Page 4 of Kissing for Keeps
I would feel better if Amy railed at me and listed all the ways I failed her in those crucial moments, because both of us know I did. It wasmyjob to keep track of deadlines, including the financial filing one we missed; it wasmyjob to know her well enough to keep her out of situations I knew she couldn’t handle, but I ignored my intuition and persuaded her to do a debate she wasn’t ready for. That debate tanked our numbers right before voting.
I brush away the tears. It’s been four days since Amy conceded, but this is the first time I’ve let myself cry. Not that I’m letting myself. I just can’t stop it this time.
I type out my response: “I’m just so sorry.” At least, I hope that’s what it says. Given my blurry vision and the ever-threatening specter of autocorrect, it’s very possible I just sent her a death threat or something.
“Special delivery!”
I whip around at the voice, then whip right back, blinking quickly and using my fingers like windshield wipers to ensure there is no trace of my leakage. If there’s one thing I don’t do in front of Jack Allred, it’s cry.
2
JACK
I can barely seearound the sides of the box in my arms, but Siena’s sitting at the table in her small dining room, her closed laptop in front of her and her phone in her hands.
She doesn’t immediately respond to my greeting, but after a few seconds, she stands up and turns toward me. “Most delivery people knock or ring the doorbell, you know.”
I haven’t seen her in months, and she looks… different.
I grin. “Like I said, this is aspecialdelivery.”
She walks toward me, and the way her eyes shine and her cheeks are more pink than usual gives me pause. I don’t see her all that often, but she’s my sister’s best friend, and I know her well enough to say she’s not a crier.
“So special it’s hours early,” she says, coming up to take a look at the box. “Madi said 3:00.”
“Never had someone complain about an early delivery before.” I try to get a better look at her face, but she flips up the lids of the box so all I can see is the top of her dark hair. Her hair is triggering—it looks every bit as soft as it felt that night—so I move my gaze elsewhere. “There are more in the back of my truck.”
“Thank heaven!” She relaxes slightly. “You can set the box in the spare bedroom—down the hall and on the right. I’ll head to the truck for the others.” She glances at me, but before I can get a good look, she turns away and heads out the door.
I narrow my eyes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Siena Sheppard, it’s that she looks me in the eye. She’s almost impossible to embarrass, which I appreciate about her. In fact, I take it as a challenge.
I pass by the open front door and note the campaign sign for Amy Stewart in the yard. I know from the news that she lost in the primaries a few days ago. I also know from my mom that Siena was the campaign manager.
I set the box in the room. It’s far from the only one, and there are a couple of suitcases in there, too. I hurry out and through the front door. Siena’s in the truck bed, bending to lift the other two boxes.
“I got that,” I say, hopping up.
“No need.” She’s got an armful of boxes, making me look like a pansy for carrying just one. She peeks around the side and smiles sunnily at me. The traces of whatever crying I suspect she might have been doing when I arrived are gone.
I hop off the bed, resting my hand on the edge of the trailer. “What’s your strategy here?”
“Don’t even worry about it.” She sets the boxes down.
“It doesn’t make you any weaker to accept a little help, you know.”
She hops down so she’s right in front of my face. “And it doesn’t makeyouany less of a man to watch me carry a couple boxes.”
I flash a smile at her. “You afraid you’ll faint from the sheer sexiness of watching me carry them?”
“Terrified.” She scoops the boxes into her arms and starts toward the house.
I chuckle and follow her until she’s set the boxes next to the others in the spare room. From the doorway, I pull out my phone and take a picture of her amongst all the boxes.
She shoots me a weird look. “What are you doing?”
“Proof of delivery. It’s standard practice.”
“If you were a delivery driver, maybe. But you’re not.”
