Page 50 of Most Likely to Fear Love

The answer simmered at the back of my mind, too dangerous to fully acknowledge.

I smoothed my hair and hurried back to the living room, hoping to appear calm, cool, and not at all like I’d been in the middle of a minor existential crisis moments ago.

The low rumble of Harle’s truck drifted through the open window, and I froze, my heart pounding like a gavel against my ribs. He was here.

I crept to the window, peeking out from behind the curtain. There he was, climbing out of the truck with effortless grace. A takeout bag dangled from one hand, a six-pack of beer from the other. The golden light of the setting sun caught on his shoulders, broad and sturdy. He honestly had the sexiest walk I’d ever seen.

Why does he have to look like that?I sighed, shaking my head.

He moved up the path, his boots heavy on the steps. When he reached the door and rang the bell, I jumped, my nerves jangling.

I needed a second to pull it together.Okay, Cassidy, just act normal.

I counted to ten in my head, slowly and deliberately, willing the butterflies in my stomach to calm down. By the time I opened the door, I was aiming for cool and collected, like I hadn’t been standing there analyzing the way his jeans hugged his legs.

“Hey.” I leaned casually against the doorframe. At least, I hoped it looked casual. Turns out the butterflies were at a fucking rave.

“Hey,” Harle replied, his lips tugging into that easy grin that always messed with my ability to form coherent thoughts.

My eyes darted to the bag in his hand. “So, spare burger and fries, huh?”

“Only the finest cuisine for you,” he teased, holding it up.

I stepped aside to let him in, the familiar scent of leather and aftershave brushing past me as he walked through the door. My pulse quickened, but I plastered on a smile and forced myself to focus on anything but the way my body reacted to his presence.

I followed Harle into the kitchen, and yeah, of course I checked out his ass. Who wouldn’t? He gestured to the table.

“Sit. I’ve got this.”

I sank into a chair, resting my hands on the smooth surface of the table to keep from fidgeting. Harle set the takeout bag on the counter, unpacking it methodically, as if he was in no rush at all. I envied that calm, the way he didn’t seem to overthink anything. If only he could bottle that up and sell it, he’d be a millionaire.

He brought the food to the table and slid into the chair next to me, close enough that our thighs brushed. The heat of his leg seeped through my jeans, making me hyper-aware of every shift he made.

He reached for one of the bottles from the six-pack, held it up silently, and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Yes, please,” At least my voice sounded steadier than I expected. Or than I felt.

He popped the cap off with a flick of his wrist, the faint hiss of carbonation breaking the silence. When he held the bottle out, I reached for it, but he didn’t let go.

My gaze darted up to meet his, and the weight of his stare hit me like a physical force. He studied me, his blue eyes probing,curious but not unkind. My fingers tightened slightly around the cool glass, but he didn’t move, didn’t break the tension that crackled in the small space between us.

After a long moment, he seemed to find what he was looking for because he let go of the bottle. The corners of his mouth quirked up in a barely-there smile, before he turned his attention to the fries.

He plucked one from the container, popped it into his mouth, and chewed like nothing unusual had just happened. Meanwhile, I sat there, clutching the beer bottle like it was a lifeline, wondering if I was imagining the electricity in the air.

“Anything good happen this week?” He asked.

Oh good, keeping it light and casual, intense stares notwithstanding. “Yes, actually.”

“Tell me.”

“We got funding for the wildlife rehab center I was telling you about.”

“Did you now? Well, that’s amazing.”

“It really is. An anonymous donor and the full amount they needed, no less.

“Wow.”

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