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Casey pulled out his own phone and typed a text:
CF: Didn’t want to wake you. Got an errand to run. CU later this morning.
He gazed down at the screen for a moment, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Oh, what the hell. He added a heart emoji and hit send.
When he crept back into the bedroom to return the phone, Dev was still asleep, his face nestled into Casey’s pillow, and Casey nearly abandoned his plan and climbed back into bed. But if what he suspected was true, he didn’t have any time to waste.
He slipped out of the cottage, softly closing the door behind himself, and trotted across the field. He hesitated between the Uber or Lyft apps, but then just called Pete directly.
“Ayup?”
“Pete, it’s Casey. I need you to put on your ride share hat, whichever one you like. I need a lift to the resort and I want to leave before Dev gets up.”
“Mmmphmmm.”
Casey caught the edge of judgment in the multipurpose Home grunt and hurried to say, “I’m not bailing, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can fix this particular problem, and it can’t really wait. Pick me up in front of Harrison House?”
“Three minutes.” Pete disconnected, and Casey had to laugh. Never one for idle chitchat, our Pete.
Casey debated whether to run upstairs and change clothes, but given that his room was still tainted with the ghosts of mice past, he abandoned the idea. He might be rumpled from tossing his clothes on the floor in his hurry to comfort Dev last night, but at least he didn’t smell like sex.
He lifted the hem of his shirt, pressed it to his nose, and inhaled. No. I smell like Dev. And that was more empowering than Excalibur, Mjolnir, and the Lasso of Hestia combined.
Pete rolled up in his pickup rather than the hybrid Escape he used for his ride share gigs. Casey climbed in.
“Which app should I fire up?”
“Neither.” He pulled out of the drive in a crunch of gravel and headed up Main Street.
He didn’t say another word on the way to town, and Casey, gnawing his lip until it was probably raw, didn’t attempt to break the silence. But when Pete pulled under the porte-cochere in front of the resort’s enormous main doors, Casey turned to him.
“I’m not sure how long this will take. You don’t need to wait.”
“Need a ride home when you’re done?”
“Well. Yes.”
“Mmmphmmm.”
This time, the grunt held definite approval. Casey waited a moment, but no additional words were forthcoming, so he climbed out of the truck. Pete pulled into a guest parking slot right next to the doors.
You’ve got more faith in me than I do, my friend.
The sun had cleared the treetops, its amber rays sending Casey’s shadow stretching out in front of him as he marched toward the club wing. He knew which room to aim for—Bradley had texted him the number, announcing it was one of the top suites, when he’d ordered Casey to meet him the day he’d barged into the summer kitchen. Naturally, Casey had ignored the text.
But as he stood in front of the door, belly in knots, he remembered Bradley offering to buy Harrison House, Bradley cruising past the vet clinic like a creeper, Bradley refusing to take no for an answer every time ever, and hoped like hell that he wasn’t the catalyst for Bradley’s decision to take aim at Home.
Rather than knock—it was early, and the other guests didn’t deserve to be awakened—Casey pulled out his phone and called Bradley’s number, something he’d never done before, and frankly had never expected to do ever.
Bradley answered after the second ring, so either he was already awake or a light sleeper. “Casey. While I trust this means you’re ready to behave like an adult, I have a conference call in five minutes that—”
“I’m at your door.”
Bradley didn’t respond, but Casey heard his footsteps in stereo from the phone and from inside the suite. When the door opened to reveal Bradley in his normal pressed-chinoed, Lauren-button-downed, hair-producted take on casual morning wear, Casey disconnected the call and tucked his phone away. “We need to talk.”
“I’ve been saying the same thing for days, but you’ve picked a highly inconvenient time. Call down for room service and have breakfast sent up. After my meeting—”
“I’m not here for breakfast.”
