Page 99 of Almost Yours
“No promises,” she says with a wink.
By late afternoon, the last of my belongings have been hauled inside. Boxes are stacked in nearly every room, creating a cardboard maze that Bramble seems to find endlessly fascinating. Beau and Rowan sit on the porch steps, beers in hand, while Whitley and I attempt to bring some order to the kitchen.
“So,” Whitley says, her voice taking on that too-casual tone that immediately puts me on alert. “This is really happening. You happy?”
I pause, a plate suspended midway to the cabinet. “Yeah. I really am.”
She studies me for a moment before her usual smirk returns. “Good. Because if he hurts you, I’ll have to kill him, and he seems like the type who’d be hard to take down.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Your concern is noted. I’m going to miss living with you, though.”
“Please. You’ll be so busy playing house with Mr. Tall, Dark,and Tatted that you won’t even notice I’m gone.” She waves dismissively.
Before I can respond, the screen door creaks open, and the guys step inside. Rowan takes a look around at all the boxes. “I’m still not convinced you needed to bring seventeen throw pillows.”
I don’t have a chance to respond before I’m cut off by the buzz of his phone. He pulls it from his pocket, glancing at the screen.
“I need to take this,” he says.
My eyes follow him as he disappears onto the front porch, the screen door slamming shut behind him.
“What was that about?” Whitley asks, voicing the question hanging in the air.
I shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Probably work.”
Beau doesn’t say anything, but his expression has shifted, too. “I should probably head out,” he says, setting his empty bottle on the counter. “Got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Yeah, of course. Thank you so much for coming to help.”
He offers a curt nod before heading to the door.
Whitley starts to unpack a box of baking supplies, and I try to ignore the nagging feeling that something’s off.
Before I can analyze it further, the screen door opens and Rowan steps back inside.
“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Yeah, all good,” he says, tucking his phone into his pocket. Rowan moves toward the stack of boxes near the kitchen entrance and picks up a box labeledBooks. “Where do you want these?”
“Living room shelves,” I answer, watching him carefully.
There’s something in the deliberate way he’s avoiding my eyes that sets off warning bells. I’ve seen Rowan take work calls before. They don’t usually drain the color from his face like this.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of unpacking andpizza delivery. Whitley leaves around nine, giving me a tight hug and whispering, “Call me if you need anything,” with enough emphasis to make me wonder if she’s picked up on the strange tension, too.
When the door closes behind her, I turn to find Rowan leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes distant as he stares at nothing in particular.
“You going to tell me what that call was about?” I ask softly.
He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was work. They want me to extend the trip to Mexico.”
My stomach drops. “By how long?”
“A few days.” He moves to the living room and sinks onto the couch. “Which means I wouldn’t be back in time to catch our flight to Scotland.”
I follow him, my legs growing weak. “But the wedding?—”
“I could meet you there,” he says quickly. “I can fly straight from Mexico City to Edinburgh. I’d miss the first few days, but I’d still be there for the ceremony.”
