9

      FRIENDS.

      She and Brody Lane were friends.

      Or at least, they were trying to be.

      She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, though. She’d agreed because, well, she wanted to know the real Brody Lane. To find out if he was different from the guy she’d spent years fantasizing about.

      Over the last couple weeks, she’d discovered three things.

      He was completely different from the guy she’d thought he was. He was controlled and strong-willed, and didn’t hesitate to voice his beliefs.

      He was exactly the same as the guy she’d thought he was. Quiet, almost to the point of being taciturn, clever and fun when he did have something to say, and so sexy that she got turned on just watching him breathe.

      And, over the last few days, she’d come to realize that they actually could be friends. That they had enough in common, similar interests and values. That they’d found a rhythm and flow that felt good. And as great as that was, she would absolutely, positively, unquestionably go crazy if all Brody would ever be was her friend.

      Genna peered into the mirror, trying to see if there was crazy shining in her eyes yet. Nope. A few hints of stress and a whole lot of sexual frustration, but no signs of crazy.

      Just her normal blue gaze stared back at her, albeit wearing a little more makeup than usual. Her eyes were smudged in kohl, with a dusky gray shadow giving her a smoky, do-me-all-night look she’d practiced for hours. Pale pink lips with a hint of shimmer on her cheekbones and she was as close to sophisticated sexy as she figured she’d ever get.

      She leaned back from the mirror, lifting her hair this way and that. Up or down? Down said casual, just two friends going to dinner. If anyone saw her and Brody together, she could play it off as just a friendly meet-up with a distant acquaintance. Up said fancy, maybe a date. There was no way to pass off fancy hair as a casual get-together. Fancy hair said she’d put in time, effort. That she was looking to score.

      Which she was.

      But she didn’t want anyone else knowing that.

      Including Brody, who seemed completely determined to keep their relationship—or friendship, as he always corrected her—on his terms. Which included his stopping by at random times over the last week, eating cookies, testing her new recipes and nagging her to do something with her baking instead of giving it away. He didn’t talk much, but listened just fine as long as the conversation wasn’t about him. Which meant Genna did all the talking. She hadn’t realized how much she had to say, things she couldn’t say to the other people in her life. Frustrations and worries, dreams and fears.

      But nothing about them. Nothing personal. The minute she’d bring up that night ten years ago, Brody would shut it down. If she mentioned their first meeting two weeks ago, he changed the subject.

      And the few times she’d tried flirting?

      He’d walked out.

      Genna dropped her hair and pressed her fingers to her temples.

      Clearly, it was going to be a hair-down kind of evening.

      But she wanted it up.

      She sighed. Yeah. She was going crazy.

      “Hey.”

      Genna jumped.

      She’d been so focused on her image, she hadn’t heard Macy come in.

      Her stomach tightened with nerves that had nothing to do with Brody, but everything to do with her relationship with him.

      “What’re you doing here?” she asked, glancing from Macy to the clock. Brody wasn’t due for twenty minutes. Hopefully she could shoo her friend out before he got here.

      “I came by to borrow your printer. The caterer emailed me the final contract,” Macy said, her tone distracted as she gave Genna a suspicious twice-over. Clearly the first glance had tipped her off. Genna brushed her fingers over her hair, hanging loose and casual, and bit her lip.

      “What’re you doing?” Macy asked, stepping farther into the room. Her gaze swept from Genna’s dress to the three others tossed on the bed, then landed on the tangled pile of shoes next to the closet. Her arched brows demanded information.

      Genna didn’t want to give it to her, though.

      Macy would judge. And since Brody had been stubbornly reluctant to take his hero dues, especially in public, the gossip had shifted. Now the lunchtime buzz wasn’t as much about Brody Lane, the military hero. It was more speculation with a whole lot of rehashing his past.

      Macy, like Genna’s parents, would buy into the speculation, rather than trusting the hero buzz.

      “I’m just trying on outfits. You know, playing girl for a change.” Just because she lived most of her life in jeans didn’t mean she didn’t have a great wardrobe of things she never got to wear anywhere. Especially the shoes. A girl who stood five-ten barefoot and only seemed to date insecure men never got to wear heels. Since Brody was secure as hell and six-two, she’d figured this was a great time to scuff those soles.

      But she didn’t want to tell Macy that, either.

      “You’re going out?”

      “Maybe.”

      “With Stewart?” Macy said, looking at the four-inch, pointed-toe stiletto pumps on Genna’s feet.

      “Eww. No. He collects troll dolls. Remember?”

      “Then who are you going out with?”

      Crap. Genna gave the clock a wincing glance and realized she wasn’t going to get out of this. She took a deep breath and put on her most confident face.

      “With a friend for a friendly dinner. Sort of repayment for a few dozen cookies, a cake and a couple of pies. You know how everyone pays me for my baked goods in favors or in exchange?”

      “I don’t remember you getting all dressed up when Mr. Jenson bought you lunch last month for making his granddaughter birthday cupcakes.”

      “That’s because Mr. Jenson bought me a hoagie and a side of fruitcake off the lunch truck and he didn’t even invite me to the party.” And, of course, there was the fact that the sixty-year-old pharmacist looked nothing like her hot and hunky SEAL.

      “So. Who’s been eating your cookies?” Macy asked suspiciously.

      Sadly, no one. Since Macy wouldn’t understand or appreciate that joke, Genna just shrugged.

      “Genna...”

      “Brody Lane,” she