Page 39 of Wanted By You

Duke sighs heavily with a shake of his head before he turns away, stalking over to his company truck.

Duke lost his wife, Rachel, to a four-seater plane crash, nearly five years ago. The plane lost all engine control, took a nosedive, and all passengers died on impact. It was a rough time for our family, but even rougher for my brother. None of us knew it at the time, but Rachel was six weeks pregnant. They hadn’t even gone to the first appointment yet. Duke lost not only his high school sweetheart but his future child that day.

He’s had a hard time snapping back from it. He’s been on dates, but nothing ever lasts past the second or third date. He just can’t see himself with anyone else—or so he’s told me on a few drunken benders.

I don’t blame him; I had the same feeling when Cassidy came back to town three years ago. And I get that’s why he’s been pushing me so hard after finding out about my feelings for her.

You could say seeing her smile each morning was enough for me to even entertain the idea of putting myself back out there like that. Back to a place like I was in with Mary—thinking of marriage and kids—before the bitch cheated on me. It only took me two years of self-loathing, and another three to even dream of getting to this point with Cassidy. But five years later, after the heartbreak that shaped me into an even bigger asshole, here we are.

So, as I pull into my long drive at an early 5:45 PM, I can’t help but grin when I spot her Jeep parked in my usual spot. She texted me earlier, letting me know Alison was going to take her back to the trailer to get her car and more of her belongings. I told her to wait, that I’d take her in case her brother had anything smart to say about it, but she said it was fine.

I’m still not happy she went without me, but what can I say? She hasn’t messaged me otherwise since then, so yeah, as Stancommented earlier, I’ve been checking my phone a bit more than usual. Worried about her and how everything went.

Parking beside her car, I get out and make my way up to the side door. When I open it, I’m immediately hit with the most mouth-watering aroma of a home-cooked meal.

Frankie yips, and I hear his nails click on the hardwood as he waddles over to greet me.

“Butch?” Cassidy calls, and my heart swells in my chest hearing her call out my name like that. Is she happy I’m home? Did she miss me?

I shake off the last thought as useless butterflies begin to flutter in my stupid gut. “Yeah,” I holler back, kicking off my boots at the door.

I head straight into the kitchen—dying to know what she cooked that smells so damn good. Frankie comes over to where I’m standing, no doubt searching for his plate of whatever it is. Cassidy appears from the living room where she’s got a basket of clothes half folded out on the couch. She’s wearing jogger sweats and a tank—no bra, I note—with hair tossed up in another pile on top of her head, makeup-free and still refreshed from finally getting the rest she desperately needed last night.

“Hey, how was your day?” she asks, moving to the stove where a pot full of cooking pasta sits with a casserole dish filled with chicken parmesan on the counter beside it—sauced and cheesed up, ready to eat.

“Good,” I reply. “You went shopping?” I didn’t have chicken here when I left this morning, let alone whatever fancy-looking pasta she’s got in this pot.

“Oh, yeah, you weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t have much,” she teases, stirring the pasta. “I don’t know of any recipes you can make with just beer and corn chips.”

I scratch my bearded chin. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Dinner should be done in a few minutes if you want to clean up, or whatever you do when you get home.”

I gesture to the stairs. “Just a quick shower and I’ll be down.”

“Okay.” Her stunning eyes lock with mine as she looks up at me sweetly. A slow grin splits my face and I force myself to turn away, my heart hammering in my chest.

I try to shake off all these damnfeelingsshe’s forcing me to feel for her as I make my way up the stairs and into my room.Mary never looked at me like that, I subconsciously think to myself. It’s hard to say if the thought is helpful or not at the rate this is going.

I close the door, stripping down and tossing my dirty clothes in the now empty hamper. I noticed it last night, scolding myself for letting her bother with it and then praying she didn’t gag from the smell coming off my work socks in the process.

In the bathroom, I turn on the shower as a few things catch my eye. Several things, in fact.

All her stuff, sitting right beside mine.

I pause, taking a moment to look around. Her toothbrush next to mine, her body wash next to mine—along with five other shower products I have no idea the use of. A purple shaver and some weirdly named soap that talks about PH balance with flowers all over it. She wasn’t joking last night about her excessive number of shower products.

The sink has a small teal toiletry bag off to the side and—being the nosey fucker I am—I open it. It’s filled with makeup. I find myself opening every drawer and closet, peering in and seeing what else she’s got. When I notice an opened box of tampons under the sink, I chuckle to myself.

I laugh because a box of tampons under my sink is something I never thought I’d feel so damn good about seeing. Hell, everything in here is making me far too happy right now.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m in over my head with this woman.

After a quick shower, I put on a pair of dark grey sweats and leave my chest bare like usual. Heading back downstairs, I pull out my phone to texts from Stan and Duke already asking how it’s going.

Stan:Well? Did you ruin it yet, or are you already getting a taste of her?

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