Page 81 of Peaks and Promises

I stepped away from Reese, and he cleared his throat. Paul didn’t seem to notice.

“Smells good.” He went to the sink and started washing his hands.

“I didn’t know you were home,” Reese said. “Sorry, I would have made more.”

“I’ll eat later.” He dried his hands on a towel and with a quick nod at me, left the kitchen, heading for the master bedroom.

Reese put some food on a plate and nodded toward the dining table. There was nothing in his expression to indicate he was flustered. Unlike me. For a second, it had felt like he’d been about to kiss me.

But maybe not. Maybe I’d imagined it. Wishful thinking.

I dished up and took my plate to the table. Whatever was going on with Reese—if anything—I needed to stay cautious. Pretending to be married to hide from Axel was one thing. Bringing someone into my life for real was quite another.

I’d already trusted Reese with so much. I didn’t want to make the mistake of trusting him too far.

CHAPTER 18

Reese

Talk about a close call. I’d almost lost my mind and kissed Summer in my parents’ kitchen.

And yet, as we sat together eating dinner, I wondered…

What was really holding me back?

I was usually good at reading people, and that look she’d given me—eyes on mine, lips parted—at least hinted at a yes. It might have even meant she’d wanted me to kiss her.

So why not just do it?

Too many reasons to count.

She insisted on cleaning up the kitchen. The trash was full, so while she got started on the dishes, I took it outside. I needed to put some space between us.

I put the bag in the garbage can, and as the lid banged shut, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out to check.

Gunnar.

Finally.

“Hey,” I answered.

“Hey, man. Sorry it took me a few days to get over here. My last client took longer to wrap up than expected.”

“No worries. Did you just get there, or is their stuff packed up already?”

“Just got here, but we have a problem.”

“What?”

“I’m sending you pictures.”

I put him on speaker while the pictures came through. Summer’s apartment had been trashed. The furniture was slashed and shredded, their belongings dumped on the floor. It looked like the cupboards had been emptied, her dishes smashed. And the word “whore” was spray-painted on her bedroom wall. It wasn’t a stretch to figure out who’d used her apartment as a rage room.

“Fuck,” I said under my breath, and started pacing up and down the gravel path leading to my dad’s shop.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t get her stuff out of here sooner.”

“It’s not your fault.”