“Or maybe you like like him and you just don’t want to admit it.”
“Even if I admit it I’m not doing anything about it.”
“Anything but letting your hair down.”
“That’s nothing. Do you really think I would be dumb enough ever to get myself into another Alby Kent situation?”
Hillary’s teasing edge softened. “I hope not. I know I don’t ever want to see you hurt like that again.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry,” Keely assured her.
The doorbell rang just then and Keely hated the fact that despite all her claims, the knowledge that Devon Tarlington was on their front porch sent a little wave of excitement through her.
“There he is,” she said, regretting that it came out sounding breathless.
Hillary pushed off the doorjamb.
“I’ll get it,” she said, leaving Keely and Harley behind in what Keely knew was her eagerness to get a look at Devon Tarlington.
Carrying Harley, Keely followed, reaching the entry as her sister opened the door.
And when she did, there stood the man who had not been off Keely’s mind since the afternoon before, looking even better than she remembered in a navy-blue Henley shirt, a sport coat and a pair of jeans.
“Hi,” he said to Hillary, “I’m Devon Tarlington. And I’ll bet you’re Keely Gilhooley’s sister.”
“Hillary,” Hillary countered as she opened the screen door to let him in.
He stepped inside, catching sight of Keely only then. But the moment he did, he smiled a smile that rippled from his oh-so-supple mouth all the way up to his eyes where it settled and radiated a warmth Keely thought she could almost feel.
“Hello again,” she said simply enough, trying not to be affected by that megawatt smile.
“Hi,” he repeated.
Then his gaze went from her to Harley and she watched tension tighten his features. “Let me guess, this must be the man in question.”
“This is Harley,” Keely offered, catching sight of Hillary standing behind Devon Tarlington and mouthing, “Killer cute!”
Hillary closed the door and joined them.
But because Keely was a little afraid her sister might say or do something to embarrass her—and maybe because she didn’t want her sister intruding on this—she said, “I think we’ll be okay on our own, Hill. You can get to that shower you wanted to take.”
“Did I want to take a shower?” Hillary asked in mock ignorance.
“Yes, you did,” Keely insisted.
Hillary let her gaze roll pointedly from Keely to Devon and back to Keely before she said, “I guess that means I’m leaving.”
“Right.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hillary said to Devon.
“Uh, you, too,” he responded, sounding confused by what was passing between the sisters.
Hillary retraced her path to the stairs but not without pausing to whisper to Keely, “This has to be who Clarissa left the other guy for.”
Keely didn’t respond, but instead kept her attention on Devon Tarlington and said, “Shall we do this in the living room where we can all be comfortable?”
“Whatever you think,” he agreed.
Keely’s and Hillary’s house was similar to Devon’s, only the living room was to the left of the entry. Unlike Devon’s bare-necessities decorating, their home was done in a cozy French-country style, keeping to dark blues and brick reds with a dash of mustard yellow here and there to brighten it up.
The furniture was all well-cushioned and comfy. A braided rug occupied the center of the hardwood floor and a large sofa and two chairs stood around a rustic coffee table. Also unlike Devon’s living room, the focal point was the antique fireplace, not the entertainment center which, in this case, was an armoire hiding a television and stereo system.
“Would you like to see if Harley will come to you?” Keely asked as she turned on the wrought-iron pole lamps that were sentries on either side of the couch.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Devon said without a moment’s hesitation. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with him. I was around babies a couple of times as a kid but my older brother did the handling. I was the go-for—you know, go for the diapers, go for the bottles, that kind of thing.”
“Your brother baby-sat?” Keely said, surprised.
“It’s a long story.”
And he didn’t seem inclined to tell it.
Or maybe he just couldn’t because he was so distracted by Harley. He was staring at the baby as if Harley were something to be wary of, something he didn’t want to get too close to but had better keep an eye on.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Keely suggested, hoping to ease some of his tension.
She sat at one end of the couch, and once she did, Devon took the easy chair that gave him the most distance from her and Harley.
“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do here,” he confessed then. “Should I talk to him or throw him a ball or something?”
Keely had settled Harley on her lap with his back against her and she craned forward to peer down over his head to see what the infant’s response was to Devon.
Harley was watching him as warily as Devon was eyeing the baby.
“He’s a little young to throw a ball,” Keely informed. “If one appeals to him it’s usually only because he’s decided to try to get it into his mouth.”
“Does he always chew socks, too?” Devon asked with obvious distaste as he watched Harley gnaw at the clothing.
“It’s clean,” Keely assured with a laugh. “He has two teeth on bottom and he’s getting more, so it must feel good on his gums. We keep it in the fridge because he also likes it cold.”
“You keep socks in your refrigerator?”
“Not before Harley adopted them as chew toys. But it makes him happy.”
“Can he do anything? Like walk or talk?” Devon asked, obviously attempting to figure Harley out.
“He crawls a little,” Keely said, content to fill Devon in. “And if he’s near the coffee table he’ll pull himself up onto his knees. But he’s pretty wobbly. And as for talking, sometimes it seems like he’s trying to repeat something we’ve said but so far it isn’t coming out as anything we can understand.”
“So
