“I want better for you. I want better for me.” He patted each of their knees. “I want my friends back. The ones who see me as an equal, not someone they owe.”

Again, silence.

“I’m asking you to move forward. Therefore, you have to move forward,” he continued. “You’ve paid enough. I’ve paid enough. We’re going to enjoy life. Finally.” He gave them another pat before standing and meeting Daphne’s watery gaze. “I’m really glad you found your happily-ever-after.”

“Me, too. I hope you find yours.”

“I’m working on it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BROOK LYNN SANG and danced through the kitchen as she put together orders for You’ve Got It Coming. Twenty-three sandwiches and six casseroles. But the growing business wasn’t what had put her in such a great mood. Jase had come over last night, and he’d rocked her world. Stripped her, touched her. Loved her.

I think we broke the mattress. And the world record for the number of orgasms achieved in one night.

Before he’d left early this morning to be with Hope, he’d kissed her so tenderly she would have sworn her soul melded with his. Afterward, when he’d lifted his head and peered deep into her eyes, his thumbs caressing the line of her jaw, she’d experienced the most sublime sense of contentment.

I belong in his arms.

As she made her deliveries, the air smelled sweeter and felt less stifling. The trees seemed greener, the flowers lusher and everyone in town nicer. More than one person remarked on her smile.

Even Edna—who had ordered a sandwich, expecting a discounted rate—had noticed. You’re positively glowing, Brook Lynn. New vitamin?

Yes. Vitamin J.

Finally, there were only three orders left. West, Beck and some guy staying at the Strawberry Inn. His name was Stan, no last name, and she decided to check him off the list first so she could spend a little extra time with the boys.

Inside the lobby, Brook Lynn waved to Holly Mathis, the owner’s teenage daughter, who manned the counter. “Delivery to room twelve,” she said to the girl.

“Whatever,” Holly replied, chewing her gum and returning her attention to her magazine.

Brook Lynn had barely tapped the room’s door when it whisked open to reveal the guy who’d plowed into her on the street...forever ago, it seemed. She blinked in surprise, saying, “You.”

A flare of something appeared in his bloodshot eyes...something that took her aback. “Yes. Me.”

His skin was sallower, his hair unkempt. He wore a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat outside, with shorts. She thought she could make out the tail of a snake or dragon tattoo curling around his calf.

“How are your knees?” he asked.

“Completely healed, thanks.” She cleared her throat and held out his sandwich. “Uh, that’ll be fifteen dollars, please.” Ten for the sandwich, five for the delivery. It may be considered pricey in these parts, but she’d been told her sandwiches were well worth it.

He handed her wadded-up bills that were slightly damp.

“Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.”

“I know I will.”

She turned to leave.

“Hey. I heard you’re friends with Jase Hollister,” he said. “Is that true?”

Frowning, she faced him. “Do you know him?”

“Better than you. Be careful.” He shut the door in her face before she could respond.

Her stomach twisted. How did he know Jase? Because honestly, if she judged solely by appearance, she would have to guess prison.

She headed to Fragaria Street. The building West and Beck had purchased was made of crumbling red brick, copper and wrought-iron trim. The guys were in the process of fixing it up, though the inside already resembled something out of a magazine, with plush rugs, gleaming wood floors and wainscoting on the walls.

At the front was a massive, intricately carved desk and the woman who manned it, Cora Higal. She used to teach at the local elementary school, and no one had ever gotten over their fear of her index finger. When it pointed in your direction, you were likely to melt into a puddle of guilt and shame.

A sign hung on the wall behind her. WOH Industries. For West, Ockley and Hollister.

“Brook Lynn Dillon,” Cora said with a firm nod, the phone ringing beside her. “Mr. West and Mr. Ockley are expecting you. You may head back.”

“Thank you.”

There were three offices, each surrounded by glass walls, but both men were inside the one on the far right. Beck spotted her and waved her in.

“Hey, guys.” She handed off the requested sandwiches and tried to deny payment, but Beck stuffed the bills into her pockets. Fine. No reason to fight. She’d simply drop them at Cora’s desk on her way out. “How’s it going?”

“Better, now that you’re here.” Beck gave her an appreciative once-over. “You’re looking more gorgeous than ever. I’m thinking I need to seduce the hell out of you right here, right now.”

“As if you could,” she quipped.

His eyes twinkled with merriment, his smile carefree. “Oh, I could. You’re just lucky I’ve never released the full measure of my sexual prowess on you.”

“So lucky,” she said and rolled her eyes.

“But once again, I wasn’t talking to you, Brook Lynn.” He kissed the wrapper of his sandwich. “You’re the only one for me, baby.”

As she snickered, West stood from behind the desk, his chair skidding backward. He scowled at Beck then at her then at Beck again. Like Stan, he had bloodshot eyes and wrinkled clothes. Though his were clearly more expensive. “I can’t work under these conditions.”