He missed.
By the end of it, I’d stopped pretending. Not that anyone noticed.
Justin broke up with me via text.
I thanked him.
He thought I was joking.
I wasn’t.
And that was the moment I knew I’d rather be single forever than watch another boy eat a plainturkey sandwich with no condiments and call it ‘a treat’.
Everett had left town by then. Leftme.
And I'd wanted that. I'd wanted him to leave because it was easier.
Easier than seeing him everywhere.
Easier than wanting what I couldn't have.
Only he’d stay gone for nine years.
Nine years of silence that made it painfully clear we’d meant more to each other than I ever let myself believe.
Turns outeasierwasn’t the same asbetter.
Easierjust meant I was dying slower.
“You've grown, Shutterbug.”
That. That right there. That’s what I broke us for.
Roman’s voice, the sound of a lifetime of growing affection tugs a smile out of me. I take his handsome face in my hands—something our mother used to do with him—something he confessed to missing the most.
Naturally, I adopted the ritual, doing everything I could to give it back to him. Even if it’s not quite the same.
There are just some things a picture can’t replace.
“You always say that.” Lines frame his eyes, just a bit deeper than the last time I saw him. Before I can examine him too closely, his massive arms wrap around me and he lifts me clean off the floor like I'm still twelve and easy to toss over his shoulder.
I'm not.
I'm five-ten, twenty-eight years old, and every nerveending still vibrating from the threat made by one devastating kiss.
“Haven’t I gotten too old for this?”
“Nope.” He squeezes tighter. “Haven't seen my baby sister in four months. I get at least thirty seconds.”
And despite everything—the kiss, the panic, the fact that Everett is standing six feet away pretending to be fascinated by bourbon labels—I melt into it.
Because it’s Roman. My most loyal protector who put the fear of God into anyone who dared mess with me and still calls me every Sunday to see how I’m doing before listing all the ways he misses me.
“You smell like coffee and Slim Jims,” I mumble into his shoulder.
His deep chuckle rumbles through him and into me. My eyes sink shut and I hold on tighter despite my earlier demand to put me down.
“You smell like dust and old books.”
