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“Excuse me.”
One of the twins, his voice threaded with humor. She stepped back, already sensing sweat on her back, just from that moment of effort. She felt like an idiot.
Especially when he hooked his hands under two bags and lifted them against his chest.
“Showoff,” she said.
He shook the hair off his forehead. “Maybe you could go in the kitchen and bake us some cookies or something.”
“Shut up.”
He gave her a wicked grin over his shoulder. “Just saying.”
Then Chris was back, grabbing another bag for himself. “Come on. Gabriel will rag on you all day if you let him.”
How does he tell them apart?
He let her walk in silence until he dumped his bag. Then he stood on the side of the flatbed and looked down at her.
“Becca?”
She had to give him some reason for being here. “I ... ah ... thought we should talk about the project.”
His brow furrowed. “For History?”
Yeah, it sounded lame to her, too. “I didn’t have your number, so I thought maybe—”
He pointed at the side of the truck. “It’s the same as the business number. I’ll write it down for you, or you can just Google it—”
“Chris!” Michael had a clipboard in one hand now.
Chris swore under his breath and gave his brother a scathing look. “Would you give it a rest—”
“I’m supposed to lay a flagstone patio by sundown. Move.”
“I’ll go.” Becca tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced quickly at Michael. “We can talk on Monday.”
Chris shifted closer to her. “He can wait one minute.” He studied her face, and his voice dropped. “Tell me what you really came to say.”
ew back, putting distance between them. “Loud and clear, Becca.”
She’d pushed too far. She could read it on his face, the steady tension that made his eyes hard while he studied the wall behind the cash registers. He didn’t say anything further, and her comment hung in the air between them.
Not like she’d take it back.
But now she squirmed while he stood like a statue, waiting for the guy to return to the counter. When her dad ran his card through the machine, she swallowed, watching the triple-digit number flash on the register.
She jerked her eyes away and took the phone from the salesman, burying it in her sweatshirt pocket, running her thumb over the smooth newness of the keys.
They made it all the way out of the store before she chanced a look up at her father.
“Thanks,” she said, and her voice was soft in the general cacophony of the crowded mall aisle.
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t look at her, but some of that tension seemed to have dissipated. “Rocky Run for lunch?”
His voice seemed uncertain again, like maybe he suspected she’d bail on his earlier lunch invitation.
Becca tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Okay.”
