Brenda Novak - Come Home to Me

She grabbed the door as it swung back. “Why would you do that?” she called after him. “What’s in it for you?”

“It’s called friendship, Presley. Maybe it’s time you became acquainted with it,” he said, and got into his truck.

* * *

Presley was up all night, plastering over the cracks and holes in the walls. Although intent on finishing before Wyatt woke up, she wasn’t quite that lucky. The baby monitor alerted her when he began to stir. It was early—not yet six—and she had another hour of repairs. So she took him out of the stroller, changed him and put him in the playpen she’d set up in one corner several days ago. But less than thirty minutes later, he was tired of his toys and getting hungry. She was just lifting him into her arms when Riley showed up, carrying a sawhorse.

“Cute kid,” he said as he let himself in.

Somehow, in her hurry to get started last night, she’d forgotten to lock the door after he left. It was fortunate that she lived in Whiskey Creek these days and not the dumpy neighborhood she’d had to brave in Fresno, or that could have been a much bigger deal. Here, a lot of people didn’t lock their doors at night—which was probably why Riley didn’t comment on the fact that he could stroll right in.

“Thanks.” She watched the muscles ripple under his T-shirt as he put down the sawhorse. He was good-looking, and he had a nice build. Maybe he wasn’t as breathtaking as Aaron. Few men were. But neither was he as troubled.

“No problem.” Dusting off his hands, he examined her work. “You’ve made some great progress.”

Presley couldn’t believe he’d really come back, especially so early. “What are you doing here?”

“You know what I’m doing here. I told you last night that I’d be building your reception area this morning.”

She shifted Wyatt to her other hip. “You’re either a really nice guy—or a glutton for punishment.”

“Are you asking me? Because if you are, I’m a really nice guy.”

Wyatt, interested in this newcomer, had stopped crying. She wiped the tears from his face as she said, “You’re still going to be disappointed when I won’t sleep with you.”

She refused to feel obligated, not when she’d warned him. She wouldn’t let anyone pressure her into making choices that were detrimental to her, no matter how grateful she felt for his friendship. That was the old Presley.

He put a hand to his chest as if she’d wounded him. She expected him to accuse her of being too brash. Cheyenne would never have blurted out something like that. But she’d been frank on purpose, to highlight the truth: she wasn’t his type.

Surprisingly, his response wasn’t what she’d predicted. “Who said you won’t sleep with me?”

She gaped at him. “I told you—”

“That you won’t trade sex for money. If I get a massage, I get only a massage.”

“That’s true.”

He nodded. “Then we’re fine. Because when we have sex, I don’t plan on paying you.”

He’d said that with a straight face, but she could see a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “When we have sex?”

“I’m not saying it’ll happen, so don’t get mad. I’m just not ruling it out. In other words, if we ever reach that point, I’m open to getting physical. In case you were wondering.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She’d accepted long ago that she’d never be able to attract the kind of solid citizens her sister did. So why was popular, handsome, someone-who-should-know-better Riley Stinson even giving her the time of day?

He chuckled at her stunned silence. “Don’t tell me you’re that easily embarrassed. You started it.”

She’d been trying to scare him off; she hadn’t expected him to say something equally shocking. “But...you’re my little sister’s friend.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I’m older than you are.”

“There’s two years between us. Two years hardly makes you a cougar.”

She jiggled Wyatt, who was getting fussy again. “It’s not just the age difference I’m worried about. It’s the other differences.”

“And those are...”

“Vast.”

He tilted his head as he peered into her face. “Isn’t that the case with most guys you meet? Not many people have been raised the way you were.”

“And Cheyenne turned out all right. That’s what you must be thinking. But you have to understand that Cheyenne is special. She could’ve been raised in any circumstances and survived them.” Somehow her sister had navigated their crazy childhood without ever screwing up. She’d left all the bad stuff to Presley, who’d tried everything once—and the most damaging things a lot more often than that. “She never made the mistakes I did.”

“Which makes you...what? A bad person?”

“Some people might see it that way.” His crowd typically did.

“Well, I appreciate the warning. But Chey says you’ve gotten your life under control.” He searched her face. “Is that true?”

Wyatt was struggling to get down, but she couldn’t let him because of all the tools and nails and wet plaster. “It is. I haven’t done anything wrong in two years.”

“And ‘wrong’ includes...”

“I haven’t had sex. I haven’t taken drugs. I haven’t even had any alcohol, other than an occasional glass of chardonnay.”

“Then I’d say your recent track record’s better than mine,” he quipped.

In what way? It had to be sex or alcohol; no one in Cheyenne’s group would risk the damage drugs could cause.

“But two years isn’t that long,” she argued. “It’s not enough time to be able to trust me.” Lord knew she didn’t trust herself. That was why she had to stay away from Aaron. With one touch, he could make her forget everything she was striving to be.

“Tell me this, what are you looking for in life?” Riley asked.

He was no longer joking, so she sobered, too. “Someone who’ll love me—for me—at last.”

That wasn’t something a girl usually admitted to a guy who was interested in asking her out. But she wasn’t a teenager anymore, and they were having an honest conversation. Why hide the truth? Presley had been trying to warn him off from the beginning. If this didn’t do the trick, he deserved whatever disappointment she proved to be.

To her surprise, her words didn’t seem to make him uncomfortable. He pursed his lips as he considered them. Then he nodded. “I’d like to see if I’m the right man for the job,” he said, and walked out to get more of his tools.

4

Aaron located what had to be Presley’s yoga studio from its proximity to Reflections by Callie. He had pictured the old antiques emporium as soon as Kyle and Riley mentioned it. But it was worth coming by to see how far along she was in the process of opening. He was curious about her and everything she was doing; he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since running into her last night. So he’d told himself he’d swing by on his way to Reno. If she happened to be alone, maybe he’d stop and say something, get what he was thinking and feeling off his chest. It didn’t seem fair that she suddenly seemed to believe the worst of him. Not when he’d been convinced that she was one of the few people who truly understood him.

But then he saw Riley Stinson’s truck parked in front and he pulled over—even though she clearly wasn’t alone. She wasn’t open for business yet. So why was Riley hanging around?

He decided to find out.

The high-pitched whine of an electric saw cut through the air as he crossed the street, and he could see a ladder and some paint tarps through the wide storefront windows.

The door had been propped open for ventilation. For a moment, he stood at the threshold, watching Riley check the length of a piece of wood he’d just cut. Presley wasn’t around. Maybe she was in another room. That he was glad she was out of earshot, glad he had the chance to confront Riley alone, told him he shouldn’t be here. He’d been in a terrible mood ever since he’d encountered her at the bookstore. The fight with Dylan hadn’t helped and neither had the sleepless night he’d spent trying to convince himself that he didn’t care if Presley no longer wanted him in her life.