“Cass, stop apologizing. You’ve done more than anyone. Devoting nearly your entire weekend to the festival is above and beyond. So, thank you, for whatever time you can make it. And no more apologies.” Perry covers my hand with his where it’s resting on my knee. I try not to notice how the edge of his pinkie skims the bare skin peeking out from under my skirt’s hemline. I stare at his long fingers… and frown. Thin red scratches mar his lightly tanned skin.
“Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” Snatching it, I hold his hand up to the light.
“Hazard of the profession, I’m afraid.” He flashes me a wry smile. “Rose thorns. I have a tool to strip them off the stems, but they’re sneaky little fuckers.” Flipping over his hand, I study his palm. More red and pink scratches crisscross his fingertips. I wince. Even though the cuts aren’t deep, I bet they sting. I suck in a sharp breath. And he gave me a shoulder massage—despite the pain.
“Does it hurt?” Drawing the tip of my index finger lightly across his skin, I trace the pattern of angry red lines.
“Not when you do that.”
The husky, raw tone of his voice settles into my bones, releasing a flood of heat.
Slowly, I still my finger, and drag my gaze up to his face.
His hooded eyes bore into mine, and the intensity behind them nearly makes me swoon. He’s never looked at me like this before. Like a giant, invisible hand is all that’s keeping him from tackling me to the ground like a tiger pouncing on his prey. His chest rises and falls sharply as his gaze lowers to my parted lips.
I’m breathing just as hard as he is, and our whooshing breath is the only sound in the silent room. My nerves tingle. Every cell in my body screams out in want.
He curls his fingers around mine, and the pressure ignites the sparks in my belly. “Cass…” he rasps, and it’s like the word was ripped from the very depths of his soul.
We reach for each other at the same time. His hand closes around the back of my neck at the same moment I cup his stubble-roughened jaw. I close my eyes. His rosemary and pine scent envelopes me, draws me in.
Our breath mingles. Our lips touch in the barest whisper of greeting.
The door behind us opens with a rusty squeal, and we jerk apart.
“Dinner’s here,” Devin announces as he walks into the room, wearing his typical fitted polo and holding an overstuffed plastic take-out bag. I drag the back of my wrist across my mouth automatically. Perry clears his throat as he settles back in his chair. He doesn’t look at me.
Devin’s eyebrows pinch together briefly when he catches sight of me sitting knee-to-knee with Perry, but then he smiles. “Hey, Cass. I didn’t think you were coming.”
I laugh nervously. Devin, my ex-but-not-really, almost just walked in on me kissing his brother.
Well… sort of. Does half a second of lip-to-lip contact count as a kiss? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can’t deny my feelings for Perry, whether I want to or not. And he’s obviously feeling something for me—he’s made that abundantly clear.
But Devin’s still hoping we’ll get back together, and I can’t keep kicking that can down the road, expecting my romantic entanglements to magically resolve themselves. I need to make a choice.
But not tonight. The festival kicks off in two short days and we all have enough to worry about without me throwing a drama-bomb in the mix.
I inhale deeply in an attempt to calm my runaway heart. “Better late than never, right?”
“Are you hungry?” Devin lifts the take-out bag, and I catch the spicy scent of Thai food.
“Starving.”
“Good. Because I bought plenty.” Sliding one of the buckets of flowers over to clear space on the large square table in the center of the room, Devin deposits the bag in the corner. “Did you tell Cass about the T-shirts?” he asks over his shoulder.
Perry and I look at each other and quickly away. My thighs tense even as guilt pounds through my veins.
“Not yet,” murmurs Perry.
“What T-shirts?” I ask, voice entirely too bright.
“We had T-shirts made for all the festival volunteers. One of Perry’s artist friends does silk-screening, and she gave us a sweet deal. We got one for you too.”
Grinning, Devin slides a cardboard box out from under the table. After a few seconds of digging around its depths, he pulls out a kelly green T-shirt and tosses it to me. “Here you go.”
Unballing the soft fabric, I hold up the shirt. The event logo I drew weeks ago is on the back. Flowering vines twine around the words “Ohio City Flower & Beer Festival,” which are written in blocky, old-timey font, while the logos of our five corporate sponsors form a line underneath. I flip the shirt over on my lap to study the front and I let out a bark of laughter. “It even has my name on it.” Printed on the left side of the chest below the V-neck collar, “Cass” is printed in the same blocky font as the logo.