, I divvy up the bagels and coffees, and lean against the island counter as I nibble my plain bagel with jalapeño cream cheese and give myself a pep talk to forget Declan’s almost nakedness.

He’s a friend. Just a friend. You’ve seen him shirtless before. Get over it.

“It smells great,” he says as he rejoins me, in a flannel button-down this time, and digs in to his bagel. “Sorry, I overslept.”

“It’s okay.” I can’t help but watch his jaw work as he chews, the muscles flexing in his neck, and I wish with all my heart that I’d worn underwear.