Page 23 of A Forever Love

He slides closer, playfully nudging my shoulder with his own. “Are you sure two will produce enough oxygen, or should I toss in a few more for the next six months?” His grin fades as his emerald eyes crinkle with concern. “It’s only for six months, right?” Just as Dad’s forehead starts to crease further, the doorbell rings.

Saved by the bell.

A sigh leaves me when he heads to answer the door. As I pack a few of the cookies he baked two days ago into a Ziploc bag, a throat clears behind me.

“You all set to go?”

The heavy voice slices the air, turning it frigid, and shivers run down my spine. I close my eyes, needing a moment to compose myself, and swallow the butterflies attempting to flutter in my belly. When I turn around, crushing the Ziploc bag, I find Carter standing next to Dad.

This is the first time I’ve seen him in my home since my return.

Was he always this tall? Or has he grown somehow in the last four years?

But it’s not just his height, it’s everything about him. He’s dressed in a navy-blue three-piece suit, a far cry from his usual T-shirt and jeans combo I’ve known all my life. His hair, once wavy and free spirited, is now slicked back like one of those mafia romance heroes from my favorite novels. His jaw, still clean-shaven, has traded its familiar smoothness for a more masculine, chiseled sharpness.

Yes, there, I said it.

Carter King has turned into a thirty-two-year-old sex package.

All the more reason why I shouldn’t be here.

“Breakfast, Carter?” Dad asks, placing my coffee cup on the table.

“Nah, I’m good,” Carter responds, confidently striding further into the room. I can’t help but admire his swagger, his movements graceful and self-assured as he takes a seat closest to where I’m standing, holding cookies that have turned into a crushed ball in my hands. The faint scent of his familiar cologne grips my lungs.

“What are you doing here?” An irritating pulse throbs in my temple.

“If we weren’t friends, I’d think you don’t want me here right now, mittens.” Carter raises an eyebrow, and the cleft of his dimples deepens.

Stop looking at him, his brow lifting, and that insanely hot dimple!

“It’s Saturday, and I’m sure even CEOs appreciate the occasional late start on weekends.”

“Not this guy. He works like a horse.” Dad wraps a fresh croissant in a bread bag and places it on the table for me. But when he reaches for the second one, warning sirens blare in my brain.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

My father turns around, but instead of meeting my eye, he lightly tips his head toward Carter. “You said, me, Clem, and my friends couldn’t drive you to Cherrywood, but I was hoping you wouldn’t be against the company of your best friend.”

“Dad!” I feel like I just swallowed something sour. Unease washes over me at the thought of spending hours with Carter in a closed, cramped car. This is the worst. “Why didn’t you ask me first?”

“I’m not doing you a favor, Mere.” Carter throws me his dimpled smile, the one that used to be reassuring when I was a kid, but now makes my heart go crazy. “I’m driving to Cherrywood anyway. Being your chauffeur and helping with the move is just a bonus.”

6

CARTER

“Are you seriously going to treat me like a chauffeur?” We’re thirty minutes into the drive, and Merida has had her head facing out the window since we set off, pretending to be asleep.

“I never asked you to take me. You volunteered, remember?” she grumbles, then turns to retrieve her purple bag from the back seat of my Aston Martin. Her new perfume wafts over, Chanel No. 5. As opposed to her theory of me having the nose for women’s perfume, I recognize it only because it was my mother’s favorite. She even took me to Grasse, France, to tour the jasmine fields. My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

What the heck? I’m the fucking CEO of the largest security company in the state. How can the simple scent of a perfume derail me so easily?

Merida puts on her sunglasses and once again goes to sleep.

My razor-thin control snaps, and I pull the car over onto the next available shoulder. “Say the word and I’ll dump you and your multitude of bags on the street right now.”

“Why the hell are you stopping here? Are you crazy? Just keep driving, dammit.”