Page 20 of Until Then

“Now you have no excuse.”

I unlock the device and scan the text she sent: The address, along with a list of foodsnotto bring—staunchly vetoed by Glenda. Good ole Glenda. I’ve missed that crazy lady.

On instinct, I open Instagram and take a photo of my mealfor my story—excluding the salad I already dug into. Before I post the image, though, I hesitate. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, and despite my newfound haters, I do try to upload photos and stories periodically so the people who follow me and actually care know I’m still around. So with a deep breath, I post it to my story—making sure not to tag my location or the restaurant.

Then, before the messages can roll in, I put my phone away.

“Do you have to pay Derrick rent or anything?”

“Huh?” I say stupidly. The question catches me off guard. I haven’t even considered it.Shit. I should have offered. “No. I mean, he didn’t mention anything about it.”

“He’s a nice guy,” she continues. “He probably doesn’t want you to anyway. I was just curious.”

Suddenly anxious and frustrated with myself, I nibble on the end of a fry and change the subject. I’ll come back to it later. When I’m alone. “How are things with him and the whole you and Reid situation? Still awkward?”

Via twists her lips. “It’s fine, I suppose. But I’ll probably always feel a little awkward about it.”

She gives me a pointed look. The same one she always gives me when she wants to silently remind me that I’m partly at fault in the situation. But how was I supposed to know that Derrick was the father of the guy she’d hooked up with?

After lunch, Via heads back to her store, and I continue on wandering through town. I stop off at the bookshop where Via’s friend Ella works and pick up a stack of romance novels. For decades, Ella’s grandpa owned and ran the store. When she took over, her grandfather was adamant that they not sell romance, so she hid her inventory in a closet and made secret sales. After the older man passed away, Ella transformed thestore, and now every shelf is bursting with romantic literature.

When I get back to my rental car, I pull out the collapsible water bowl I carry with me and let Wonton drink. Then I strap him in his carrier and buckle him in.

Already, it’s after three, so it’s time to head back to Derrick’s house and start dinner.

Is Derrick a fan of salmon? I hope so.

When I pull in, Derrick’s truck is in the driveway, which is surprising. The guy works all the time, from what I hear. I ease my car in beside his, already thinking about how I’ll get all my things into the house without making more than a trip or two. I step out of the car, but before I can grab even a single bag, I freeze.

Derrick is mowing the yard.

Shirtless.

He’s pushing the lawnmower toward me, oblivious to my presence. A pair of big headphones sits over his ears, and his lips move along with the music he’s listening to. His chest is bare, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat.

All the air leaves my lungs.

I’m not oblivious to Derrick’s good looks. I’m human, after all. But the sight of him sweaty and half naked like this has me squeezing my thighs together.

It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I last had sex.

That’s got to be why I’m reacting like this.

Right?

I quickly avert my gaze, then whip around to get Wonton from his carrier before he catches me drooling over him. Without bothering with my books or other goodies, I take Wonton inside.

I’ve come back out and loaded my arms with mypurchases, and I’ve almost made it back to the front door, when he shuts the lawnmower off and yanks his headphones off.

“Hey,” he says, that deep timbre only encouraging whatever is going on between my legs. “I was thinking we could order pizza for dinner. How does that sound?”

“Uh…” I swallow, searching for words. “I-I was going to make salmon.”

He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Pizza. There’s a magnet on the fridge with the name and website. Look up their menu and see what you like, and I’ll order when I’m done.”

Under normal circumstances, I would argue with him, remind him that salmon is the healthier choice and tell him he can forget about his pizza. But his shirtless state has rendered me mute.

So I simply nod and scurry inside like a little mouse. One who peeks out the window, watching the way the muscles in his torso and arms flex when he restarts the mower.

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