She let him fold her in against him, but as his hand smoothed over the middle of her back, she was overcome by feelings far too familiar to be comfortable. This was their first physical contact in fifteen months. He was big, and warm, and solid, and he smelled like home. Some of her bravado and cool slipped away, and she was glad he couldn’t see her face right now as she reeled internally—and externally, too.
“This is nice,” Brent said quietly.
Her heart ached. It was. She swallowed around her sadness and told herself to get past thewhat-ifsand deal with thethis-is-itfeelings. This was what she got, and it was better than being ghosted by a thousand percent. She squeezed gently, and he returned the pressure.
He held the hug so long she started to think he might never let go, and that did awful things to her insides. Awful good, awful scary. And when he stepped back, his eyes were wet.
That slayed her more than anything else.
“I miss you,” he said.
Fuck.
“Don’t make me cry,” she whispered. “That’s not cool.”
“Sorry.”
But she missed him, too. “You were my only friend here, in a city of nearly half a million people. I know you’ve got people at the station, but—”
“Youaremy only friend, Jess. I know that’s fucked up. But the last year has been fucking lonely.”
“You should find some new friends.”
“I will.” He searched his face. “I’m going to a gay club on the weekend.”
She held her hand up for a high-five.
He slapped it lightly and laughed. “Never thought we’d do that.”
“Nope. But I’m glad for you. I am.”
“And I’m glad you’re moving on with a new start in a new town. I really am.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll talk again,” he said quietly. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
She didn’t actually expect that he would. It was one thing to get up the courage to come clean once. It was another to radically change one’s entire ability to communicate regularly.
But when she woke up the next day—after a restless, tossing and turning kind of night—there were two messages.
Brent: Morning. I can still feel that hug. Do you want to have coffee on the weekend? I’m going to try to convince you to let me help you move, fair warning.
Evan: Did Brent call you? We should talk if he didn’t. And I’d like to talk even if he did.
Well.
She read both messages over multiple times before tossing her phone beside her on the bed and kicking her feet. Maybe she should feel frustrated, but the stupid big grin on her face betrayed that she was anything but.
After a long drought, Jessica Doran had the friendship of her husband again. It wasn’t exactly the attention she wanted from him, but she’d missed him. It was…nice. And, because the universe was feeling kind, she also had the eye of a very sexy vintner. That was even nicer.
These were not the worst problems to have, but they were still problems. Oh man. Ohmen.What was she going to do?
* * *
Packing and working.That’s all she ended up doing for the next week, except for two short breaks. As promised, Brent took her out for coffee on the weekend and did his best to convince her he could help her move. She dodged the question and poked at him about getting out there to make some gay friends. He dodged that and brought the conversation back around to moving help.
When she headed home, she was grinning like an idiot.
