Hate You Not: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Ella James

  When we get back home, the kids check it out, and then race inside to put their swim suits on—even though their party doesn’t start for three more hours.

  Burke takes a work call out on the porch and then sits on the couch, his hand cupping his phone as he frowns down at it. I go into the kitchen to dig out some food that I can offer him, but when I poke my head back into the living room, I find him asleep, his head tipped back against the couch’s spine.

  His throat is thick and kissable. I can see the subtle swell of his Adam’s apple. And that jawline. Most of the time when I look over at the couch, I see a tiny kid there. Seeing his big body makes my belly tighten.

  Take a chill pill, June.

  There’s a throw blanket in a basket by the couch. I pull it out, shake it to be sure there are no bugs inside—this is southwest Georgia, after all—and drape it over his shoulders and chest, covering him down to his knees. He doesn’t move. My eyes roam over him a few times, admiring how good-looking he is—even though I know I shouldn’t.

  I wonder what the deal is with his job. Why does he keep doing these startups? I get it, it’s a “lifestyle,” if the articles can be believed, but he’s done three in a row. Last time I saw him, I didn’t know him, but this time, I think he seems exhausted.

  I tell myself that’s not my problem. Well, maybe a little bit my problem. He’s the kids’ uncle, and they don’t have a lot of people left, so he matters to them.

  The kids do quiet time in their room for about an hour and a half. Then we sneak outside with all the dogs. Oliver and Margot steal into the animal pen to play with all our new pets—pardon me, investments—and I supervise the four-dog playdate.

  I’m throwing a Frisbee for Tink when Burke saunters down the back steps, rubbing his face and looking sleepy as he walks over to me. He pulls his sunglasses on and murmurs, “Hi.”

  “Hey there, Sleepy.”

  He gives a shake of his head. “Sorry about that.” He yawns, and I can’t help smiling. I try to make it look more like a smirk.

  “Yeah. I kind of suck at sleep.” He runs a hand back through his hair, and then his eyes sweep over the pens. “Wow. You’ve got a lot of new…pets.” His gaze fixes on Oliver and Margot, who are holding George and Peppa. “You’re not gonna eat the little pink dudes, are you?”

  I grin, wiggling my eyebrows. “What do you think?”

  He looks aghast. I up the stakes by giving him an evil grin. “We do live on a farm, Burke.”

  “You’d really do that?” His mouth twists into a troubled frown. “Maybe could I buy them?”

  I throw my head back, laughing my damn ass off. “Ohhh, Burkie Bug. Do you have a weakness for the ‘little pink dudes?’ ”

  “Pigs are smart,” he says defensively.

  “You ever had a conversation with one?”

  He frowns. “No, for real—they really are. They’re—”

  I jab his side with my elbow. “Burke,” I murmur, and his gaze rises to meet mine. “I’m just teasing.” I smile. “Do you think I’d give the kids pigs just to show them how to make bacon?”

  He recoils, and I laugh. “I’m just kidding. And we eat turkey bacon.”

  He shakes his head, rubbing at his forehead again.

  “Heathens. Am I right?” I ask.

  He blows a breath out, still massaging his temples. “You had me going for a second there.”

  I grin. “You’re a pig enthusiast.”

  “I’m no different than the next guy.”

  “Who loves piggie wiggies.”

  He gives me an unamused look, and I grab his arm. “C’mon. I’ll let you hold one of them.”

  “I don’t have to—” The kids interrupt him, cheering as we walk into the pen. “Hold him first,” Oliver says, thrusting George toward him, his little legs kicking in midair. Burke looks alarmed and scoops the little snorter right up.

  “Don’t hold them out like that, remember?” I remind Oliver. “We don’t want to drop them.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.”

  We all watch as Burke grins down at George. It’s maybe the softest smile I’ve ever seen on him.

  “You’re a cute guy, aren’t ya?” he croons.

  “Look, here’s Peppa!” Margot moves to stand by Burke, rubbing Peppa’s belly as she cradles her like a doll. “They’re best buddies,” she says.

  Burke rubs Peppa’s velvety little pig ear. “Look at you,” he murmurs.

  But I’m looking at him as I lean against the corner of the small wooden roof that covers a corner of the pig pen. He crouches down and plays with George, Peppa, and the kids for almost half an hour. Then the kids drag him back through the goat enclosure, and he makes his rounds with the goats, giving each one attention and stroking their necks and backs.

  Finally, when the heat is frying my brain and I’m feeling red-cheeked and off-kilter, I check my phone’s clock. “Let’s go check the pool, and then you kids will have to start your movie. It’s time for me to start the decorating. Leah’s coming over to help.”

  Burke is quiet as we walk around the house. He rides the kids on his shoulders. I catch his gaze on me once as we move, but when I meet his eyes, he quickly looks away.

  As it turns out, the pool is only halfway filled.

  “They told me on the phone that we can get in when it’s sixty-five percent filled,” Burke tells us. “There’s a line there on the inside.”

  “Are you going back to Shawn’s place for a while?” I ask.

  He nods. “He wants to go riding dirt roads,” he says, using air quotes. His brows arch behind his sunglasses.

  “Ahh. So, we don’t really do helmets or anything with that. Be careful.”

  “Is riding dirt roads like…riding ATVs?”

  “Yeah. We call them four wheelers around here, though.”

  He nods, biting on his lower lip, and I smile. “Really, do be careful. Sometimes people get bad hurt on those things, and Shawn is a nut.”

  He nods. “Will do.” He walks around the pool, climbs one of the ladders to peek in, and then steps over to me with his hands in his pockets. “You good here?”

  “Me? Oh yeah…I’m fine. Leah and I have totally got this. Some of our other friends are coming over, too. You’ll see the whole crew when you and Shawn get here.”

  “What time will that be?”

  “Oliver wanted burgers and hot dogs, so I think we’ll kick off around 4:30. Shawn said he wants to man the grill.” I roll my eyes.

  “I’ll help him.”

  Chapter 22

  Burke

  I don’t know why it matters, but I need her to see me as a good guy. Not some dude from Forbes, but like an actual nice guy who just does normal shit like ride an ATV and use a grill.

  When we return to June’s house for the party, first I find the kids—they’re in the pool with their cousins, clinging to those colored noodle things—and tell them that I like the dinosaur balloons and décor tacked onto the front of the house.

  They want me to referee a speed contest across the pool’s diameter, so I do that from up on the ladder and proclaim Oliver the winner before heading toward the house. When we were riding the ATVs through the woods behind Shawn’s house, he asked me if I’d fire the grill up once I got here. I want to get that done and then find June.

  The problem is, the grill that’s in her front yard, parked near the card tables between the pool and the porch, doesn’t have a gas tank. There’s a bag of charcoal by it, but I don’t know what to do with the charcoal to get it going.

  Shit.

  Mary Helen and a red-haired woman I don’t think I know walk past me with a bucket of wine coolers, and I nod, tipping the ball cap Shawn loaned me.

  “Burke. So glad to see you again!” Mary Helen does the arm squeeze thing that’s always awkward, but then flashes me a sincere-looking smile. “This is my friend Shelly.”

  I shoot the shit with them for just a second. Then I steal around by the sid
e of the house and pull my phone out of my pocket. I Google “charcoal grill how to light” and jump about a mile as someone says, “Burke?”

  Holy fuck!

  “June.”

  She’s wearing some kind of loose white…jumper thing with sandals and a ponytail, and she’s got her hands shoved into her pockets.

  “Hey.” She gives me a look that’s part expectant, part tense, and part friendly.

  I slide my phone into my pocket. “Sorry, were you looking for me?”

  “Nope. Just…” She tosses a pained glance over her shoulder, toward the backyard. “Needed to escape. Really, I need a drink, but that requires human interaction, so I settled for escaping. This is where I come to get away when there’s a party. These bushes”—she nods behind us—“are a little prickly, but if you stand right in front of them, no one can really see you from the front of the house.”

  That makes me smile—the thought of June hiding at her own parties. “I thought that seemed to be the case.”

  She peers at my phone’s screen. “You doing some work over here?”

  I slide it into my pocket. “Something like that.”

  She laughs. “Oh, you look guilty. Are you a smoker?”

  “Nah.” But I can’t admit it to her that I don’t know how to start a charcoal grill. “Just listening to a quick voicemail. What about you?”

  For half a second, she looks like she just bit into a lemon. Then she sighs and steps a little closer to me, cutting her eyes toward the backyard again like she’s worried someone there will overhear her. “I’ll tell you. I’ve gotta tell someone. This is insane. I just saw my dad…” She drags air into her lungs, then exhales, covering her face with both hands. “My dad kissed Leah’s mother. Mrs. Kensington.”

  Mrs.

  Oh, hell.

  “So she’s married?”

  “Leah’s father passed away. Last year.” She moves her hands down off her face. “Not even a whole year. It was last June.” She heaves another sigh and then shakes her head. “They were in the laundry room. So all the puppies saw.”

  That makes me snicker. “You think it was traumatic for them?”

  “Yes, I know it was. And you know the worst part of all this?”

  I shake my head, and she squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing her brows. “Leah’s mom was ‘at the beach with her best friend’ who doesn’t live here in Heat Springs when my dad was in Mexico.” She shakes her head again.

  “Wait, your dad was in Mexico?”

  “Yeah, remember? Last time you were here.”

  “Ohh, that’s right. I do remember that.”

  She tilts her head back. “He was obviously with Mrs. Kensington. Leah will be crushed.”

  “Will she, though?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. My dad…he’s nothing like hers.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nods. “Her dad was the chief of police here. Old reliable. He was older than her mom, and he had some health problems, but he worked every day, rain or shine. He was the extrovert in the relationship. Her mom is more reserved and aloof. Nothing like my mom,” she says almost resentfully.

  “For sure, yeah—that’s some strange stuff.”

  “This is what happens when the population doesn’t top four hundred. People lose their minds!”

  She looks so matter of fact, so flustered and so pretty, that I can’t help smiling.

  “I think people lose their minds pretty much everywhere.”

  She sighs again. “Yeah.” Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Why were you really over here? I saw you from the window. You were standing by the grill.”

  “I’m going to start the grill,” I hedge. “But I think I need something to help the charcoal ignite.”

  “Oh, like lighter fluid. Yes, you do. There’s some inside—in the laundry room,” she says with exaggerated trepidation. “If I were you, I’d go through the front porch door. In fact, I will go with you that way. Better to avoid any hanky-panky,” she whispers.

  June starts walking and I follow, trying not to stare at her ass even though I can see her sweet curves underneath the cottony jumper thing she’s wearing over her swimsuit.

  She slows when she walks into the kitchen, which is filled with faces I don’t know well, although some I think I’ve seen before.

  “For those who haven’t met him, this is Burke, the kids’ uncle,” she says.

  I flash them a quick smile.

  “C’mon.” She beckons me. Before she steps into the laundry room, she peeks around the corner of the door. I hear her soft “whew.”

  “C’mon,” she says again. “Nobody’s in here.”

  “Hey, that’s not true.” I lean down to pet her older dogs, then crouch to rub the puppies’ heads.

  I look up to find her holding the lighter fluid. She grabs something else out of a cabinet—a long, thin candle lighter. “Use these things.”

  She gives me brief instructions for getting the charcoal started. My neck flushes. She smirks. “It’s okay, Mr. Bigshot. I’m sure some hired help does the grilling where you’re from.”

  I shake my head.

  “You don’t look like a rich boy today”—she gives my mud-crusted boots a pointed look—“but I know how much you’re really worth.” She says it with a little smile, like to her it’s a joke.

  Something tugs in my chest. “It’s not a good expression.”

  “What’s not?”

  “How much someone’s worth. Only in a capitalistic society would we even use that language.”

  She covers her face and turns her back to me. “When I turn back around, we’re gonna pretend that you didn’t just say that.”

  “Say what?”

  “You’re not bashing capitalism with a cool one hundred million whatever in your bank account.”

  “I told you—it’s not in my account.”

  She snorts. “I don’t want to hear that you’re some kind of super liberal. Please don’t tell me that.”

  “Oh, Christ. Are you some kind of super conservative?”

  “First,” she says, “don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I’m no holly roller but it does offend my Southern sensibilities. Second, I’m a moderate. Almost all reasonable people are actually moderates—whether they know it or not. That’s just a little theory I’ve got. I mean really, who wants to just do things all batshit crazy with the pendulum swinging way far in one direction—like okay, let’s hike up taxes by forty percent across the board. Or way the other way, like okay nobody’s paving roads or running ambulances anymore, y’all just take care of yourself. Be moderate, don’t be an asshole. That’s my campaign slogan.”

  It’s so clever, so articulate…and her voice is such a soft, sweet drawl. I want to throw my head back laughing, but that’s rude as hell, so when she turns to face me, I just let my mouth hang open a little. I laugh, reaching out to squeeze her shoulders.

  “June Lawler—a noble Gryffindor and a damn good politician.”

  I’m being sincere—I love that she has such clever political opinions—but clearly, it doesn’t translate. She gives my chest a hard shove and says, “Don’t be lighting yourself on fire, Sly.”

  And, like a hot wind through the kudzu leaves, she’s gone.

  ***

  I feel like a stalker for it, but I watch June throughout the party. I’m mostly in the pool with the kids—the only adult not snarfing down the huge spread of food on three card tables.

  I play the role of Evil Noodle, a monster that has three foam noodle arms and likes to whack kids (lightly) in the shoulders or the back of the head. When the kids steal all my noodle arms, I submerge myself, pinch at their ankles, and then snatch the noodles back. But between enacting my evil agenda, my eyes are glued to her.

  I’ve never met a woman like June. Those fucking looks she gives me—sort of pissed off, a little flustered sometimes—are because she does think I’m attractive; I can tell. She’s so…unexpected. Being with her is an open-ended question, always. A
nd I’m not even really her friend. I don’t know her well, and still, I feel drawn to her like a magnet.

  Maybe it’s because of how she feels about me. In the past, with other women, I felt…obligated. With June, I’m the puppy nipping at her heels, hoping for the time of day.

  I’m pushing off the pool’s floor as that thought runs through my mind. As I break through the surface and the noise of the party hits my ears again, I realize I must be crazy.

  Other women? Like I’m with June?

  I know I’m not with her. But I have opinions about her. She’s a woman, after all, and I’m a man. Last time we were around each other…

  Let’s just say I can’t help being attuned to what she’s doing as she moves around the yard.

  When it’s time to do cake and presents, I help the kids out of the pool, wrap them in towels, and end up at the cake table with Margot sitting on my knee.

  “You help me blow out the candles,” she says. “I’m not very good at dragon breath.”

  I refrain from pointing out that dragons blow fire, not wind to put out fire. “I don’t think you’ll need my help. You’re a big girl.”

  June is flitting all around, her loose jumper flowing around her tanned legs and her hair flowing around her shoulders.

  “Need anything?” I ask when she steps by me.

  “I can’t find a lighter.”

  “I’ll grab the one I used for the grill.” I plunk Margot down in our seat and go get it.

  By the time I’m back, everyone is gathered around the cake. Margot holds her arms out to me, like she did when she was little, so I pass the lighter to June and go to her.

  “You said you would help me!”

  “Yeah, for sure.”

  I do a quick head count as we sing Happy Birthday: nineteen people. There’s a man who stepped out of the house in the last few minutes. I think he’s June’s dad, because he has her eyes and tanned skin. The woman beside him must be Leah’s mom, because Leah is beside her.

  Leah and June cut and serve the cake, and I help hand it out to people at the other two tables. I get a few glances—I’m still shirtless, with a towel draped around my neck—but none from June. She’s in her own world, talking to everyone in that grateful, effusive manner that parents have when you’re doing something kind for their kids. A few times I catch her tossing prideful, happy glances at Margot and Oliver—the way a mom would.