Home to You by Taylor Sullivan Page B

blush. What the hell was I doing?
    He grabbed a watermelon of his own, held it to his ear, and began tapping. “What am I listening for?”  
    “Okay, you’ve had your fun. We can go now.” I placed my watermelon in the cart and began to push.  
    “No, I’m serious.” He reached out to grab my arm. “Tell me all your secrets, Katie.” I looked up at him, and something in his expression told me he wanted to know more than about watermelon.  
    I laughed a little, grabbed the melon out of his hands, and started examining it. “Okay, the first thing you do is check to see if it feels heavy for its size.”  
    He picked up another and did as I instructed, his face calm and serious.  
    I shook my head, feeling completely silly, but forced myself to continue. “It’s also good to check for brown spots and pieces of sap.”
    “Does that mean it’s bad?” he asked, his deep brown eyes both serious and reminding me of a puppy at the same time.
    “No”—I laughed—“that actually means it’s sweet.”  
    “Like you.” He smiled again, and I had to resist the urge to chew my lip.  
    He examined the dark green skin a while, and I couldn’t help but be amused by how seriously he was taking the job. “When do we get to the knocking?” He looked up, and I laughed.  
    “Go ahead.”  
    After a round of knocking from the both of us, he held his selected melon to my ear and tapped. “Is that right?”  
    I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”  
    His arm brushed mine as he placed his melon in the cart, and I wondered if he’d touched me on purpose. I grabbed the melon I’d chosen, and put it back on the shelf.  
    “What are you doing?” he asked, seeming almost insulted as he took the melon off the shelf and returned it to the cart. “We’ll need this for the competition.”  
    My brows furrowed with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”  
    “One of us will be bowing tonight, remember?” A devilish smile spread across his face. “From the look of those brown spots, I think I have a good chance.”
    My jaw dropped. “But that’s not fair.” I followed behind him in complete shock. “I just showed you all my tricks.”  
    “I never said I played fair, Katie.” He looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes alive with mischief, and pushed the cart into a checkout line.  
    What the hell had I gotten myself into?

A HALF HOUR LATER, I stood in front of Jake’s refrigerator and let the cool air rush over me. The feeling reminded me of the days when Dave and I used the fridge as a makeshift air conditioner. When everything was so simple.  
    The beer had begun to sweat at my feet, and I hurried to stack the bottles on empty shelves. Jake had spent nearly every day at our house back then. We ate boxed mac and cheese and hot dogs, while his parents prepared gourmet meals next door. I never questioned why. He grew up in a house that was more like a museum than a home. So much to see, so little to touch. I placed the last beer in the spot in the door, picked up one of the watermelons, and laughed. Shit.
    “There’s another fridge out in the garage.”  
    Jake’s voice startled me and I turned around. He smiled in that easy way of his and snaked an arm around my waist to grab a couple beers from the bottom shelf.  
    “Where’s John?” he asked.
    I closed the door and hoisted the melon a little higher. “Out back.” I cleared my throat.  
    “Oh.” He raised one brow, then glanced between the watermelon I held in my arms and the one still on the floor. “That’s a lot of watermelon.” He popped the caps off the beer and handed me one.  
    “So?” I carried the melon and beer to the center island and pulled a knife from the block. I’d spent the whole drive home trying to figure a way out of the whole situation. I didn’t think John was serious, but I wasn’t planning to find out either. “Do you have a bowl?”  
    He set his beer on the counter, then dropped to his