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Casey’s crooked smile faded—no!—and Dev realized he’d been holding out his hand for Dev to shake while Dev had been juggling lilacs and indulging in insta-fantasies. Casey started to drop his hand, but Dev lunged forward to catch it in his own.
“Hey. Hi. Welcome home.” Dev grimaced. “I mean to Home. Welcome to Home.”
Casey’s smile returned, although it was a little shaky. “Thank you.” He cut a sidelong glance at Kenny.
Shit. Was I too weird? I was too weird. Dev thrust out the lilacs. “I cut some flowers. For you.” As Casey gazed at the lilacs, and Kenny gave Dev a what is wrong with you? stare, one of the clusters fell off its stem and dropped onto the floor at Casey’s feet. “They, um, looked better a couple of minutes ago. They had an unfortunate encounter with my leg.”
“Yes,” Kenny drawled, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “I always pick flowers with my feet too.”
Dev glared at Kenny. “My leg. Not my feet.”
“Contrary to what you might think, Dev, that doesn’t sound any less ridiculous.” He turned to Casey. “I promise that Dev is ordinarily much more lucid.” He grinned at Dev. “Welding mask too tight, Dev? Bring it down to Make It Do and I’ll adjust it so it’s not squeezing your brain.”
Dev did not glare at Kenny, although he sent him a mental shut the fuck up. “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind at the moment.” Like what Casey’s ass might look like when he turned around.
“No worries. It was really nice of you to pick these for me, considering I did kinda barge in on you. I’m sorry about that, by the way. But what can I say?” He spread his hands, palms up. “I’m nosy, and since nobody was here to tell me I couldn’t, I decided to explore.”
“No, I’m sorry about that. Sylvia asked me to look out for you, but she also needed a shelf repaired in the summer kitchen—”
“A repair?” Kenny frowned. “Why didn’t she ask me to do it?”
“Maybe because it’s in my house?” Dev said dryly, “and I’m not totally incompetent? Besides, you fix movable things. Not buildings.”
Kenny wrinkled his nose, causing his glasses to rise toward his eyebrows. “Technically, a shelf is a thing, even if it’s attached to the wall, but I’ll concede that you know your way around a hammer.”
“I decided to fabricate a metal unit, anyway.” He glanced at Casey. “That’s why I was in my welding gear. I’m sorry I frightened you.”
Casey chuckled, a warm, infectious sound that made Dev want to join in. “If I hadn’t already been feeling guilty about snooping, I doubt I’d have fled the way I did.” He reached out and took the flowers. “Thanks for these. I confess I picked one of the magenta ones, but I dropped it.” He lowered his face to the blooms and inhaled, his eyes fluttering closed. And really, was it legal to have eyelashes that long? “They smell heavenly.” He looked up, grinning. “Way better than the average Manhattan stairwell.”
Dev returned the grin. “Anything would be better than that. Although I understand some city folk actually prefer it.”
“Don’t say anything,” Kenny said with a shudder. “Remember when the wind shifted right after that faux-organic farm over the border in Massachusetts spread a load of fresh manure on their forty-acre field?”
Casey’s eyes widened. “Is that, er, something that happens often?”
Kenny shook his head, his smile sly. “No. Our town manager”—he made a gesture to Dev worthy of a game show host—“had a little chat with them about alternative fertilizers and we haven’t had a recurrence.”
Casey’s smile dawned again. “You’re the town manager? Wait… Dev Harrison. As in Harrison House?”
“Guilty,” Dev said. “And for the rest of the summer, mi casa es su casa.”
Casey’s sigh could only be described as delighted. “I love this house.” His smile faded and his eyebrows pinched together. “I should ask, though. Are there places that are off-limits? I warned you I was nosy, but I’m capable of respecting boundaries, too.”
“Everything in Harrison House is fair game to anyone residing here.”
“But what about your room? Shouldn’t that be private?”
Dev shook his head. “I don’t live in the house. I live in a cottage on the other side of the back meadow, behind that stand of birch and maple. I’ve got an office here in the house, but unless you’re fascinated by very depressing spreadsheets, you won’t find anything interesting there.”
The smile that lit Casey’s face was kid-at-Christmas worthy. “This whole house to myself for three whole months? Outstanding!”
“I should warn you that the place has been mostly shut up for a while. My brother had plans for some major renovations, so the third floor is basically gutted, and unless you’re a fan of spiders, you probably should steer clear. But the common areas on the first floor are habitable, as are the second floor bedrooms for the most part. Laundry facilities in the basement”—Dev grinned—“accessed from the kitchen stairs, not the bulkhead. The bedroom you’ll be staying in is in pretty good shape, except it needed a new nightstand.”
“Which I have right here.” Kenny patted the satiny top of the two-drawer Shaker-style unit next to him.
Dev studied it, eyes narrowing. “Kenny,” he growled.
“What?” Kenny’s innocent tone wouldn’t fool anybody. The flush along his cheekbones was a giveaway, too.
