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“And if that doesn’t work, I’ve got years of pent-up only-child longing. If they start talking trash, I’m not above dishing out some sibling mischief.”
His brows slide together as a smile flirts with his lips. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“They better be ready for the gambit.” I tick off my fingers. “I’m talking wet willies, noogies, ear flicking, and if necessary, a good old-fashioned pantsing.”
Shane’s eyes grow large.
“You’ll pants my brother at his own wedding?”
“If he’s messing with you? Yes.”
Shane shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re…”
“Scrappier than you expected? Little but fierce? Not afraid to put up my dukes?” I thumb my nose before playfully putting up my fists.
The wide smile overtaking Shane’s face hits me square in the chest.
“Absolutely wonderful.”
My heart vaults into my throat as my brain short circuits. It crashes hard, sputters for two seconds, and struggles to reboot. Shane smiling at me like that before calling me wonderful is simply too much to process.
Add in the fact that he looks ridiculously gorgeous in his black jeans and another one of those fitted Henleys with the sleeves pushed up just enough that his tattoos almost feel like a tease. Also, did I mention the top button is undone?
It’s maddening.
All I want is to dip my fingers into the slight notch between his collarbones. But if I do that, I’ll end up climbing over the center console and kissing him. The last thing Shane needs after opening up about his family is me mauling him.
Like a cosmic gift, the rain clears, and a beam of sunshine refracts through the windshield.
“Oh, look at that. The rain stopped.”
Before Shane can say anything, I launch myself at the passenger door, flinging it open and barely getting my feet beneath me before I splatter on the soaked pavement.
“You coming?”
After grabbing my purse out of the footwell, I force a smile and bolt toward the store.
Chapter 20
Shane
My palm runs down my face, watching Willow race inside the quaint shop. She was in such a hurry to get away from me that she left the passenger door gaping open. Willow practically levitated into the antique store; she was moving that fast. Sparse raindrops hit my head as I step out, shut her door, and wrestle with the disappointment clogging my veins.
I did the wrong thing somehow.
I was trying to…I don’t know, be less of an impenetrable fortress. Tell the truth, maybe? I wanted Willow to know how unbelievably incredible she is, but I botched it. If I’d gotten it right, she wouldn’t have bolted.
My lips twist in a scowl, and then, as a bell tinkles while I open the door to the store, I can’t hold back my groan.
This place is a hoarder’s fever dream. Everything is stacked on top of everything else, like the owner is playing a dangerous game of antique Jenga. Hoards of chipped porcelain lean against yellowed books while old clocks and faded paintings cover every square inch of wall space. The aisles are so narrow I have to shuffle through sideways so I don’t knock anything over.
Meanwhile, Willow practically skips up to a counter buried halfway to the back.
“Hello, Mr. Fields. How are you doing?”
I don’t see anyone, but knowing Willow, she could be speaking to the frog figurine beside the ancient cash register. Meanwhile, scents of mildew and dust jockey for position in my nostrils.
“Better now that you’re here,” a scratchy voice sounds from behind a bookshelf.
