Page 9 of Big Dill

“I’ll have the usual,” I grumble.

“Same,” Jaxon chimes in.

“Two beers. How about you, sweetie?” Verna snickers before adding, “Something cold, or something…hot?”

Is she fucking with me?

“I should go for hot,” Jami says lightly. “But I’ll have a white wine. Is that on the menu?”

Wine. Of course it’s wine. Just like that night at the pub. The memory hits fast and hard—her laughter, the taste of sauvignon blanc on her lips, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her.

“Brody?”

My name snaps me back. “Uh—what?”

Verna gives me the world’s most exaggerated eye roll. “We’re short-staffed. Would you mind grabbing a bottle from storage?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Escape accepted.

I slide from the booth just as Jami asks to freshen up, and I head down the dim hallway, past the washrooms. In the backroom, I stare into the cooler far longer than necessary before grabbing the sauvignon blanc—the same one she drank that night.

I’m halfway back down the hall when Jami steps out of the washroom. She startles when she sees me, pressing her back against the wall, hand flying to her chest.

“Brody,” she breathes. “I didn’t expect⁠—”

My gaze drops to her mouth. Her next words vanish, swallowed by the slow sweep of her tongue across her bottom lip. She says my name again, softer this time. Needier.

Something inside me snaps like an overstrained paddle.

“Jami,” I murmur, bracing a palm against the wall beside her head, instinct dragging me closer. My mouth hovers inches from hers. Close enough to feel the heat of her breath. Close enough to make the worst kind of mistake.

God help me, I want to.

But there’s no universe where this ends without consequences.

3

Jami

I stand back as Jaxon gives the front door a hip-check because it’s obviously frozen shut. The door finally clicks, and he swings it open. “Mi casa, your casa,” he announces, wiggling his eyebrows in that way he thinks is charming, and it is.

He’s being kind. And funny. And supportive. Meanwhile, the worry that’s been living in my brain all day—rent-free, might I add—tightens like it’s bracing for impact.

I still can’t believe I’m here. That I’ll be sharing a house with my brother…and the man I once hooked up with and never quite managed to forget.

Putting on my brightest, most everything-is-fine smile, I step inside and glance around. Cozy living room. Giant mitten pile. Pickleball gear, and court shoes, in the corner that I mentally vow never to sniff. But then something clicks.

“Wait,” I say, turning slowly. “How many bedrooms?”

“Two,” Brody answers, voice low and warm—too warm—right at my ear as he steps in behind me. His body heat brushes my back and a fine, traitorous shiver skates down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself and pretend it’s from the draft blowing in behind us.

Jaxon closes the door, shutting the world out and the three of us in, and Brody doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in just a hair. I suck in a breath and hold it as I dizzily work to convince myself breathing is overrated.

Jaxon tugs open the closet and the hinges groan, covering Brody’s voice when he leans into me and whispers, “Breathe.”

I try. I do. Heck, I’m a yoga teacher who helps others focus on breathing. I got this. At least I think I do. Until my eyes flick to Brody’s lips—lips that were seconds away from kissing me earlier tonight. Lips I definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent did not imagine on mine the entire time we ate dinner…and then some.

I hate how much I wanted that kiss. How badly a touch from him could have made me forget real life—forget the chaos, the fallout, the reason I’m even here.