This Changes Everything by Jennifer Ashley Page 0,23

Or Ben, if Austin can’t be bothered.”

He slides out his phone but I put my hand on his wrist.

“It’s no problem.” I try to stop my voice from shaking. “I don’t mind running you home.”

Chapter Eight

Zach

Abby drives me to my house in a smallish SUV that glides effortlessly into traffic. We don’t say much as we go, except for me giving the occasional direction.

“Nice neighborhood,” she remarks as we pull off the busy streets into a quiet road lined with large trees. “Old Phoenix. I like it.”

“I restored the house,” I say, trying to sound offhand. “I like old places.”

“Me too.” Abby takes in the bungalows set back from the road, some of them large and breathtaking, others tiny and cute. “I live in a generic apartment complex that resembles all the other generic apartment complexes in this town. Always have.”

“Not a lot of choice, is there? Trust me, I’ve lived in them too.”

She pulls into the driveway of my Craftsman style bungalow and gazes at it in admiration. It’s dark, so not much of it shows beyond the porch light, but the silhouette is obvious.

“Come in,” I say rashly. “I’ll give you a tour.”

Abby presses her lips together. She’s going to say no, that she has to get home, and it’s a long drive. Just when I’m about to let her off the hook, she shoves the gear into Park and kills the engine.

“Okay. I’d love to see it.”

I am out of the car so fast, I create a breeze. I’m around the SUV, opening the door and ushering Abby to her feet before she can climb down herself. She’s amused with me.

I’m proud of my little house. I worked my ass off on it for years. It had been partly restored by the previous owner, but he’d given up and moved back east when the central Arizona summer got too much for him. I grew up here and know how to keep cool in the middle of a summer afternoon—you find somewhere seriously air conditioned, or submerge yourself in a swimming pool, or sleep. You go outside only early in the morning and at night and stay the hell out of the heat the rest of the day.

The front door of my house opens to a wide hall, with rooms placed around it. A staircase leads up to one bedroom and bathroom, both of which I built from scratch. It used to be an empty attic up there.

I give Abby the tour, which doesn’t take long. “Living room, dining, kitchen, sun room. Guest room. I was going to make this a workroom for me, but Mom insisted I have space in case one of my brothers needs to crash. Which they do, Austin in particular. And here we have the back porch.”

“This is gorgeous.” Abby steps onto the wide porch with deep eaves. The back yard contains a sparkling pool in a bricked-out area, and shrubs against the walls that separate me from my neighbors.

“I’m not really into gardening,” I say quickly, in case she starts praising my pruning skills. “I have guys who take care of the plants.”

“It’s so nice.” Abby sounds admiring. “Homey.”

I shrug. “I fix up houses for other people. I figured I’d do this one, and sell it if I didn’t care about living in it myself. But I decided to stay.”

“I can see why.” She drags in a breath, the air fragrant with roses in pots along the walkways. Roses bloom like a riot in April around here. By June they’ll be cringing down to whimper in the heat.

“I like it.” My words belie the days and weeks of sanding, sawing, hammering, drilling, and cursing. When I say I fixed up the house myself, I mean with my own two hands. I didn’t hire a team and stand back and watch.

Abby turns around, resting her hands behind her on the square railing. She’s relaxed, giving me a half smile, her breasts pushed toward me. She looks perfect on this porch, framed in moonlight. This house is a snapshot of the past married to the beauty of the present, like Abby herself.

And when did I start writing poetry? “I have this bottle of Glenfiddich I’ve been saving …” I hear myself say.

Abby comes out of her sexy pose and raises her hands. “Remember what happened last time we drank Scotch. And then wine.”

“I’m remembering it.” My smile pulls at my face. “Not regretting it.”

Abby studies me a second, then lowers her arms. “I’m not