Page 112 of Mess With Me

She circles something on her list—which I know is all the materials we’re going to need to fix his porch—then taps her pen against her plump bottom lip. I’m getting to know that when Sasha gets something on her mind, she gets laser focused. I love that about her, even if I don’t want it to be true right now, because God help me, even her checking off lists is sexy.

She stands up, coming over to the coffeepot beside me with her empty mug. It’s still brewing, so she sets her mug on the counter next to mine. I can tell she’s still thinking about Chester. “Getting old must be hard.” She looks at me. “What’s it like?”

I grumble, then hook my arm around her waist and pull her toward me.

It feels good to forget about everything hard in the world.

Shefeels like a good way to forget.

I lift her up off her feet. “I’m barely six years older than you, woman.”

She giggles, wrapping her legs around my waist. “Exactly. A whole child.”

I open my mouth to give her a piece of my mind, but my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I groan, hating that I’m going to have to let go of her to get it. “I wish I was in a line of work where I could ignore calls.”

“That’s okay,” she says. Then, before I can process what she’s doing, she reaches under her leg and slips her hand into my pocket. “Got it,” she says, handing it over.

Or at least, she aims it at me, but she doesn’t let go.

I spot it at the same time Sasha does. She’s got the phone facing her. It’s Cass calling, which should make me relieved, since it’s not Ford again.

But it’s not the name that has Sasha going silent. There on my lock screen is that photo she sent me of her and my niece.

Heat rushes up my neck, right into my cheeks.

“You saved it?”

I try to set her down, but she clings tight, still staring at the photo.

“Why not?” I say defensively. “It’s cute.”

“You don’t like babies.”

“I likethatbaby.”

“So that’s why you have our picture on your phone?”

My eyes meet hers, my mouth suddenly dry. The phone stops buzzing. One missed call from Cass, it says in a little box on the screen.

“Give me that,” I grumble, taking the phone away from her as I lower her onto her feet.

She’s smirking at me, and I want to kiss it right off her face.

But the coffee sounds stop and she looks toward the machine.

“Do you have any travel mugs?” she asks softly.

I turn around to the cupboard. But my hand’s almost shaking as I pull the mugs down.

Because I know now it’s impossible for me to keep my feelings out of what Sasha and I have. It’s no longer possible to be around her and pretend I don’t care about her more than any other client. That night when I came home from the city, I tried my very fucking best to stay away from her. Then I folded like a fucking cheap lawn chair.

So a few minutes later, as we put on our shoes and walk along the forest path over to Chester’s place, coffee in hand, I watch the way Sasha’s hair dances across her back as she laughs. I let myself fall into the joy of her happy teasing.

I let myself feel. I let myself, for the first time without resistance, imagine a future with Sasha, as terrifying as having that kind of hope is.

Because getting wrapped up in Sasha is the only thing that mostly keeps my mind off the danger outside this town.

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