The Billionaire Boyfriend Proposal: A Kavanagh Family Novel by Kendra Little

sweet. Would they still be like that? Or was he harder
now, more demanding? Did he take or did he ask first like he used
to?
    I bit my bottom lip in case it betrayed me
and puckered up. I steeled everything inside me, waiting for that
kiss, waiting for the caress of skin on skin and the onslaught of
tingles that I knew would explode inside me at the merest
touch.
    But he simply took a glass out of the dish
drainer and wiped it. "No physical contact," he murmured.
"Gotcha."
    I scrunched the sponge up in my fist.
Breathed. Breathed again.
    The back screen door banged and Robbie called
out. "Where are you guys?"
    "In here," I called back, relieved to have a
third party present to ensure we didn't do anything we would regret
later. I had to remember there was no going back with Blake. That
path led only to heartache. The rift that had developed between us
could never be healed.
    Robbie loped into the kitchen. "What's for
dinner? I'm starving."
    "Pizza," I said before Blake could offer to
cook again.
    I caught Blake smirking at me, as if he knew
that seeing him working in my kitchen would break down my barriers
that little bit more. Damn him.
    ***
    "How's the summer house coming along?" I
asked as we ate at the kitchen table. The kitchen had always been
the hub of Gran's household. It wasn't a modern design like the
Kavanaghs' kitchen with its hard, cold edges and shiny appliances.
It was homely with wooden bench tops sporting cuts here and there,
each one with a story behind it. There was the time I cut into a
teacake without using a board because I'd gotten annoyed at being
told to serve the teacake when I preferred to be sketching, and the
time Lyle sliced off the tip of his finger when cutting an
apple.
    Gran had cooked brownies and cakes in that
kitchen for decades, even after she'd begun to go blind. I helped
when her sight disappeared altogether, following the recipes passed
down from her grandmother and written in neat, small hand in a
yellowing book that was missing its spine. The oven was enormous,
built to last for years. It cooked unevenly and it was a skill to
know where to place the food to get it just right. But it never
needed servicing and it baked the best cakes. Many times Blake and
Reece had enjoyed the food Gran cooked, the younger Kavanagh
brothers too sometimes, as we sat around the same table I now sat
at with Blake and Robbie.
    I tried not to remember those times. The
laughter and stolen kisses behind Gran's back were memories from
happier times, long ago.
    "It's habitable for tonight," Blake said.
    "It's great," Robbie said. "Thanks again for
letting me stay, Cassie. I'm sorry to put you to so much
trouble."
    "It's not trouble for me. Blake's the one who
did the most work. I'm getting free labor."
    "I meant my brother."
    "It'll be okay. Give it time for him to get
used to you not going back with him. He's smarting right now. His
feelings are probably hurt that you chose us over him."
    He licked pizza sauce off his fingers one by
one until there was nothing left. Then he picked up another slice.
"He can't compete with this."
    "There's still more work to do down there,"
Blake said. "But I don't want to leave you in the house on your
own."
    "I can help," I said. "What needs doing?"
    "It looks pretty nice to me," Robbie said
with a shrug.
    "It could do with a coat of paint on the
walls," Blake said. "Some of the boards are rotten and need
replacing, and I thought I could connect the water and electricity
to the main supply. That way he can use the little kitchenette. Of
course, the sink is rusty and will need replacing and you don't
even want to know what's in the cupboards."
    I regarded him over my pizza slice. "Uh,
Blake, that sounds like a lot of work."
    He shrugged. "I don't mind."
    "You know I can't pay you."
    "You seem to be forgetting that my brother
owns this place now." He frowned at me. "Were you paying for
repairs or was Lyle?"
    I concentrated on my pizza, but he knew what
my silence meant. Of