When we’re finished, Declan offers a fist for me to bump.

“We kicked ass today,” he says.

“And made a mess.” I wince and survey the dusty mess around us. “Let’s haul it all out to the dumpster, then rip out this carpet.”

“Then I’ll order in pizza.”

I check the time on my phone. “How did it get to be four in the afternoon already?”

“Knocking down walls takes time,” he says as he picks up an armful of drywall and heads out back to the dumpster. Hauling it all away takes almost as much time as it did to tear it down.

Finally, we rip the carpet out, roll it into manageable strips, and take it out to the dumpster together. After the last of the carpet is in the garbage, I brush the dust and dirt off my clothes then Declan’s back, and he returns the favor.

“We are dirty.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it was the wrong thing to say.

“Not in a couple weeks,” Declan says, right on cue, making me laugh.

“Har har,” I reply. “Okay. I’m starving. You promised me pizza.”

“Coming right up.”

***

“It’s so nice out here,” I say between bites of loaded pizza. We’re sitting on the front porch now, me on the top of the steps with my back leaning against the top of the railing, and Dec sitting opposite me, in the same position. The box of pizza is open between us.

It’s early evening now. Traffic, both motor and foot, has slowed. The trees are moving a bit in the breeze.

“Mmm,” he agrees, his mouth full.

“How old do you think these oaks are?” I ask, looking up into their branches.

“A few hundred years,” he replies lazily.

This. This right here is what I want with someone someday. I want the comfort. I want to be able to laugh and work hard together. Share a pizza and soak up a nice evening.

It’s a good start, anyway.

I reach for a third slice and sigh in happiness with the first bite, then swig the beer Declan opened for us.

A piece of my hair slips out of the bun on the back of my head, so I set my pizza down and fix it, then glance at Declan, who’s stopped eating and is just watching me quietly with sober eyes.

“What?”

He shakes his head and turns his attention back to his pizza. I feel like I just missed something, but I have no idea what it is.

Finally, after a long ten minutes of silence, I wipe my hands on a napkin and then throw it at Declan, hitting him in his hard head.

“You have a habit of throwing things at me, sugar.”

“What are you thinking?” I ask with a smile.

“That you throw things at me.”

“Before that.”

“Why do women always ask what men are thinking when they don’t speak for a while?”

“Because we want to know,” I reply and sip my beer. “Come on. Spill it.”

He laughs and shakes his head, takes a sip of his own beer, then leans in like he’s going to tell me something really good. “Do you want to know that big secret? The answer to the question every time a woman asks a man what he’s thinking?”

I nod.

“Nothing. He’s not thinking anything, except maybe damn, this pizza is good.”

“You were that quiet because the pizza tastes good?” I tilt my head to the side, not buying it, but he just shrugs good-naturedly and sips his beer.

“Tell me about your tats,” he says, looking at my arm. “They’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” I glance down and look at the ink, thinking of the dozens of hours I sat in Brock’s chair while he worked his magic. “I found a great artist in Denver.”

“Do they mean anything?”

“They all mean something,” I reply and bite my lip. “I’ll tell you about them sometime.”

“But not now.”

“Not now.” I shrug and lean my head back against the post, watching Declan through my lowered lashes. “Are you going to tell me what you were really thinking?”

“Are you going to tell me about your ink?”

I shake my head slowly, and he joins me, moving his head slowly back and forth while watching me with a soft smile on his full lips. The electricity between us is a living entity, crackling and popping. Can’t he feel it too? How could he miss it?

Finally, I stand and gather the empty pizza box and beer bottles and carry them into the house to the garbage. Dec follows me, but he’s a man of few words tonight.

He has something on his mind, but doesn’t trust me enough yet to talk it out. That hurts, just a little, but I understand it too. There’s still plenty I don’t want to talk about with him.

I turn to go back outside, and bump right into a solid six foot four inch wall of muscle.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” I brace my hands on his arms to catch my balance and before I can back away, he reaches out and brushes his thumb over my lower lip.

“You have some pizza sauce here,” he says softly. But he doesn’t just wipe it away. Oh no, that would be too friend-like. Instead, he tucks his fingers under my chin, lifting my gaze a little higher, tilting my lips toward his. He’s leaning into me, and I’d bet all of the tea in China that he’s going to kiss me.

Please, God, kiss the fuck out of me.

His warm fingers are burning my skin, his hazel eyes holding on to mine. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. When his lips are mere inches from mine, he pulls in a long, deep breath full of regret, and backs away with the exhale.

“You’d better go,” he says softly. I lick my lips and blink rapidly, as if I’m coming out of a trance.