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And was quickly accompanied by the realization that she had been gone from home far longer than she’d told Frieda and Henry she would be gone. At least her mother and father were busy with another staid business dinner where her father could show off his doting wife and proclaim the virtues of their two children. The ones they barely knew anything about.
“I need to go back. My nanny will be looking for me.” A thread of worry wove its way through her, churning her long empty stomach which chose that moment to protest the lengthy hours since her lunch with a loud growl.
Dean quirked a brow and his gaze hopped from her to his house and back to her. “You wanna call and let them know you’re okay? You can just stay for dinner. My mom won’t care, she cooks way too much food all the time anyway.”
Jillian shook her head rapidly. “No, no, that would be rude to show up at the last minute. My mother would be so mad at me.”
“You sure?” He squinted at her. “She’s making my favorite dinner and it’s the best chicken pot pie you’ve ever had.”
She hesitated just long enough for Dean to abandon his bike once again on the ground and pull at her hands, backing toward the house. As he tugged her closer to the giant porch, the faint scent of savory chicken lacing the air around them tempted her inside. With a sigh she stopped fighting him and let the boy lead her into the house that still smelled of fresh wood and paint.
Within seconds he pressed a cordless phone into her hand and she dutifully dialed her home number. Once she’d reassured Henry she was safe and only at the neighbor’s house, a fact his astonished voice clearly found hard to believe, she disconnected.
The dinner was a whirlwind experience with excessive chatter that was in stark contrast to the painfully silent meals she was more accustomed to. The noise level rivaled many of her parents’ parties, but with a fraction of the attendees.
Occasionally the playful banter between brothers must have reached a place that even the laidback Carlisle parents found unacceptable and either one or both would pin the offensive child with a serious stare that brought about immediate obedience.
The most glaring difference, the one that did funny things to her heart, was that when Mr. or Mrs. Carlisle—they’d encouraged her to call them Mike and Tracy, but she could never—asked the boys what they’d done that day, they asked her too. In fact, they asked her lots of questions. If she was looking forward to going back to school. If she liked Ravenhurst Academy and what kinds of things she did there.
His brothers took a brief lapse in the conversation to ask her why she wanted to be friends with Dean and Jillian was certain she’d never laughed that much in her entire seven years on the planet.
Only slightly more than when Dean proclaimed he was going to get a motorcycle when he was sixteen, a point which his mother immediately shot down to which he countered with eighteen and the older woman rolled her eyes.
That night after Dean and his father drove her home and she snuggled deep under the covers with Frieda’s soft tones reading the next chapter of their book, her mind strayed from the story to the family she just met, but already loved.
Chapter Five
Dean
Present Day
“Dammit!” He kept the epithet much softer than he wanted and drew his thumb to his mouth where he’d accidentally sliced through it with the knife he’d been using to cut a pepper. His punishment for staring at Jillian’s slumbering form on his couch rather than the food he’d decided to prepare for her.
Once again his gaze found her and tracked every movement of her chest as it expanded and contracted in soft, perfect rhythm.
The lead weight that had formed when she threw out the proposal so casually rolled around. This was either a terrible or an amazing opportunity. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, the same looming threat that had stopped him from declaring his feelings for her a dozen times already hung squarely in front of him.
As quietly as he possibly could, he walked down the hall to the bathroom and fished through the cabinet for a Band-Aid. He washed his hands in the sink and dried them off before securing the bandage in place.
He caught sight of his drawn face in the mirror and sighed. Losing her as a friend was a very real possibility when this was over. And that was a fact he wanted to ignore.He shook his head and returned to the kitchen, this time keeping his focus on cutting up the vegetables to add to the pan beside him on the stove with a coat of oil warming at its base.
That absolutely couldn’t happen. Which left him with only one option: he had to make his best friend fall in love with him over the next eighteen months that they would be fake married. He rolled his eyes as he threw the strips of pepper into the zucchini and onions already sautéing in the pan.Yeah, no big deal.
Just as Dean turned the burner down to a lower heat, Jillian stirred on the sofa and his heart clenched. He’d missed her more than he’d ever let on.
She sat up and gave a sleepy smile. “That smells delicious.” She wandered into the kitchen, fingers scratching her tousled red hair. “I can’t believe you cook. It’s almost like you’re a grown-up, Sparky.”
He drained the pasta in the colander in the sink and added it to the vegetables sautéing. “Did you miss the townhouse you’ve been sleeping in for the past two hours?” He waved an arm to encompass the small, but comfortable one bedroom living space. “No parents or older brothers in sight.”
Jillian rested her elbows on the end of the counter and leaned in. “Speaking of which…we’re going to have to tell them the truth. That this is all just a means to an end.”
A small voice in Dean’s head agreed with the concept, but had a very different end in mind than she did. “I don’t know about that, Jillybean. You know my folks.” He lifted one shoulder. “They’re pretty understanding and try to let us lead our own lives and make our own mistakes, but this might be too much even for them.”
One finger ran across her bottom lip and she let out a small sigh. “I don’t like the idea of lying to them, Dean.” When she used his real name and not the nickname she’d given him when they were kids, he straightened up and paid attention. Fine lines formed between her brows. “And my parents know the truth, obviously because they know Granddaddy’s will. I don’t want to keep this from your family. I don’t want them to think we’re actually in love.”
The last few words pricked his heart, but he slid his mask firmly in place.
It was a risk, and a little closer to his real feelings than he should probably get, but he took a deep breath, put the lid on the pan, and turned to face her with as playful a smile as he could muster. “C’mon, Jillybean, it isn’t a lie. You know you love me.” He added a wink, but internally screamed for her to agree.
