Page 14 of Blake

Devon checked her phone, relieved to see there were no missed calls or new emails requiring her immediate attention. She opened her messages and immediately went to her earlier conversation with Blake.

A smile lifted her lips as she reread the exchange. The ridiculous meme she’d sent. His smart-aleck response. The stupid little flutter she’d gotten when his name appeared on her screen.

That’s becoming a problem.

Somehow, Blake Savage had worked his way into her everyday life. It started with an occasional text or call to check in. How was she doing? Did she need anything? Was she eating enough?

The last one had earned him a sarcastic reminder that she was a full-grown woman perfectly capable of feeding herself.

He’d sent back a picture of a microwave on fire.

The memory still made her smile. Because that day—that moment—was the first time Devon had laughed after coming back home from D.C.

Blake had a way of doing that. Making her laugh when she didn’t think she could.

Somewhere along the way, his occasional check-ins had turned into almost daily texts. Then came the phone calls. Sometimes they talked for a few minutes. Other times, an hour passed before either of them realized it.

And without fail, Devon always hung up with a smile.

That probably should’ve been your first clue.

Willow climbed onto her lap and began kneading her thigh. When she was satisfied, she lay down and looked up at Devon.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

The cat began to purr.

“It’s never going to happen.”

No matter how much she wished it would.

Blake was funny without even trying. Crazy smart without making other people feel stupid. And despite the muscles and tattoos—and the fact that he worked for an elite private security company and could probably kill someone using a paper clip—there was a gentleness about him.

If she were still the woman she’d been before Billy Crawford, she probably would have already asked Blake out on a date.

Maybe.

Probably.

You definitely would.

Not that it mattered. Blake lived in Washington, D.C., and she was in St. Louis. Hundreds of miles separated them.

Devon’s thumb hovered over Blake’s name on her screen. The phone unexpectedly started to ring.

Startled, she jumped so suddenly she nearly dropped the damn thing.

Son of a⁠—

Willow launched herself from Devon’s lap and disappeared down the hallway. Devon pulled in a deep breath and looked at the screen.

Carol Jenkins was calling her back.

She answered with a teasing, “Don’t tell me you broke it already.”

The other woman laughed. “Not yet, but the day is young.”

“What’s up?” Devon set the bag of pretzels aside and unfolded her bent leg.