༻ 4 ༺

Back at the house, Felicity busied herself with arranging the petunias. She placed them strategically along the front porch, where her dad would easily notice them when he got back. It was a small act, but it gave her something to do—something to focus on besides the lingering heat of Brody’s kiss or the way her heart still fluttered every time she thought of it.

“I’ll just drop my stuff off at the guest house,” Brody said, his voice neutral.

She gave him a quick nod without meeting his gaze. “Okay. I’ll be inside.”

As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Felicity exhaled and rubbed her hands down the sides of her jeans. What had she been thinking? Getting caught up in the moment like that—letting herself feel that pull toward him. It had been reckless, stupid… and yet the memory of his mouth on hers was still vivid, still tingling on her skin.

She went inside, kicked off her shoes, and grabbed a book from the side table. Settling onto the couch, she tucked her legs beneath her and opened it to a bookmarked page. It was supposed to be a distraction, something to keep her from watching the clock and wondering how long Brody would stay away. But she barely made it through a paragraph before she heard the back door open.

He was back.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes on the page, but her body was alert—tense, aware of every sound he made. Footsteps crossed the kitchen, a soft thud as tools were set down on the counter. He was probably here to finish the shelf he’d been building in the hallway, the one her dad had asked him to reinforce.

Brody said nothing as he passed behind her, but she felt him there—his presence unmistakable, like gravity. She could smell his cologne, faint and warm. Her fingers tightened slightly around the book.

She turned a page she hadn’t actually read.

In the hallway, Brody began working. The low hum of a power drill vibrated through the walls, followed by the steady sound of wood being adjusted. Every now and then, he'd walk through the living room to grab something from the kitchen, and each time, their eyes would catch—just for a second—before flicking away like it hadn’t happened.

The unspoken was loud between them.

Felicity shifted on the couch, resting her cheek against her palm and pretending to be completely engrossed in the book. But her eyes weren't moving anymore. She could feel his glances as much as he could feel hers.

At one point, he came in to grab a screwdriver. She risked a look at him just as he turned to look at her, and they both froze.

She cleared her throat, breaking the moment. “You need anything?”

Brody shook his head, but there was a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m good. Just finishing up.”

She nodded, eyes dropping back to the page, though she hadn’t absorbed a single word since he walked back in.

Another moment passed before he said, more softly, “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Felicity looked up again. “You didn’t,” she lied. “We just… got caught up.”

He stood there for a beat longer, nodding slowly like he wanted to say more—but didn’t. Then he turned and walked back down the hall.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

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