Maybe he’s just like Edward.
The thoughts pop into my head, and I can’t quite shake them, even when Luke kisses me in the doorway as he’s leaving. “I have to go work,” he whispers, his lips brushing my cheek. “The boss really gets on my case if I’m slacking.”
“I hear she’s a real ball-buster,” I say, my voice soft.
“She has expectations,” he whispers, a finger trailing down the front of my cleavage. He peeks behind me, down the hallway, but Olivia and Greta are in the living room, their voices a soft blur. Luke cups my breast, and I start to swat him away, but not before my nipple immediately hardens to his touch underneath the fabric of my bra. “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”
Before I can say anything, he’s out the door. I watch him walk across the lawn, whistling while he walks, carefree and casual, to check on the last of the harvest in the orchard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Luke
“Where the hell have you been?” Silas asks.
I roll my eyes as I get out of the truck, Lucy scrambling out after me and running to greet Silas like they’re long-lost buddies. “Stop trying to be my mother, Silas."
Silas sits on the lawn chair outside the camper, not bothering to get up. “Anyone ever tell you to check your damn phone?”
I reach for my phone in my back pocket, but realize I’ve probably thrown it somewhere in the truck. Or it’s at Autumn’s place. That thing used to be glued to me like a damn extra limb or something, my electronic little black book.
Except recently. I keep misplacing it, letting the battery run out because I forget about it. I’ve been spending all my time at the orchard lately.
I've had no need to call anyone else.
So, I’ve been purposely avoiding my brothers and this whole shit situation with my family, taking a little bit of happiness where I can get it. I refuse to feel a damn bit of guilt for that.
“Can’t find it,” I say, my voice terse. Silas is just a big reminder of what the hell else I need to think about right now, other than Autumn. And that I don’t fucking like.
Silas snorts. “What, did you leave it in some chick’s room?” he asks.
“Hilarious, Silas,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“Something’s come up,” he says, and I exhale heavily.
“Yeah, well, what if I don’t want to be involved in it?” I ask, walking up the step past him and opening the camper door.
“What the hell are you talking about? You're already involved in it," Silas says. “You’re the one who was behind it from the beginning. You were right about mom’s death. Now you’re, what, over the whole thing? You just want to let fucking Jed and the mayor get away with that shit – the murder, conning people in this town?”
“Don’t guilt trip me, Silas,” I say, my jaw clenched, as I flick on the light switch. Shit, how long has it been since I’ve been back in the camper? A week? Two? Lucy and I have been holed up at Autumn's place. I haven't wanted to leave. And when I stand here, looking at the camper, it's more depressing than I thought it would be.
“You need to air this place out, man,” Silas says, looking around. “Are you living here or what?”
I shrug. I don’t want to let my brother in on what’s happening with me and Autumn. Right now, it’s still private, between me and her. More or less. And I want to keep it that way for as long as I can. “I’ve been around,” I say, aware that I sound like I’m hedging. “You know.”
Silas laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says, not saying it out loud, but implying I’m out chasing tail.
Irritation surges through me, and I clench my hands into fists at my side. “Whatever.”
Silas’ eyes widen and he looks me over. “Oh shit,” he says. “You haven’t been around. You’re with someone. Oh my God. There’s a girl. There's a fucking girl.”
I shake my head. “Leave it be, Silas.”
“Shit, there is,” he says. “Holy fucking shit.”
“What’s come up?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject.
Silas clears his throat. “So, I met someone,” he says, shuffling uncomfortably.
“Silas, if you came over here to cry about some girl, I’m going to punch you in the nutsac,” I say. “I need a beer if you’re going to talk about your feelings.”
Silas and I do not have the kind of relationship where we talk about our feelings.
“Screw you, asshole,” he says. “But I’ll take a beer. Thanks for your motherfucking hospitality.”
I crack open two beers and walk back outside with Silas. “This better not be some lame love story.”
Silas takes a long sip of the beer, then points at me with the bottle. “You know, at some point, you’re going to settle down.”