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“Right, right.” He gestured to Casey. “Step right up for the official Home tour. Don’t worry. You’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Casey glanced from Dev to Kenny. “Are you sure?”
Dev smiled at him as he hefted the nightstand, which was—oof—heavier than it looked. The damn thing must be solid oak. “I’m sure. I probably won’t be around when you get back, but make yourself at home.” He nodded at the stairwell. “Your room is the first on the left at the top of the first flight.”
“Okay,” Casey said, sounding doubtful. “Thank you very much.”
“No problem. And Kenny? If you see Randolph Scott around, Ty’s looking for him.”
Kenny scrunched up his face. “Let me guess. Vaccinations?”
Dev nodded. “Rabies.”
“Well, with all the rodents Randolph Scott massacres, we can’t skip that, now, can we? I’ll keep my eyes open for him.”
“Thanks, man.” Dev nodded at Casey. “See you around.”
Despite his arms shaking with the weight of the nightstand, Dev waited at the foot of the stairs until Kenny and Casey walked out the door, and as a result, had a perfect view of Casey’s backside.
His ass was just as perfect as Dev had imagined.
I am in deep shit.
Casey kept pace with Kenny as they trotted down the wide porch steps, managing—just barely—not to glance back for another Dev ogle. “Randolph Scott?”
Kenny laughed. “I guess you could call Randolph Scott the town cat, a big ginger longhair. He seems to belong to everyone and no one at the same time.” Kenny shoved his hands in the pockets of jeans even more worn than Casey’s. “Nobody knows where he spends his nights, but you’re likely to see him just about anywhere around Home during the day.”
They followed the curve of the drive, their shoes crunching in the gravel. “So. Dev?”
Kenny grinned. “He’s siiingle,” he caroled, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
Heat rose up Casey’s throat. The only upside to his tendency to blush at the drop of an innuendo was that it camouflaged his freckles. Sort of.
He couldn’t deny that he had been fishing, though, but who could blame him? Dev was a fine hunk of man: those broad shoulders, those golden-brown eyes, the black hair just long enough to curl, the warm brown skin. Yum.
Casey would be the first to admit that he had a definite thing for big men. Some of his friends his own size or smaller questioned him about it constantly: “Dude, he could crush you like a bug!”
But Casey had never associated big men with danger. In fact, the pastry chef who’d been his champion and protector in his dad’s kitchen had been even bigger than Dev. It was men his own size—like his father—who represented danger to him.
Conditioning. What could you do?
Just as Donald’s rigid rules about food had fueled Casey’s eating disorder, so had Donald’s physical intimidation colored Casey’s taste in men. Sue him, he was a product of his environment, and while his therapist had helped him with the eating aversion, the two of them had never discussed Casey’s attraction to big protectors.
Probably because that wasn’t something she expected to address with a ten-year-old.
However, Dev’s relationship status hadn’t been the only thing Casey was curious about, and Kenny seemed inclined to spill the tea. Did it make Casey a bad person that he intended to take full advantage?
“Thanks for that—I mean, really. Thanks. But I was actually wondering about the bigger picture. Harrison House, for instance. Dev mentioned his brother. Is he away? Is that why the third floor renovations are on hold?”
As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Kenny grimaced. “You could say so.” He pointed to the sidewalk, which wasn’t concrete like New York pavement, but slabs of veined white stone. “Watch out for the sidewalks in the rain. It’s marble from the old quarry and slippery as all get-out.”
Marble sidewalks. Seriously? “Noted, and again, thanks. But why do I get the feeling you’re dodging the question?”
Kenny heaved a sigh. “Dodging the feelings, more like. Garlan died a year and a half ago.”
Casey froze mid-step and turned to Kenny. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
He shook his head, gesturing for them to continue down the street, although he set a pace so leisurely it almost qualified as slo-mo. “No. You’ll be in Home for the summer, living right in Harrison House, so it’s best if you know the story.” His gaze lifted, and he seemed focused somewhere over the treetops at the end of Main Street. “Home is… unique. The town was founded in 1791 by Dev’s ancestor, Persistence Harrison, a minister whose interpretations of the scripture were decidedly unpopular with his Boston community.”
