But that was good enough, right?

“I’ll grab our lunches,” Susan said, standing. “You bring a salad?”

“Yeah,” Brynn said distractedly. It was Wednesday; of course she’d brought a salad.

“Cool. I have some Midol in my purse. You’ll feel better by the time your one o’clock gets here.”

“Thanks, Sue,” Brynn said distractedly as her tiny friend walked out of the office with perfect posture.

Her smile slipped as soon as her friend was out of sight. Somehow she didn’t think Midol would fix whatever was bothering her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Take one day a week for solitude and reflection.

Sundays are “me” days.

—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an

Exemplary Life, #76

Brynn had spent an inordinate amount of time wondering what “favor” Will would call in for helping with the flat tire.

She should have known better than to ask him for help. Heaven forbid he just do the decent thing and help a girl out.

But a week had passed and he hadn’t done more than wave at her from his kitchen window or “accidentally” knock over her recycling bin with his lawn mower.

There certainly hadn’t been any mention of her supposed debt.

So she’d forgotten about it. Mostly. Sure, there’d been a few nights where she’d fantasized about the clever ways she’d turn down his undoubtedly crude suggestions. But for the most part, she hadn’t thought about Will.

Hadn’t thought about how much he annoyed her.

Hadn’t thought about how easily he’d agreed to help her out with the tire, even though she’d treated him like crap.

Hadn’t thought about the fact that they could be in each other’s bedrooms in under five minutes.

And she certainly hadn’t thought about what his hands had felt like on her on that night three years ago.

So when his face had popped up in her kitchen window on a Sunday morning as she’d been sipping a cup of coffee and daydreaming about what to do with a day to herself, she hadn’t expected it. And she screamed.

“Goddamn it, Will!” she yelled through the pane as she wiped coffee off her pale pink silk robe. Temper spiked at the sight of his smirking face and she slapped her palm against the glass. And that made her even madder. Now she’d have to clean up the coffee and the handprint.

He pointed in the direction of the back door that entered into her kitchen and disappeared.

Please. Like she would let him interrupt her productive Sunday routine. She had laundry to do. And then she was going to clean the fridge. And eventually she was going to alphabetize her bookshelf, which she’d really been putting off for way too long.

Brynn ignored the first knock at the back door as she cleaned the spilled coffee off the granite countertop.

She ignored the second knock as she got out her organic, nontoxic glass cleaner and returned her kitchen windowpane to its usual pristine state.

The third knock made her smile as she refilled her mug. Rejection would do Will Thatcher good.

But then she started losing track of the knocks because the fifth one turned into the eighth, and then the twelfth, and then there was no end.

Go upstairs and take a shower, she ordered herself. Do not open that door. Not when this robe barely covers your ass.

The knocking went from an insistent tapping to a strange rhythm.

Good God. The infantile moron was tapping out “Jingle Bells” on her door. Clearly he had a death wish.

“Go away, Will!” she called out.

“I love this song, don’t you?”

“Love it!” she hollered back.

…oh, what fun, it is to ride…

“Say, sweetie…I’m out of coffee…”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh? No longer welcome at Starbucks after sleeping with their entire staff?” she asked, wandering to the other side of the door so she wouldn’t have to yell as loud.

“Don’t be snobbish. There are a couple male baristas that didn’t interest me in the least.”

“Lecher.”

“Prude.”

…a day or two ago, I thought I’d take a ride…

“Will, if you don’t stop with that infernal Christmas carol, I’ll tell my mom that you were the one who finished off her favorite Cognac during winter break freshman year.”

“I already confessed. And now she buys me my own bottle every Thanksgiving.”

“Of course she does,” Brynn muttered.

…jingle bells, jingle bells…

“Come on, Brynny, you owe me a favor.”

She paused at that. He wanted a cup of coffee as his favor? Hell, she’d been imagining something a little more…torrid. If coffee was all he wanted, she’d give him the whole pot.

“Okay, fine. I’ll give you coffee. But then you’re leaving.”

The knocking slowed. Then stopped. The doorknob rattled impatiently.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. She swallowed dryly. His hair was slightly damp and he smelled like soap, having obviously just showered. Yum.

“Wearing a shirt today, I see,” she said, closing the door behind him as he immediately headed toward the coffeepot. He found the cupboard with the mugs on the first try, and damn if that didn’t annoy her. He’d been gone for three years. He had no right to know how she organized her kitchen shelves.

He poured himself a cup before leaning back against her counter, eyeing her over the steaming mug. The scene was unexpectedly domestic and she resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. His worn jeans and casual green button-down fit him entirely too well.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve been in your house since we became best friends and neighbors?” he asked.

“And the last time. Is the one cup enough, or do you need another to go?”

He ignored this. “I’m ready to call in my favor.”

She nodded in the direction of his coffee mug. “You just did.”

He held up the plain white porcelain cup in disbelief. “This? You think I rolled around on the hot pavement and wrestled a dirty tire for a cup of coffee? Please. I’ve got my own coffee back home.”

Brynn all but felt steam come out her ears as she realized she’d been played. “You said you were out of coffee.”

“Lied. I just needed a way to get in the door so we can talk about my due.”

“The only thing you’re due is my foot up your ass on the way out,” she snapped, opening the back door and making a sweeping outward gesture.

He sighed. “You and Sophie. Both cranky in the morning. Your poor parents.”

Will pushed away from the counter, idly shutting the door as he wandered into the living area.

“All-white décor. Shocker.”

Brynn closed her eyes in resignation. Short of forcibly pushing him out the door, he wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted. And no way was she touching him.

“All right, let’s hear it. What do I have to do to even the scorecard? What sort of humiliating adventure do you have cooked up? Lap dance? Striptease? Orthodontist appointment?”

It wouldn’t be the last one. Will’s teeth were perfectly straight, perfectly white. Sharklike.

“Interesting suggestions, Brynny,” he said, idling toward her until there were just inches separating them, her back against the door.

Stupid, stupid, Brynn. She knew by now not to let herself get backed into a corner with this guy. He always took advantage.

“So the lap dance is an intriguing suggestion, but I find I’m…” His eyes skimmed over her, on the coffee stain splattered all over her breast.

Brynn sucked in a breath, every physical instinct telling her to arch her back to push herself into him, even as every mental instinct told her to knee him in the balls.

“You find you’re what?” she asked. Crap. Her voice was way huskier than the situation warranted.

His eyes flicked back up to hers, his head inclining just slightly toward hers. “Not interested,” he finished in an equally husky voice.

She let out a hissing noise, and this time her mental and physical instincts were completely in sync. But he saw it coming, and grabbed her knee and pushed it easily away before she could make contact with his special bits.