Page 31 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

“Sophie’s fault, I know.” He turns down the heat under the sauce, then faces me. “We had a lot of good moments that summer. Before I left.”

Something in his voice makes me look up. He’s watching me with an expression that sends a flutter through my chest—a mixture of regret and hope that makes my breath catch.

“I was thinking,” he says quietly, “about taking a drive out to the lake this weekend. After everything settles with Brighton’s claims. For old times’ sake.”

My heart skips—not just a flutter, but a full gymnastic routine.

The lake. Where we spent countless summer days throughout the years. Where he taught me to skip stones while I convinced him to appreciate cloud shapes. Where we had our first almost-kiss, interrupted by his father’s call. Where everything important between us seemed to happen.

The memory of that day remains crystal clear—two summers ago, just weeks before he left for New York. The afternoon sun warming my skin, water gently lapping against the shore, Lucas sitting close beside me on the dock. How he’d turned to say something and stopped, his eyes dropping to my lips. How slowly he’d leaned in, giving me time to pull away if I wanted. How I’d leaned in too, eyes fluttering closed, only to jump apart at the sound of his phone ringing with his father’s call. The awkward laugh we’d shared afterward, neither acknowledging what had almost happened.

“You should come,” he adds softly. “If you want. Away from the office, expectations... just us.”

“Is that a professional invitation, Mr. Walker?” But my voice trembles slightly.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Not even slightly, Emma.” He steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Though, if you want to bring your sustainability journals to discuss revolutionary energy solutions under the oak tree...”

“The same oak tree where you used to help me study when I was in high school?” I’m aiming for teasing, but it comes out breathless. “Very smooth.”

“I have my moments.” His thumb traces my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” I lean into his touch. “Though maybe this time we won’t let any phone calls interrupt.”

Understanding flashes in his eyes—he remembers that almost-kiss, too. The moment hangs between us, full of promise and possibility.

Before he can respond, Sophie’s voice carries from somewhere in the house:

“If you two are done making eyes at each other, dinner’s getting cold! And yes, I heard about the lake plans. Try not to fall in this time!”

We break apart laughing, but something has shifted. A promise of more moments like this, of chances to finish what we’ve started so many times. Of finally seeing where this connection leads when we don’t have professional boundaries or interrupting phone calls to stop us.

“Come on,” Lucas says, catching my hand. “Before she comes back with more commentary about our inability to maintain professional distance.”

I let him lead me to the dining table, my mind already at the lake. Where everything important happens.

Where maybe, finally, we’ll be brave enough to let it.

Chapter Eleven

Lucas

The week after Sophie’s dinner felt like the longest of my life.

At the office, we maintained our professional facade—careful distances in meetings, formal emails, proper titles. But beneath the surface, everything had changed. Now there were shared glances over coffee, fingers brushing when passing documents, and quiet smiles that promised more. Even Garrett’s constant hovering couldn’t dim the anticipation I felt whenever Emma walked into a room.

During meetings, I’d find myself watching her organize notes by color, noticing the slight furrow in her brow when concentrating. She’d catch my eye across the conference table, and a spark would pass between us, brief but electric. In aninstant, we’d both return to our professional roles, CEO and analyst, but something fundamental had shifted.

Saturday morning finally arrives, and as I pull up to Emma’s apartment, I feel a mix of excitement and nervousness that no business negotiation has ever triggered. The picnic basket Sophie insisted on packing sits in the back seat. “Because you two will forget to eat if left to your own devices,” she’d said with a knowing smirk. My hands tap restlessly against the steering wheel as I wait.

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, running a hand through my hair. I’ve faced hostile takeover attempts and negotiated billion-dollar contracts with less anxiety than I feel about this lake trip. Because this matters more. This isn’t about business strategies or corporate maneuvering – it’s about Emma and me, finally allowing ourselves to explore what’s been between us for years.

Emma appears on her front steps wearing a yellow sundress that catches the morning light. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and she’s carrying her shoes, bare feet padding down the walkway. She looks nothing like the polished analyst from yesterday’s board meeting. This is Emma as I remember her from summers past – relaxed, unguarded, ready for adventure.

She catches me watching her, and a blush rises to her cheeks as if she can read my thoughts. I step out of the car to greet her properly, opening the passenger door like my father taught me years ago.

“Hi,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat. Her smile carries a hint of shyness, acknowledging the shift from colleagues to whatever we’re becoming.

“Hi.” I resist the urge to kiss her, knowing if I start, we’ll never make it to the lake. “Ready for some stone skipping lessons?”

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