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Casey gently freed Dev’s fingers from his death grip on his hair. “Don’t worry about the Port-a-Potties. I bet I can work something out with the rental agency. If nothing else, the resort will need them for their event.”
Dev rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I might have to sell to your fucking fiancé after all.”
“If you mean Bradley”—Casey poked Dev’s shoulder again—“first of all, not my fiancé. Second, what do you mean sell to him? Sell what?”
“He offered to buy Harrison House.”
Casey stared at him for a good ten seconds, apparently speechless.
“Casey?”
“No. Just no.”
“Of course not. I’d never sell—”
“That’s not what I mean. I know you’d never sell Harrison House. When was he here? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“He, um, came back. A couple of days after he showed up in the summer kitchen.”
Casey took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. First rule of relationships? No hiding stuff like this.”
“To be fair, we didn’t exactly have a relationship at the time.”
“Remember what I said? Everything is a relationship. It’s simply a question about quality. Now, I know we’ve both got a lot to think about, but I believe you invited me back to your place tonight?”
“I did. I’m not sure I’m up for—”
Casey laid a finger across Dev’s lips. “Shush. I’m not going to importune you for sex. But you’ve had a blow tonight. If it’s okay with you, could I just sleep with you? Hold you?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“That wasn’t the question, Dev.”
Dev closed his eyes, took a breath, let it out slowly. Remember. It’s okay to let Casey know you need help. “Yes. I would like that very much.”
Casey nodded decisively. “Good.” He grinned. “Although I confess I might have an ulterior motive for avoiding my own bed.” He wrinkled his nose. “Randolph Scott left a dead mouse on each of my pillows.”
Def lifted an eyebrow. “He left you two dead mice?”
“And a tail.”
The other eyebrow joined the first and Dev whistled. “Damn. He must really like you.”
Casey traced Dev’s lower lip with a fingertip. “As long as you like me, that’s what matters.”
“I do.” Dev kissed Casey’s fingers. “Now let’s go to bed. Because you’re right. I really want to be held tonight.”
Casey had always had an uncanny ability to wake up at whatever time he wanted, probably because he’d learned to keep out of his father’s way in the mornings, when Donald was fresh from the farmers’ markets and already barking at his sous chef over the phone.
Since he knew when Dev took his morning run, he’d set his internal clock to wake up an hour before that, just as the wan dawn light filtered through the Roman blinds in Dev’s bedroom, casting a soft glow over the butter-yellow walls with their white wainscoting, over the gleaming wood floors littered with discarded clothing, over the rumpled patchwork quilt and white sheets, and of course, over Dev himself.
Apparently, Dev’s worry followed him into sleep, because there was a little divot between his eyebrows. Casey was tempted to kiss it, but he didn’t want to wake the man. He suspected Dev hadn’t been sleeping well lately—maybe not for the last year and a half, since his brother and grandfather had died and the care and feeding of Home landed squarely on Dev’s shoulders.
And what shoulders. With the sheets pooled around his waist, Dev’s admirable upper body was on full display, but Casey wasn’t tempted—okay, he was a little tempted, because damn—but he wouldn’t, because he recollected the surprise and wonder on Dev’s face when Casey had made it clear that he’d meant it when he said he didn’t expect sex.
Casey chuckled softly. He’d bet his last nickel that Dev had never been the little spoon before in his life.
He climbed out of bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. After he excavated his clothes from the random piles and got dressed, he eased Dev’s phone off the nightstand and took it out into the living room of the charming little cottage—not because he wanted to snoop, but because he didn’t want Dev to wake with the ping or vibration of a message.
