Follow Me Back (Fight for Me 2) - Page 47

She didn’t even sign. She was talking to me. Expecting her son to pick up on what she was saying.

“That’s okay. I get it.”

Jenna made a dramatic gasping sound. Her phone was held out in front of her, her eyes wide in an exaggerated way. “Oh goodness, Harley Hope, I am so sorry . . .”

Harley Hope.

A smile edged my mouth at her full name, and I tucked away that information for another day.

Jenna continued without pausing, “But I just got word Maw-Maw needs her hair done up real nice for bingo tonight, and I’m not going to be able to help like I promised. Apparently, there’s a man she has her sights set on. I’m afraid I’m going to have to bail. I feel so bad.”

Hope shot her a look that promised she was going to be sorry before saying, “Evan and I can handle it. No worries.”

Jenna’s brow twisted in horror. “Are you sure? That is a lot of work.”

“Completely sure. We have all weekend.”

“Oh, I have a good idea!” Jenna turned her gaze on me, forged innocence written all over her face. “Why don’t you help? You’re the one who needs them, after all. Plus, Hope here is gonna have all these supplies she needs to carry in, and they’re super heavy, and she’s had a really long day here at the shop. It might be nice for her to have a big, strapping man help her out.”

Could the girl be more obvious?

She shot me an exaggerated wink.

Apparently, she could.

Hope hissed something under her breath and smacked Jenna’s hip. Clearly, she thought I couldn’t see it, so I stood there trying not to laugh.

But it was Evan who was suddenly jumping up and down and waving his arms, the nod of his head about as overdramatic as the ridiculous story Jenna had just told.

That was what nailed me to the spot.

The little lip-reader.

Had the feeling he always knew more than people gave him credit for.

I rubbed a hand over my mouth.

Not knowing what to say.

Because there was Evan basically begging me to, and Hope begging me with her eyes to stay away.

I glanced around at all three faces that were waiting for me to respond.

It didn’t seem all that hard to figure out.

How could devoting a Friday night to helping out a single mom ever be considered bad?

I had been the one who walked through the door, asking for the favor. The one who’d come here after I’d committed to stay away and put Hope on the spot, telling her the kids needed more candy.

I’d lend a hand. Help out. Put a smile on the kid’s face and make a fat contribution to their charity when we finished.

That was it.

Nothing more.

Easy-peasy.

Because just like that willpower?

Right then, I was riding a high.

Resolved.

Confident.

I could do this . . . said every addict trying to give up a vice.

14

Kale

It was five after six when I pulled up in front of Hope and Evan’s house.

The sun was a blazing halo that hung low on the Alabama horizon. Hazy rays glinted through the leafy trees and cast the air in shimmers and shadows.

The second I stepped from my car, the overpowering scent of honeysuckle hit my senses, the muggy summer in full bloom.

My heart rate kicked. A jumble of nerves and uncertainty.

That didn’t stop me from heading for the white-picket fence that enclosed the perfectly hedged lawn.

Still, each step wound me tighter, ribbons of anticipation and greed.

I opened the short gate and strode up the walkway that cut through the center of the front yard, passing by the two massive trees on either side of the sidewalk that stood like proud soldiers guarding the quaint house.

Never slowing, I bounded up the two steps and onto the white porch. Potted plants were set up all over the place, vines growing over the railings, the door painted a bright red to give it a splash of color.

The little house screamed charm and comfort. It was the kind of place where you liked to imagine a happy family rested behind its doors, all of them curled up on the couch where they watched a show together.

My chest tightened, my mind wandering with questions, knowing I didn’t really have the first clue about their lives. Wondering if it was good. If they were really happy.

This antsy need lit up my veins with the drive to offer them some of it.

Fuck. I really was losing my mind.

I rapped at the door.

A riot of footsteps thudded on the other side, frantic fingers flying through the locks. I thought maybe I had some of my answer to that when what had to be the happiest kid in the world grinned from the other side when the door swung open.

Wavy red hair and freckled nose and hopeful green eyes.

HI, he signed, bouncing on his toes, putting all kinds of emotion into that simple gesture.

Tags: A.L. Jackson Fight for Me Romance
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