Page 12 of Big Dill

He scrubs a hand over his face, jaw tight. “Hard,” he says between clenched teeth.

God. This pull. This electricity. How could my brother not have noticed it? I’m fairly certain his aunt had it all figured out the second she set eyes on us.

Hard.

Wait. Was he talking about pretending we didn’t know each other…or something else entirely?

My stomach does that swoopy, impossible thing again. My hands twitch like they want to reach for him, and suddenly every rational thought I had is scrambling for cover.

And Brody… He just stands there, dangerous and impossibly close, his scent, his presence—his complete awareness of my breathing—overwhelming me. I need sleep. Maybe that will help.

He jerks his thumb toward the door. “I, uh… should go.” He moves away.

His name tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Brody.”

He pauses, half-turned, and when he looks back, his eyes snag mine. There’s a flash of something—agony, yes, but it mingles with warmth, like the last curl of heat from a fire that’s almost gone out. It hits me square in the chest. He didn’t have to say yes to any of this. He didn’t have to open his newly launched pickleball social or his home to me. I insisted on teaching yoga for free to pay for my room and board, but he and Jaxon shut that down fast, insisting on paying me a salary.

A salary I absolutely do not deserve.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice a mere whisper. One dark eyebrow quirks. I wave vaguely at the room, at the house, at the whole situation. “For taking in a stray.”

I try for humor, but it doesn’t land. He drags his knuckles down the rough line of his jaw, thoughtful, then says, “I think you’re going to really like it here.” A beat. “You just have to be open to it.”

I snort. Loudly. “Open to what, exactly? The arctic tundra? Does anyone ever really get used to it?”

His frown is small but noticeable, and crap, did I insult him? Did I insult the town he grew up in and clearly loves? Or the concept of winter itself?

“I didn’t mean—ugh. Tired.” I press my fingers to my forehead. “I’m only here for a few months,” I add quickly, trying to smooth over my verbal disaster. I force enthusiasm into my voice. “But I’m sure there are things I’ll love.”

Sleeping under the same roof as Brody is not one of those things.

He nods, a low rumble in his throat. “If you need anything…”

Oh, I need a lot of things. None of them what he means.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your town tomorrow,” I say instead. “And meeting the rest of your family.”

That makes him grin—a small tug at the corner of his mouth that hits me with the force of a warm fireplace after a snowstorm.

“Dress warm,” he says.

I laugh, and my gaze follows him as he walks away. The way his muscles shift under his sweater is… criminal. He disappears through the door, pulling it closed behind him, and the room exhales with him.

I spin, close my eyes, and breathe deep. Slow in. Slow out. Because it feels like Brody’s presence vacuumed the oxygen straight out of the air, taking my sanity with it.

A door shuts down the hall. A dresser drawer slides open, then closed. Then I hear his voice. He’s on his phone. My God, he’s right there. One thin wall between us. One overprotective brother a flight of stairs below. The math is bleak.

No complications.

No complications.

No. Damn. Complications.

I repeat it like a mantra, as I stare at my bed.

Then knuckles rap against my door. My whole body tightens. My pulse trips.

“Can I come in?”