Chapter Sixteen

"We have to talk."

Dev's fingers smashed against the keyboard, and whatever he'd done caused the dreaded #REF! error to pop up all over the spreadsheet like a plague of demonic dandelions. "Fuck!"

"Sorry," Casey said, hovering in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Dev slid down in the chair and clamped his elbows to his sides. Why no, I'm not using the monitor as an electronic blanket fort. Why do you ask? "Why aren't you in class?"

"I managed to fail today's lesson in record time, and after a little chat with Sylvia, she gave me a get out of jail free card." He stepped into the room, head tilted to one side. "Unless it's more of a hall pass. Whatever." He moved forward until his legs were pressed against the other side of the desk and craned his neck to meet Dev's gaze over the monitor. "Can we please talk?"

With his shoulders bunched nearly at his ears, Dev gestured to the screen. "Can't. No time. Got to prepare the financial forecast for the town for the Selectboard meeting."

"The meeting isn't for another two weeks." Casey folded his arms. "I checked with Kenny. Try another one."

"It's not just the town. The estate finances are tied up with it too. Accounting's not exactly my forte, so it takes me longer. A lot longer. Hours. Days." He poked at the ESC key. Nothing happened. Still #REF!s as far as the eye could see. "Sometimes weeks." He shook his head with a weak laugh. "Seems like I'm chained to the damn computer these days."

"Funny, because when I stopped by here after class the last couple of days, you haven't been here."

"Uh… That's because…" Gah! He used to be able to think on his feet. Why did Casey totally disconnect his brain?

Casey dropped into the chair next to the desk. "Give it up, Dev. You're here. I'm here. And we really need to talk."

Frowning, Dev huffed out a breath. "Fine. Talk."

"You know that thing we did in the kitchen?"

Dev raised an eyebrow and folded his own arms. "You mean bake?"

"No," Casey said between clenched teeth. "Why are you being so difficult? I mean the kiss. And…" He glanced away and flapped his hands. "And other things."

"That was a mistake."

Casey lifted his chin and met Dev's gaze squarely. "Why?"

Dev had a hard time reading the look in his eyes. Determination, maybe, but hurt lurked in those amber depths too, which either took a lot of nerve, borderline sociopathic tendencies, or exceptional acting talent. Hell, maybe all three.

"You know why."

"Because you didn't like it?" Casey covered his face with his hands. "Oh, god. I knew it. I'm a terrible kisser. You were revolted, weren't you? You only touched my dick to be nice."

Despite the anger that still simmered about Casey's subterfuge, Dev chuckled. "Calm down, Casey. Your kiss was fine."

"Fine?" he wailed, still hiding behind his hands. "Fine is worse than terrible. Fine is unremarkable. Fine is boring."

Fuck this. So Casey was a liar and a cheat. Didn't mean that Dev had to stoop to the same level. "If I'm honest? Your kiss was superlative. Outstanding. The best ever."

Casey peeked between his fingers. "Really? So you did like it? The dick-touching too?"

Dev's palms started to sweat. "The, er, dick-touching was… well, let's say I didn't do it just to be nice. I don't do things I don't like." Casey dropped his hands and stared pointedly at the monitor. "Okay, I don't do things I don't like that aren't required, as long as I've got all the facts."

"Then you didn't want it." He paled, making that spray of freckles stand out in a way that twisted Dev's guts. "I threw myself at you," he murmured, wide-eyed. "Practically tackled you to the ground without asking. That's the worst thing. Not asking. I'm so sorry. I—"

"Casey. Stop, okay? It was pretty clear I was into it, too, but that doesn't matter. Because you weren't free to give it."

His brows snapped down. "Give what?"

"Anything."

"What are you talking about?" Casey asked in a truly bewildered tone.

"Remember what I said about having all the facts? You left a damn big one out, and it put me in a fucking awkward position. You may be okay with cheating, but I'm not okay with being the means, especially when I wasn't informed."

"Wait." Casey's brow cleared. "You've been avoiding me because of Bradley?"

"What do you think?" Dev tore his gaze away from Casey's face and tried to figure out how to fix whatever his keyboard smash had done to the spreadsheet.

"See, that's why you need to talk to people, Dev, instead of being this big, stoic… monument." Casey reached over and switched off the monitor.

"Hey!" Dev protested. "I was working on that."

"It'll still be there when you turn the monitor on again. Look." He took a huge breath and blew it out. "That kiss was more than I've ever done with Bradley. For that matter, it was more than I've ever wanted to do with Bradley. This alleged engagement is all in his head. Well, his head and my uncle's."

"Did you ever tell them that?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "So many times. But telling somebody something doesn't do much good if they don't listen. And Uncle Walt and Bradley have this kind of… selective audio filter. If what you say doesn't align with their plans, then they just don't hear it."

"Mmmphmmm."

"Eloquent, Dev. Real eloquent. Although I suppose I should take it as a good sign that you haven't run away again like the last the last two days." He scooted his chair closer. "Granted, I am blocking you in your desk, but you're big enough that you could move me aside with no trouble."

"I would never touch you without your permission, Casey, and never in anger. If you believe nothing else about me, believe that."

"Okay, then, as long as we're talking about beliefs, let me be clear." He leaned forward, gaze fierce and intense. "I am not now nor have I ever been engaged to Bradley. I am not dating Bradley. I have never dated Bradley and I never would, because he's a total dickhead. Believe that."

"No argument there," Dev muttered.

"Furthermore, he is the king of entitlement, the emperor of condescension, and the grand freaking poobah of self-importance." Casey stuck his nose in the air. "And frankly, I'm a little insulted that you think I'd fall for any of that."

Dev's lips twitched. "You have to admit, I had reasons."

"Only Bradley's words." He jabbed a finger at Dev's chest. "Need I remind you that you bolted before you bothered to hear mine? Because if you'd stayed, you'd have heard me totally reading him the riot act." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Although, even if Bradley heard what I said, there's no telling whether he paid attention. Selective audio filter, remember?"

The back of Dev's neck burned like it always did when he was ashamed of himself. "That's fair. I'm sorry I ghosted you. I've been told I have… trust issues. And perhaps an occasional problem with self-worth."

"Apology accepted." Casey smiled tentatively. "So we're good now?"

"We're good."

Casey waggled his eyebrows. "Seal it with a kiss?"

Fuck, but I want to. However… "I don't think that would be such a great idea."

Casey's face fell. "So you don't want me."

"Whether I want you or not is not the issue." Dev punched the monitor's on switch, sending it flickering to life. "I've got duties. Responsibilities." Burdens. "Home is not just my home, it's my family's legacy. I can't fail the town just because I'm a lousy bookkeeper and suck at managing money." And besides, you'll be leaving in two months.

Casey's smile grew and gained an edge that made him look less like a rescue kitten and more like Randolph Scott on the trail of a particularly tasty mouse.

"You, Dev Harrison, are in luck. I may be culinarily clueless, but I've got seven-eighths of an MBA and I aced all my accounting and financial management classes. I don't have an ounce of my father's cooking talent, but I totally inherited my uncle's financial savvy. I bet I can get your books under control in no time."

The flutter in Dev's middle—was that hope or lust? Probably a little of both, because he'd totally get on his knees for a guy who knew how to vanquish this fucking budget—especially if that guy was Casey. "You'd do that?"

"In a heartbeat." His expression turned serious. "This isn't a quid pro quo, by the way. I'll take it on even if you don't want to kiss me again. I'll do it because it's something I'm good at and because you need the help. If you don't trust me with your financial data—"

"No! It's not that. I do trust you. It's just…" He scrubbed his hands across his close-cropped hair. "I ought to be able to handle this myself."

Casey regarded him for a moment, deadpan. Then he asked, "Why?"

"Because all the Harrisons before me have managed with no trouble."

"How do you know?"

Dev spread his arms, as though encompassing Harrison House and everything beyond. "Because Home is still here, and it's still the haven Persistence dreamed it would be."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that your forebears found it easy or did it all alone. Come on, Dev. Let me help."

"I—" The landline on the desk jangled, which meant it was town business. Dev grimaced. "I've got to get that."

Casey flapped his hands. "Go ahead. I'm in no hurry. Not since I don't have to time my Dev ambush anymore."

Dev shook his head, grinning, and picked up the handset. "Dev Harrison."

"Dev, it's Pete. Got a little problem out at the Patel house. Could use your help."

"What kind of problem?"

"Some flatlander in a fancy car poking his nose where it don't belong. Acting like he owns the place."

Bradley. "I'll be right there." He hung up. "Sorry. Pete needs backup."

Should I tell him about Bradley's visit?No, not yet. After Casey untangled the books, he might discover that selling one or two properties might be the only answer, but until then, Dev preferred to keep Bradley's offer under wraps. Knowing Casey, he'd probably kick himself for bringing Home to Bradley's attention rather than placing the blame where it belonged: squarely on Dev's shoulders.

Casey rose and gestured for Dev to move so they could switch places. "Why don't I get started while you check in with Pete, then? I can give you my initial thoughts when you get back."

"I don't know how long it'll take," Dev warned.

"Doesn't matter." Casey smiled. "With Summer Kitchen not hanging over my head, I'm free as a bird for the rest of the day."

Dev held out the chair for Casey to sit, purposely keeping a safe distance, because Casey was really just a guest. Who was leaving. In two months. "The lock screen password is hometown, all one word, lower case, but use zeroes instead of Os. I'll give you a tour of the rest of the financial apps later."

Casey settled into the chair and scooted closer to the desk. "Works for me. Go on and do your thing with Pete. I'll be fine here."

Dev lifted an eyebrow. "Just fine?"

Casey smirked up at him. "No. I'll be superlative. Now shoo."

Dev strode for the door. Before he left the office, though, he glanced back at Casey, who was already studying the screen, his brows drawn together in adorable concentration, fingers already busy on the keyboard.

Leaving in two months, remember?

Dev ground his molars together and stalked down the hall and out the kitchen door. He sprinted across the field to his cottage and climbed into his elderly CR-V, all the while cataloging the reasons why it would be a bad idea to get involved with Casey.

He'd always been lousy at casual sex. It had taken him until he was in college to realize that he was demisexual, and that the initial spark of attraction wasn't enough for him. He needed the emotional attachment before true desire kicked in. His relationship with Nash was a cautionary tale on evaluating the nature of the emotional attachment, though. In the last eighteen months, he'd felt the loss of the attachment, of something to hang his life on, but not the loss of Nash per se.

Casey, though. The connection they'd been building before the Big Bradley Misunderstanding had been different. Warmer—bordering on hot, in fact, yet still effortless. Comforting and comfortable.

Pursuing it would be selfish, though, wouldn't it? What did it matter whether Dev had a boyfriend he could love and respect, and who felt the same about him, if it meant that Home and everyone who lived here suffered for it?

When he pulled up to the Patel house, a classic white-sided New England saltbox with forest green shutters and red brick chimney, Pete was roaring along the front lawn on his mower. Bradley's Lexus was nowhere in sight. Dev climbed out of the car and signaled Pete, who cut the motor but didn't climb off.

He tipped up the brim of his ball cap. "Afternoon, Dev."

"Where's the flatlander?"

Pete shrugged. "Told him you was on your way over and he had a sudden recollection of an appointment."

"He tell you his name?"

"Nawp." He resettled his cap on his grizzled hair. "Know who he is, though. Dropped Casey off at Harrison House his first day." He squinted up at Dev. "Not a friend of Casey's, is he? Doesn't seem the type."

"No. He's not."

"He left you this note." Pete pulled a crumpled piece of thick cream paper out of his overall pocket and smoothed the creases out against his belly. "Here."

Dev took the note, tempted to crush it in his fist. "If you see him around at any of the other properties? Give me a call right away."

"Ayup." He started the engine again and put the mower in gear.

Dev smiled wryly. Not a big talker, Pete. He unfolded the note and looked down at the forceful, jagged letters:

This deal won't last forever. Take it now, before I take it all.

He got back in the car, but rather than driving straight back to Harrison House the way his heart urged him to, he drove the circuit, passing each of the empty houses, his gut clenching tighter at each one.

They needed people to need them, to live in them, to love them. And Home needs those people.

Instead of heading to his cottage, he drove back to Harrison House and parked in front of the door—completely on the driveway, which was perfectly adequate, no matter what Bradley fucking Pillsbury said. He couldn't help the way his heart lifted as he banged through the front door and headed for the office. It gave an extra leap when Casey looked up at him over the monitor with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

He patted a neat stack of paper on the corner of the desk. "Got the budget for the antique fair sorted."

Dev blinked. "You did?"

"It wasn't too hard once I tracked down the missing formula. I had no idea Home did anything like this. It's pretty cool."

Dev fumbled with the papers, staring almost blindly at the neat rows of figures. The total was still red, but there weren't any more of those judgmental #REF! errors dotted all over the place. "It's really done? I was only gone for twenty minutes."

Casey shrugged. "Like I said, it wasn't hard once I traced the formulas." He widened his eyes, shaking his head. "Although, wow. Who knew Port-a-Potties cost so much?"

Dev gazed at him, heat growing in his belly. "Twenty minutes and you're done?"

"Um, sorry?" Casey bit his lip, that delectable blush throwing his freckles into relief. "I hope you don't take it as a slam on you. I mean, I can't cook. You've got an accounting weakness. So what? People have different abilities."

Dev set the papers down. "Twenty minutes and I've been wrestling with the fucking thing for days." He stalked around the desk until he was looming over Casey. "Twenty minutes and you're done?"

"Dev? Is that bad?"

Dev grabbed Casey's hand and pulled him up against his chest, claiming his mouth, devouring his moan as Casey laced his hands behind Dev's neck. Dev pulled back. "As much as I want to throw you across the desk right now—"

"Yes, please!"

"I'm not going to."

Casey pouted. "Why not?"

"Because"—he nipped behind Casey's ear—"I'm taking you on a date."

"A date?"

"Yes. A date. A real one. Wear something comfortable. Bring a light jacket." He dropped a kiss on that spray of freckles. "Be ready at five."