Page 16 of Craving Francesca

“We’re halfway down the block.” I pointed to the little blue house.

“And across the street,” she added. “It’s weird.”

“You’re going to love it.”

“What if Cian is boring?” she asked, threading her arm through mine. “You know he’s not going to go thrifting with me.”

“Then you’ll walk over and ask us,” Lou replied.

“Or call,” I said, bumping Myla with my hip. “There are these things we have called phones.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled. “Let me feel my feelings.”

“What are feelings?” I deadpanned.

Lou and Myla went straight to the kitchen, but I ambled through the house when we got there. We were going to need a dining room table at some point and little things like a garbage can and cleaning supplies, but our home was taking shape. Once all of the boxes were unpacked and the couch took up the huge empty space in the living room, it would feel real.

I’d never liked moving. We’d done it so often when I was a kid that nowhere had ever really felt like home until I’d moved in with Myla and Lou. I loved my dad, and he’d done his best—but his best hadn’t been great. We’d always stayed in the same school district, thankfully, but we’d moved every year or two my entire childhood.

Setting my bag on top of my dresser, I walked slowly through my room. The guys had set up my bed on the wall across from the doors that led to my bathroom and closet, and it looked great there. The wall opposite the bedroom door had two big windows that already had blinds installed, thanks to Tommy. Before anything else, I walked over and made sure they were locked. You could never be too careful living on the ground floor.

I’d painted the walls a warm cream color, almost almond, and it looked incredible with my vintage furniture. Once I’d hung the artwork I’d collected over the years and unpacked all of my things, the room would look just how I’d pictured it.

The boys had put most of my boxes in the walk-in closet, so they’d be out of the way when they moved the furniture, but someone had put my garbage bag of bedding on the shelf, so it was easy to find. I pulled it down as I listened to Lou and Myla laughing in the kitchen.

I teased Myla about being anxious we’d moved out, but I understood it. Things were going to be strange for a while. We’d been living together since college and spending most nights together at Lou or Myla’s houses all through middle school and high school. It was weird to split up.

I lugged the bedding over to the bed, and I was halfway through putting the bottom sheet on when Gray stepped into my bedroom.

“Brought the couch over,” he announced, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Without asking, he tugged on the sheet and tucked the corners around the mattress.

“Thanks for the help today. You didn’t have to pitch in.” Every time I saw him, I hoped I’d notice something that would put me off, but there was never anything that did. He was just as hot today as he’d been that night at the clubhouse.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked curiously as I unfolded the top sheet and threw it out over the bed.

“Why would you?” I countered.

“Many hands make light work,” he said easily, catching the opposite side of the sheet so he could help me center it.

“You don’t have to help me make the bed, too,” I joked halfheartedly. “I can easily do this myself.”

Gray shrugged. “I was already standin’ there.”

“Okay,” I said with a sigh, straightening. “Why are you in here?”

“What?”

“Why are you in here making my bed? Why did you help us move? What is this?” I wasn’t interested in playing little games or playing the will-they-won’t-they game. We’d watched Cian and Myla do it for years, and it had been frustrating for everyone, not just the two of them.

Gray just looked at me.

“What?” I snapped. “Speak.”

He squared his shoulders and gave his head a little shake. “Helped you move because Brody was roundin’ up people at the shop, and I happened to be there. Didn’t have plans, so I thought, what the hell? I’ll skip my workout and carry some furniture. Makin’ the bed because I was here, and I was taught that just standin’ there when someone’s makin’ a bed is rude.”

“Oh,” I muttered quietly.

“I forget how young you are,” he said with a short chuckle.

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