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It’s not eavesdropping if it’s on my own property, is it? It’s not being nosy if it’s simply a story, right?
A pocket-sized pixie with an attitude.
I know Wendy wouldn’t be looking at me like this if we weren’t talking about Sam. But sometimes, adults can play pretend too. And I pretend that smile is just for me.
“Why do you do that?” She blinks at me. “What?” “Dismiss yourself.”
“You said you liked them,” I answer. “I do.” “Then, why wouldn’t I do something simple if you like it?”
What would her hair feel like, tangled in my hands? How would her breath feel against my cheek? Would her lips fit with mine? And how much would that kiss break me?
“Well, I’m your friend,” Wendy chimes in. “Come on. Don’t tell me this is one-sided?” She blinks at me, and I find myself saying without a thought, “No. I guess I’m yours too.”
“It’s cheesy,” I continue, shaking my head. “No, it’s important to you. If we can’t love the things significant to us without guilt, then what can we love? Your tattoo is important because you think it is. And that’s all that matters.”
This is what romance does. It ruins good things.
So, I do the only thing that makes sense in situations like this. I hunt for coffee. Just like our ancestors before us.
Anytime. Maybe it means, Anytime, I’d love to help with your book. Anytime, because your book matters.
My thumb gently analyzes the raised bruise. Not that I think Wendy would lie about getting sucker-punched in the face by a ladder, but my heart won’t stop pounding, and the only thing helping me calm down is the feel of her smooth skin under my fingers.
I’m starting to believe Jasper saves his smiles for when they’ll be the most effective at melting my heart.
“And the other thing?” “What other thing?” I trace my index finger over his shoulder. “Well, I think I like kissing you too, Jas.” He lets out a heavy exhale. “Don’t say that.” “I’m sorry—” “Don’t say that because I’ll do it again.” His nose trails over my cheek. “I want to do that and more.” I swallow. “What kind of more?” “Terrible kinds of more.”
“Sometimes, I can’t breathe around you,” he murmurs.
I didn’t think my stomach could twist tighter, but it’s now in a death grip. I don’t like that he jokes about her books, as if they’re frivolous to him. But more than that, I don’t like how she allows it to happen.
I slide onto the only available stool—coincidentally the one next to Jasper and his gorgeous thighs. And once I settle in, his legs widen just a bit to rub one against the outside of my bare one.
His breath has a bite of whiskey, and I wish I could lick it off his lips.
He shakes his head. “God, you’re like my star in the sky, Wendy.” “Your star?” “My North Star. Always showing me the direction I should travel. I’ve never met someone like you before.” “Is that … good?” “Yes,” he replies. “It’s very, very good.” He chuckles. “But it’s also terrifically unfair.”
I didn’t say what I wanted to say at The Hideaway. What I should have said was that I would make a lot of sacrifices to be with her—to the woman who makes me feel alive. But we can’t. We both know that.
We’re careful with each other now. Avoiding conversation, ignoring how magnetized we are. How that rope tightens around my stomach every single day. How it loops me closer and closer to her and how I’m desperate to saw at it with a knife. But every strand I break only stitches back together.
But, God, I want to touch her more than I’ve ever wanted to touch another person in my life. I don’t think friends want that.
Milo is deliberate and practical in every action he takes. He wears reading glasses because it prevents migraines. He volunteers at the library because he believes giving back to the community is what makes our small-town ecosystem work. He reads all genres from nonfiction boat construction to women’s fiction because he says that’s the only way we learn and grow.
“I don’t … want this,” he says slowly. “Oh.” “I don’t want friendship.” My breath catches in my throat. “You don’t?” “No.” He sighs. “Wendy, I want you.” “Oh.” “Yeah,” he says with an exhale. “Oh.”
“I’d let you break me, Wendy Bird,” Jasper whispers gruffly. “And I’d thank God every single day for the guilt that followed if it meant I could keep you for myself.”
Baby. Such a common pet name. So normal. And exhaled so naturally. I want common. Normal. Natural. Baby.
I’ve never been a great flirt. I’m laughable actually. Jessica hated when I tried to instigate anything. But Wendy sees a certain type of man in me, and I don’t know if it’s someone I used to be or someone I never knew I could be. But I like him. I like that he’s the type of man that has someone as captivating as Wendy walking closer.
“You’re a fantastic flirt, Jas,” she says. “I don’t know who told you differently, but they were very, very wrong.”
I’m starting to wonder what type of man I truly am. Am I the hermit in the seaside shack? The man rattled by grief and nightmares? The overbearing dad? The terrible flirt? Or am I the man Wendy sees? Confident. Charming. A good dad. A man able to attract someone as radiant as her. And if I’m not that man, I wonder if I could be.
“I want to be someone’s world,” I admit. “Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe it’s impossible. But I’m tired of being second best.”
“Are you being romantic?” I ask. He knocks his chin back toward the kitchen. “Thought the flowers gave it away.”
“Prepare for disappointment.” “I will not.”
“I should have known your knot-tying skills would come in handy.”
“I need you. Do you know that? I need your little teases. Your pretty smiles. Your stories. I need you.” “Then, take me, Captain.” “If I do, then I’m keeping you. I’m never giving you back.” “Never is a long time.” I sigh. “Not long enough.”
“I think you underestimate just how much I’m obsessed with you.”
The worst part about growing up is the sudden appearance of nuance.
“Don’t apologize for my shortcomings, Wendy. It’s time for me to grow up.”
“Wasn’t a choice.”
Exactly because of Wendy. Because having her around helps me breathe. Hearing her laughter is like a jump-start to my heart. Watching her with Sam—with my son—makes me feel again. She provides sunshine in the darkness of a world I once thought had abandoned me.
“Like, more than this summer?” “No,” I say quickly. “It only started a few months ago.” But that sentence feels wrong. The timeline is too short. I feel like I’ve loved Wendy for a lifetime.
Real? What an understatement. Life feels possible when she’s around. If that’s real, then sure. But real doesn’t feel accurate enough.
Peter says it like she’s my responsibility now. And something about that eases my soul. She’s my Wendy.
Jasper might not conceive of a world where someone could love him unconditionally, but I’ll spend forever convincing him otherwise.
“Yes. Home, baby. To me.” “At the cottage?” “Yes. Home,”
