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“Minor details,” he says, laughing. “Aunt Faye can tell you all about it sometime. From what I know, a doctor from Saint Paul moved here and had the place built originally. His private residence was on the ground floor and the upper level had the patient rooms. You know that old dumbwaiter Aunt Faye always had in her kitchen? They used that to send food up and down to the patients.”
“You’re killing me!” I clutch at the ends of my hair and he laughs. Excitement fills me, but then I wonder if he’s teasing me. “Is this all true or are you just picking on me?”
“One hundred percent true.” He holds up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“Like you were a freaking Boy Scout,” I fling back, rolling my eyes.
I think he’s being honest, though.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know,” I say softly.
“You were too focused on beating Marty and me at croquet every time we went over there.”
“And I was pretty good at that game. You guys kinda sucked.” My chest fills with pride.
“Right. You cheated.”
“I did not!” I stare at him, horrified.
“Like hell. You did, and we let you. We were nice boys in those days,” he says numbly.
That could be true, and the heavy expression he’s wearing makes me laugh.
“You’re lucky I’m so impressed by your little fact-drop that I can’t be pissed. This is why I love this town. Just when I think I know everything, there’s a new surprise.”
“You’re a sucker for those, all right,” he says with a glance that almost makes me self-destruct.
Holy crap. Is he talking about the kiss?
If he is, a terrible, illogical part of me definitely wouldn’t mind a few more surprises like that.
The friendly chitchat continues as we head into town. I geek out at the little airplane cutouts hanging on every streetlamp down Main. Dallas, North Dakota is hand-painted on each one.
When your town shares names with a much bigger city, I guess it just has to invent its own lore. Ours revolves around Amelia Earhart more than ever these days.
Not long after Jonah Reed passed away, the whole town adopted his fun eccentricities, honoring our tenuous ties to the aviator, however questionable.
It’s a quick stop at the hardware shop. I like how West doesn’t linger to ogle every tool and let his eyes glass over with future projects. He’s in and out with his stuff and totally focused.
Then it’s on to Faye’s place.
Has my heartbeat slowed? Hell no.
I know. I get that I shouldn’t be losing my head and hoping that someday he might think of me as more than a friend again, but I can’t help it.
Those split-second looks become more longing, more heated, more tense with every mile.
“Do you think Faye would mind if I look around?” I ask as we pull in the driveway of the big house and park in front of the garage. Like a lot of old houses here, the double car garage isn’t attached to the house and was only added years after the home was built.
He reaches in the back seat and picks up the bags from the store while opening his door with his other hand.
“Not at all. Go roam to your heart’s content while I work on those locks,” he says.
Oh, God. Roam feels like a poor choice of words.
I’ll enjoy the house, yeah, but I know roaming something else would make me infinitely more content.
That kiss only feels more real as I climb out of the truck and follow him to the back door.
