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Dean is handsome in a different way than Caleb is. He’s young and has a grit to his appearance that I find incredibly attractive. His dark hair is buzzed short, and he has sharp cheekbones and a sculpted jawline.
Where Caleb has life behind his eyes, it’s almost as if Dean has none, and it makes me want to bring him back to life. I want to uncover what he’s hiding behind those hooded, dark-blue irises.
“Are you getting settled in okay?” I ask.
He noticeably relaxes against the doorframe as he responds. “Yeah, took a nice long nap today, so I’m feeling a lot better.”
“That’s good,” I reply. “I’m sure you’ve had a really rough few days. How is your dad?” I add cordially.
His eyes glisten as if he appreciates me asking that.
“He’s doing well, thanks. He’s all settled in at the home.”
“Good,” I say. “I imagine that must have been hard on you.”
Something compels me to reach out and rest my hand over his in a comforting sort of way, but he instantly bristles at the touch, so I quickly pull away.
Why am I acting so strange?
His eyes glance toward the window of our house that leads to our bedroom.
“Well, I should?—”
“Can’t sleep?” he asks, cutting me off.
“No,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m always such a night owl. I think it comes with being a mom. These late hours are all I really get to myself, and I’ll pay for it in the morning.”
His expression lights up with interest.
“What do you like to do?” he asks in a slow, almost sultry tone.
“Um,” I stammer, “mostly watch TV. Maybe scroll on my phone. You know, brainless stuff.”
“Me too,” he replies cheekily.
Then he steps away from the doorframe, letting it open and reveal the small apartment where the television is playing.
“Would you like to come in? Maybe watch a show with me?”
I know I shouldn’t.
My mouth even opens to utter those words.No, thank you. I should get back to bed.
But I don’t.
I mean, what’s the harm? I could use the company. It’s just watching a show. And I’d like to get to know our new tenant, this mysterious old friend of Caleb’s brother. Maybe if I know more about him, I can help defend his character to my husband, who seems so set on his ways of distrusting him.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” I reply nonchalantly.
“Of course not,” he chuckles.
As he steps back from the doorframe, allowing me access to the apartment, I squeeze in carefully to avoid brushing against his chest.
“Make yourself at home,” he says with a half smile.
“What are you watching?” I ask as I make my way toward the couch.
“Ah, just some oldFriendsreruns.”
