Page 3 of Honey, I'm Home

He leans against the desk, watching me struggle to stand up in my stupid fucking pencil skirt that I hate. “That so? Funny, because I only just decided to swing by about twenty minutes ago when I saw your car leaving your parents’ house.”

I hang my head as I finally get to my feet, sneakily sliding the now crumpled and highly unprofessional legal documents under the desk. “Fascinating. Hey. How’re your parents? Fuck. They’re dead. Oh my god. That’s— damnit! Excuse me, I’m just going to go behind that wall there and smack my head against it a few times. Then I’ll come out and try that whole interaction again, okay?”

He catches my hand as I try to walk off, pulling me back.

There’s a moment there where all the distance melts away. It feels like we know each other too well to simply jump into inane conversation about the town without properly greeting each other, but there’s a hurt in me that’s scared to reach for him for any sort of affection.

He wraps his arms around me, oblivious to my inner turmoil, his honeyed scent doing wonders to help me stay calm. “It’s sogood to have you back home, Aster. This place wasn’t the same without you.”

I don’t know what to say to that quiet confession, so I don’t bother. Eventually, I relax into his embrace, luxuriating in the fact that he’s in front of me after all these years and that I have an excuse to touch him, and I don’t think it’s my imagination when he seems weary to pull out of the hug.

It’s cold without him.

As if he suddenly remembered what we were talking about, his rightful, ever-ready smile/smirk lands back on his face. The fucker is smiling at me. What the hell? I just asked him how his dead parents are, for fuck’s sake. Is he brain damaged? What part of that was amusing? “I’m not offended by your accidental question, so don’t abuse yourself on my account. The way I understand it, this town will do enough of that once they get their claws in you.”

I kick the paperwork back out from under the desk and point at it with my stiletto. “You know anything about these, then?”

He reaches down to pick it up, reads it once or a dozen times, and then starts laughing. Like, busting his gut laughing. “Oh man. I’m so happy I made the decision to stop by this morning.”

“That makes one of us,” I mumble under my breath.

I try to discreetly study him, taking in the changes. His tawny brown hair’s a bit longer than it used to be, enough that he’s got it pulled back into a messy bun with little flyaways framing his face. He always used to wear it longish and floppy but would always trim it when it got to be too much. I hated those days.

His sense of style hasn’t changed one bit, though. I always thought of it as gardener chic; dark, worn-in coveralls with well-loved boots and a tan collared shirt underneath with the sleeves rolled up.

I wouldn’t say he’s super buff or anything, but I’ve always admired the way his body is shaped. Lean and toned, but soft in all the right areas. He’s got a tiny shadow of a mustache too that mostly looks like he hasn’t been bothered to shave in the past few days.

When I realize I’m being weird and just kind of standing there while he smirks, I shift my weight around and clear my throat. My ass hurts something fierce from that chair straight up ejecting me, so I lean on the desk to try and alleviate the pressure. “I’m assuming you came in here to discuss your property?” Change of subject. Classic.

Damnit. I’m so fucking nervous.

He opens his mouth a few times as he sets the paperwork down, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe. Well, that’s a lie. No, I actually came in here to…never mind. Yes, I came in here to discuss the property. Did you want to come see it?”

“Uh, I mean, I’ve seen it? I grew up next to it, but sure, okay. Let me just…see if I can figure out how to lock this place up and put a note up.”

“We’ve made some improvements to the place…” he trails off as I start ransacking the place for keys.

Naturally, they’re hanging up right next to the door. I never look in the obvious place first. “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe it’s best if you just see it for yourself. That way you can-err, make a good listing? Is that the correct terminology? Yeah. Totally want you to like it so you can sell it for lots of money to…somebodyelse.” He snaps his fingers as if this is a brand-newidea he just came up with on the spot. “That’s exactly what we need. Come on!”

He pulls me out the door, barely waiting for me to lock up before he’s shoving me in his truck. I guess I’m not driving myself.

He’s tense the entire ten-minute drive there, gripping the wheel with both hands, shoulders hunched as he stares right over the steering wheel. I take the opportunity to stare at him more and try to search for some comfort in sitting here with him. I hate that it feels so awkward, but I’m pretty sure that’s not my fault. I’m not the one that practically chased me out of town.

“You realize I haven’t seen you in ten years?”

He scoffs. “Trust me, that’s only a one-way fact.”

Now it’s my turn for my brows to try and jump off my face. “What? The hell does that mean?”

He freezes, his eyes go wild and big, and then he shakes his head. “Ten years, huh? Wild.”

Suspicious.

He doesn’t say anything else after that, so I guess I should just sit here and wait for us to arrive at our destination.

The outside of the place looks pretty much how I remember it, though the garden seems better tended than I remember. The picket fence has a fresh coat of bright white paint on it, but it’s not doing much to contain the wild, carefully curated mess of wildflowers exploding from behind it.