When she finally texted him back, it was short and to the point.
Jess: I’m back in the city. You can come over this afternoon.
Brent: I’ll be there in an hour.
He pulled up fifty minutes later. She was waiting on the front steps, her arms crossed.
It was deserved reception, and he leaned into the discomfort of it. Maybe it would be easier this way. Zero chance of impressing her with his minor breakthrough. Better to focus on what he could give her—the truth, whatever answers she wanted—and not get distracted by wishing everything had turned out differently for them.
He hopped out of his truck and headed up the walk. She stepped back, onto the porch, as he approached.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Third time in a week. Good to see you again.”
“Maybe it’ll become a regular thing,” he joked.
She didn’t reply.
No, no jokes. Not funny.
“Do you want to come inside?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Yes, please. Sure.”
She opened the door, and he followed her through. It was almost like stepping back in time. This had been their house together for years. Now it was hers alone. A year ago he’d gone through in a grief-rage and scrubbed himself from the space, packing everything of his into boxes that now languished in storage.
She’d filled those new vacancies with her own stuff. More of the books she liked, photos from her travels before they’d met, and a lot of soft, feminine touches. Flowers. A scented diffuser.
Get to the point, Brent. Rip off the fucking bandage. He swivelled on his heel, turning from the decor to Jess and diving in. “So, I went to Wardham yesterday.”
Her eyes went wide. “You did?”
“I went to see your…”
“My…?”
“Evan.”
“Oh.” She made a face. “He’s not my anything. Well, I guess he’s my friend. And I’m doing some work for his winery.”
“He wants to fuck you.” It burst out of him, and he groaned.
But she smiled.Smiled.What the fuck? “Did he say that?”
Uh… Brent frowned. “I thought he was just your friend?”
She hesitated a beat, then shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s your business, to be honest.”
“Fair enough.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about, exactly.”
He looked at the couch. “May I sit?”
“Sure.”
“It’s weird being here.”
“Yeah.”
“For you, too?”
