Page 85 of Written with Regret (The Regret Duet 1)
“I’ll be right back.” She took off at a dead sprint that, given her clumsy Banks genes, looked more like a speedy flounce.
As soon as we heard the door shut behind her, Caven put his lips to my ear. “You okay?”
“Yeah…I, uh.” I peeked over my shoulder and found Trent eyeing us with suspicion.
The moment our gazes collided, his whole demeanor softened. He wasn’t as tall or as big as Caven, but they shared the same olive skin and dark hair. The most notable difference between the two men were their eyes, shape and all. While Caven’s were perfect ovals of sparkling blue, his brother’s were dark brown and deep set, the kind that always look contemplative and cynical.
“I’m Trent,” he said. Not taking a step forward. Not extending his hand. Just standing there with his wife tucked into his side. His face was unreadable, but the sag of his shoulders told me he hated this just as much as I did.
“I’m Hadley.”
He gave me a weak smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I can’t do much about the face though.”
“Don’t be silly. No need to apologize. I was…surprised. That’s all.”
He tipped his head to the pretty woman at his side, his arms wrapped securely around her much the way Caven was holding me. “This is my wife, Jennifer.”
I offered her a brisk nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“Incredible to meet you too,” she replied, and it looked like her smile was going to swallow her face.
“Don’t say it, Jenn,” Caven warned. “Just don’t say it.”
“What?” she drawled innocently.
Trent cleared his throat. “Come on, Jenn. Let’s warm up the grill?”
She shot him an incredulous look. “Why do you need me for that? I haven’t been allowed to touch a grill in ten years.”
“I don’t. But you’re coming anyway.”
She huffed, following him out to the backyard, pausing for one last giddy glance before closing the door.
Caven shook his head and looked down at me. “Talk fast. Rosie will be back any second and then I’m going to lose you for the rest of the day. You going to be okay with Trent? I can make up an excuse if you want to duck out.”
I rested my hands on his pecs, my giant balloon nearly hitting him in the face. “I’m good. Really.”
“He’s not Malcom, Hadley.”
“I know. It was a gut reaction. I’m fine. I promise.”
He searched my face for several seconds, his concern doing some seriously warm things in my chest. “That changes and you find yourself not okay, I want to know. Right away. No dry-heaving in the bathroom without me.”
I cut him a side-eye. “What? Who said anything about dry-heaving?”
He chuckled. “On a different note, I think my brother and Jenn might be onto us.”
“Well, he’s not Ian, Beth, or Rosalee. So I guess it could be worse.”
“Clearly, you do not know Jennifer.”
Rosalee’s voice echoed through the room long before she entered it. “Ale’s going to Ruby’s house!”
With one last squeeze, Caven set me away and walked to the kitchen like nothing had happened.
I knew better though.
And I knew it would be happening again later that night, and that thought alone made the hum in my veins deafening.
He wasn’t wrong. As soon as Rosalee got back, he lost me for the day. That little girl never left my side. We ate more sweets than I had in years, and I laughed when she explained to me that Caven had bought me some gross burgers at the store. I was assuming they were veggie burgers, but I made a mental note to check with him before lunch.
Jennifer joined us when Rosalee insisted on starting the tissue paper mosaics while the guys grilled. I liked her. She doted on Rosalee like she was her own. And even when she was not-so-subtly prying about my “friendship” with Caven, she was doing it with hearts in her eyes rather than the contempt we were going to get from Beth and Ian if they ever found out. I did what I could to avoid her interrogation in front of Rosalee. This included airing the sordid details about Rosalee’s blooming romance with Jacob the love expert.
Trent kept his distance from me at first, but there was something eerie about the way he was always watching me out of the corner of his eye.
Or maybe I only noticed because I was always watching him out of the corner of my eye too.
As I’d listen to him and Caven laughing and telling embarrassing stories about each other over dinner, I’d come to piece together that Chief of Police Trent Hunt was nothing like his sociopath father.
But an hour later after Caven had sentenced me to the back deck while he and Rosalee put the final touches on my birthday cake, I realized Trent was nothing like his little brother, either.
