Page 75 of Long Shot

“With Jack.”

“You really want to make sure I bring him.”

“Yeah. I kinda like the dude. And he likes me.”

I smile. Jack does like Cade. Why not? He takes him in the ocean and lets him swim and gives him treats. The weird thing is . . . that all makes me like Cade, too.

16

REESE

Cade doesn’t live far from me, on Law Street, but Jack and I drive there since it’s drizzling. His house is a big concrete rectangle, very modern and simple, with no front yard really, just a driveway to a double garage. Jack and I climb concrete steps to the front door and I ring the bell.

Cade opens the door almost immediately. “Hey. You’re here. Come in.”

He looks so good—relaxed and at ease, wearing a long-sleeved navy blue Henley shirt that hugs his biceps and broad chest, loose faded jeans and—I sigh inwardly—bare feet. Gah.

He steps aside and Jack and I enter a small foyer.

He closes the door and moves around me, surprising me by bending and brushing a kiss over my mouth. My lips tingle and part, and my breath catches in my throat.

“Hi.” He smiles into my eyes.

“H-hi.”

“What have you got here?” He takes the shopping bags I carry.

“I couldn’t come empty-handed. I brought wine and some snacks. I made a cranberry relish. And dessert. Okay to let Jack off the leash?”

“Of course.”

I bend and unclip him, then look around as I follow Cade up a short set of shiny oak steps and into a great room. The house is equally simple inside, with white walls, gleaming oak floors, two sets of sliding doors that lead to what appears to be a wraparound balcony with a small but tidy yard beyond that, and a sleek galley kitchen open to the rest of the room. The scent of roasting chicken fills the air. The white counter is covered with dishes and food. A small dining table—white, of course—is already set with place mats, dishes, and cutlery, a small orange pumpkin acting as a centerpiece.

“I brought a water dish for Jack,” I say. “It’s in one of those bags.”

“Here it is.” Cade moves to the sink to fill it and set it on the floor.

Jack’s nose is in the air sniffing, the chicken aroma no doubt tempting him. He pads over to the big beige leather sectional in the corner of the room, sniffs around a couple of tub chairs and a square coffee table. Facing the sectional, mounted on the interior wall, is a big-screen TV with a football game playing.

I turn back to Cade. “I like your house.”

“Thanks. I can show you the rest of it. But first, how about a glass of wine?”

“That would be great.”

He moves to the fridge. “Red or white?”

I step over beside him and he straightens, holding a bottle in each hand. “Are you having some?”

“I’m going to have a beer. I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner.”

I inspect the label, not recognizing either of them, but I love a good Chardonnay. “White, please.”

When he’s poured me a glass and opened a beer for himself, he leads me on a tour. On that level is a laundry room and a room he uses as an office. Then we climb more shiny oak stairs to a second level where there are three bedrooms and a generous bathroom. Up here, the walls are the same clean white, windows all with white Venetian blinds and the floor the same polished oak. Two of the bedrooms are nearly empty, one containing only a double bed, the other some boxes. The master bedroom has simple oak furniture and a king-size bed.

“It’s lovely. So much light.”

“Thanks. From up here, you can see the ocean. Come on.” He leads the way across the bedroom to sliding doors onto yet another balcony. “Too bad it’s kind of gloomy today, though.”

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