Page 59 of Business Casual
I don’t know the protocol for how to interact with a one-night stand that is also your friend. I’ve never had to do it before.
She watches me for a long moment. Farther back in the house, someone laughs. A chair screeches across the floor and utensils clink against plates. Family. Or what I’ve always imagined it might sound like, anyway.
“You’re not intruding,” she finally says. She glances at the book and bouquet in my hand and tips her chin up. “Did you bring me a present?”
“Absolutely not.” I move them out of reach. “They’re for your mom. Why? You want me to bring you flowers, Nova girl?”
It’s easy to fall right back into the parts we play with one another, but then again, most things are easy with Nova. I think there was a part of me that was worried she’d put space between us. Maybe pretend the other night never happened.
But she isn’t avoiding me, and she isn’t acting any differently.
She’s still Nova.
Relief relaxes my shoulders.
She grins at me. “I like buying my own flowers.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you do.” Unthinking, I reach forward and drag my knuckles along her rib cage. I know this piece of her now, the ink that’s underneath this sweater. The flower on her ribs and the petals that float down her back. “Good at drawing them too.”
“I like to think so.”
Something heavy floods the space between us as I let my hand drift over the soft material of her sweater. Her breath hitches as my hand strays higher, knuckles ghosting closer to the curve of her breast. I wonder if she’s wearing something lacey and delicate beneath. I bet she is.
Our gazes hold. This close, she’s more color than shape. Sea-glass green and blue so deep it almost looks black. Tidal pools as the surf rushes in. A million treasures hidden beneath the surface.
Dishes clink together farther in the house and another burst of laughter slips down the hall. I pull my hand back and clear my throat, then thrust the bottle of wine in her hands.
“Here.”
“Oh. Is this for me?”
“Also no. But you can carry it into the kitchen.”
She laughs and pushes off the door, nudging my shoulder with hers on the way to the kitchen. It does something stupid to the inside of my chest.
“That’s very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous man.”
She turns to glance at me, braid swinging between her shoulder blades. “I know for a fact that you are.”
“Nova,” I choke in warning as we both step into the kitchen. I glance around the open space, waiting for Beckett to descend on me with a steak knife. The last thing I need to be thinking about in a room full of her family is Nova’s preferred interpretation of generosity. “Behave.”
She snickers and places the wine on the island. Something that smells like thyme and butter is simmering on the stove, a basket ofrolls on the counter. Oven mitts lie discarded next to the sink. Nova reaches for the bread basket and nods toward the back of the house. “Relax. Everyone is in the sunroom for dinner.”
“The sunroom?” I frown.
Nova shrugs. “Mom likes to eat under the stars and Dad likes to make her happy. Beckett installed a fireplace last winter. It’s nice.”
It’s better than nice.
A large stone fireplace anchors one side of the sunroom, the dancing flames reflected in the glass windows on every side. The whole space is glowing, both with the light from the hearth and the globe lights strung along the ceiling. Night presses in from the outside, condensation ringing the bottom of the glass in a halo of clouded white. And in the middle is a long wooden table, filled with bickering Porter siblings. Someone shouts something about asparagus and there’s an answering ruckus. A wooden spoon flies across the table.
I don’t think a single person notices when Nova and I walk in.
Nova steps past me and drops the rolls in the middle of the table, grabbing two quickly off the top before her siblings can descend on it.
“Look who I found lurking in the driveway,” she announces.
