Page 98 of Almost Yours
“He’s one more trip away from a hernia,” Whitley mutters beside me, sipping her iced latte like she’s poolside instead of standing in the middle of a gravel driveway in Kentucky. “All while making manual labor look insanely attractive.”
“Don’t encourage him,” I whisper back, biting down on a smile.
She shoots me a knowing look as Rowan passes us with another box labeledKitchen-ish?in my handwriting, his arms flexing under the weight. “What are you two whisperin’ about?”
“Just commenting on the unexpected show,” Whitley says. She takes another sip of her latte before adding, “If you’re planning on getting that shirt any wetter, you might as well just take it off.”
Rowan stumbles on the porch step, his ears turning a shade of red I’ve rarely seen on him. I snort.
“Just being honest.” She shrugs, completely unapologetic.
Rowan clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”
“Please do,” Whitley says with a wink. “Though I should warn you, if you actually do take that shirt off, Violet might not let you finish unloading. And I’m not hauling the rest of these boxes by myself.”
Rowan laughs, reaching the bottom of the steps again. “I appreciate the concern for my modesty. I promise to keep all clothes intact until the job’s done.”
“Spoilsport,” Whitley mutters, but she’s grinning as she sets her drink down. “Alright. Point me toward the lightest boxes.”
Just as Whitley moves to step off the porch,the rumble of an engine cuts through the air. We all turn to see a sleek, midnight blue 1969 Mustang kicking up dust as it rolls down the driveway.
“Well, well, well,” Whitley muses, suddenly straightening her posture.
Beau pulls the classic car to a stop beside Rowan’s truck, the engine purring before he cuts it off. He steps out, aviators glinting in the sunlight, T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.
“Thought you might need a hand,” he says to Rowan.
“Perfect timing,” Rowan tells him. “I was starting to think my back might give out.”
“That’s because you’re stubborn,” I say, crossing my arms. “I told you we could hire movers.”
“Waste of money,” Rowan and Beau say in unison, then exchange a look that makes me roll my eyes.
Whitley pushes off the porch railing, sauntering over to where Beau stands. “Nice car,” she says, running her fingers along the Mustang’s gleaming hood.
Beau’s eyes follow her. “Thanks.”
“You restore it yourself?” She circles the vehicle, inspecting it from every angle.
“I did.”
Whitley’s gaze lifts over the roof of the Mustang, straight to his. “Impressive,” she says. “So youaregood with your hands, huh?”
I stifle a laugh as Rowan catches my eye.
“Go save him,” I whisper.
Rowan chuckles before making his way over, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s get the heavy stuff out of the way before it gets any hotter.”
The men head toward the truck as Whitley comes back to my side.
“What?” she asks when she catches me staring at her.
“You’re shameless.”
She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Life’s too short not to be. Besides, have you seen the way his arms fill out that shirt? It would be a crime not to appreciate it.”
I smirk. “Just try not to scare him off before we get all the boxes inside, okay?”
