Page 63 of Holding On To Good

He’d always wondered.

But he’d taught himself to keep those wonderings, his attraction to her, under control. Hidden so deep they might as well have been nonexistent.

Until that sloppy, drunk, harmless kiss opened the door to everything he’d felt for her for so long.

Everything he needed to keep locked away.

And when he’d found her in his driveway in a pair of pink shorts showcasing her pale, slim legs, and a flowy, multicolored shirt with short, frilly sleeves, the sun catching the almost white strands threaded through her short, wavy hair, that door had flung open wide.

“Whatever happened between you two,” Toby said the moment Urban shut the water off, “must’ve been really good—or really bad—if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said as Verity came in through the French doors, “because there’s nothing to talk about.”

Toby slapped Urban’s shoulder. Hard. “If you say so, man.”

“Ian and I are heading out,” Verity said, setting the leftover napkins on the counter then turning to Toby. “You need to move your Jeep.”

“If you learned how to drive a stick shift, you could move it yourself.”

“Please. The only reason you got a standard transmission is so I won’t bug you to borrow your precious.”

Toby shrugged. “True. Have Miles move it for you.”

“He got called into work.” Verity reached up and took her hairband out, shook her head then combed her fingers through her hair. “Three-car accident on the highway.”

The door opened again. This time Ian raced inside and pushed a stool from the bar to the sink next to Urban and climbed onto it.

“I’m supposed to wash my hands,” he said with a glance at Verity. “Again.”

“Women,” Urban said in sympathy.

Ian sighed and nodded.

Urban squirted soap onto Ian’s hands then turned, catching Toby’s thoughtful frown as he stared out the French doors to Willow sitting on the patio. Then he grinned, his eyes gleaming as if he’d just had a brilliant idea.

Whatever Toby was thinking, Urban was pretty sure he’d have to kill him for it.

“I’ll get ice cream with you,” Toby said. “I’ve got a sudden craving for a hot fudge sundae.”

Urban narrowed his eyes. If Miles was gone and Toby went with Ian and Verity…

Urban’s gaze flicked to the patio.

Oh, hell no.

“You are a dead man,” he told his brother in an undertone.

Unrepentant and unafraid, Toby’s grin widened.

“You made panna cotta,” Verity reminded Toby, gathering her hair once more and putting it back up in a messy bun.

“It’s not the same without the caramel sauce. Plus, this will ensure you don’t make any unsanctioned side trips.”

She huffed out a breath. “Just put an ankle monitor on me, why don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t suggest that around Miles,” Toby said.

“No kidding. He probably already has one ready and waiting for me. Custom-made.” She gave her hair a final tug then dropped her arms. “If you’re coming, then you’re buying. And we’re riding with the top down.”

---