Page 39 of Now and Then

Navy snorts, her eyes darting from the cookie dough to Greer. “Tell her, G.”

Greer rolls her eyes. “I wanted to go as Belle and Beast, but part of the deal to get Luke to hang my big ol’ spider was that he got to choose our costumes.”

“This ought to be good.” I try to suppress my laugh. Knowing my brother, he’s picked something ridiculous. When I was in fourth grade, he, Hunter, and I dressed up as Jurassic Park tour guides because he was obsessed with the book.

Greer disappears down the hall and returns with a blob of hairy plastic.

“What are those?” My eyes widen.

“Put them on, G.” Navy bursts into a fit of giggles. “It’s better if you put them on.”

Groaning, Greer squats down and slips on a hideous pair of shoes. She steps back and pops her foot up like she’s giving us her outfit of the day.

“Are those . . . hobbit feet?” I ask.

Greer nods her head as Navy bends down and combs her fingers through the faux hair.

“They’re taking this Lord of the Rings obsession to a whole new level,” Navy says.

“But why not go as . . .” I snap my fingers trying to remember the characters’ names.

“Aragorn and Arwen,” Greer supplies. “I know. That’s who I thought he’d choose, but no, he chooses Frodo and Samwise instead.” Greer marches in place, her hobbit-covered feet smacking against the tile with each step.

A belly-deep laugh bursts out of me, and I can barely catch my breath. “I can’t wait to see my brother wearing hobbit feet.” I wipe away a few tears. “What are you going to be, Navy?”

She doesn’t respond, too focused on switching out the last batch of sugar cookies and placing them on the cooling racks. Greer smiles and returns to the sink to wash dishes, so I slip away to the guest bedroom to put my things away.

As I set my bag on one of the twin beds, red brake lights catch my eye through the large window facing the front of the house. I pull aside the sheer curtains, and my breath catches when I spot Hunter getting out of his truck. Praying he hasn’t noticed me, I quickly click off the lamp on the nightstand, plunging the room into darkness. I release a steadying breath, never taking my eyes from him.

My cheeks flame as I remember everything Hunter said yesterday.

I’ve had a crush on that man since I was a teenager. And not because he was always around. It was because of the way he listened. The way he saw me.

It certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s always been easy on the eyes—even more so now that he’s a man. There’s something about his wavy hair and penchant for changing his facial hair as quickly as a woman changes nail color that gets me. He’s had everything from a full beard to a handlebar mustache. Lately, he’s been sporting a decent five-o’clock shadow. I’ve been attracted to every version of him.

I lean toward the window, squinting my eyes to make sense of the wrestling match he’s having with a massive box. His muscles flex and ripple as he grips and pulls it, but it remains stubbornly unmoved. Hunter stands tall, his hands resting on his hips. My forehead presses against the cool glass, contrasting with my heated skin. My breath fogs the windowpane. It’s truly unfair that this man only grows more handsome with age.

He bends over, revealing a glorious view of his backside, and yanks at the box. It springs free, nearly sending him flying. I can’t help but snort and burst into a fit of giggles.

“What are we looking at?” Greer’s voice breaks through my Hunter-haze.

I launch from the window, letting the curtains fall back into place.

“Jesus, Greer,” I whisper-yell. “You scared the shit out of me. I’m going to attach a bell to you.”

She shrugs, her Cheshire Cat smile never once leaving her face. “Sorry,” she whispers back. “Did you see the raccoon out there? I’ve had problems with it lately, so that little monster better not be out there making a mess.”

“Not a raccoon,” I say. “Nothing at all, actually.” I try to steer her toward the bedroom door, but she sidesteps me and pulls back the curtain.

“You’re right, that’s not a raccoon,” she says and chuckles. “But it explains why you’re looking all hot and bothered.”

I plop onto the bed, burying my head in my hands. “I’m not hot and bothered.”

“You’ve got a little drool right . . . there . . .” She points to the corner of her mouth.

I level her with a look, and she bursts into a fit of giggles.

“Shh,” I hiss. “He’s going to hear you!”