“Well, thank you for . . . um, walking me up here.” Dipping my chin, I dug my keys out from the bottom of my purse and then looked up. “And for . . .”

I trailed off, because Brock stepped into me, so close that the toes of his shoes brushed against mine.

“And for . . . ?” he queried softly.

I had no idea what I had been about to say. A little dazed, I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “For driving me around today like my own personal chauffeur.”

“I enjoyed it.” Brock’s smile was brief as he glanced at my door, and then his shoulders rose with a deep breath. “I think I missed my calling.”

“Really?” I said wryly.

“Yeah. I could quit my job as GM. Get one of your uncles back down here and just dedicate my entire life to driving you around.”

I shook my head. “You know, that doesn’t sound bad actually. I hate driving.”

One eyebrow rose. “I thought you liked driving?”

“I used to, but now I pretty much only drive just to get back and forth from work, and that kind of sucks the fun out of it.”

“I can see that.” He paused. “You tired?”

“Um . . .” I was so articulate.

His grin returned. “If not, I thought maybe we could share a . . . drink.”

“I . . . I don’t have anything good to drink. I mean, I have a bottle of wine that’s unopened, but it’s like the cheap wine that really doesn’t do anything other than give you a headache,” I rambled on, pulse pounding. “I also have some soda and coffee, but—”

“Water or soda would be fine,” he said with a laugh.

I opened my mouth and my lips moved wordlessly for a few seconds. “Are you wanting to . . . wanting to come in?”

“Yeah. I’m wanting to come in, Jillian.”

He wanted to come in, and my mind took that down a long and dirty road. I looked up at him and I had to crane my neck, because he was standing that close. A sudden thick tension sprung alive, filling the tiny space between us. Our gazes locked once more. Neither of us moved or spoke. His lips parted on a quick, shallow inhale. My chest rose in a deep, shaky breath. What was happening here? I didn’t know, but I wasn’t completely naïve. He was looking at me in a way he hadn’t when we were younger, and that didn’t make sense.

And I had a feeling if I let Brock in, I would begin to see things that were there, and that was so dangerous for us—for me.

Wetting my lips, I looked away just as his gaze sharpened. “It’s really late.”

“It’s not too late,” he said in a voice that stretched my nerve endings.

My heart leapt into my throat. “I just . . . I don’t think it would be smart.”