As if he could forget. As if any of us could forget the night of my graduation party, when I’d cornered him by the barn and kissed him like my life depended on it. When I’d whispered against his lips that I was eighteen now, that I’d always had feelings for him, that maybe we could…
“Welcome home, Aubree,” Jesse says, and there’s something in his tone that makes me wonder if he’s thinking about that night too.
I force myself to get out of the truck, my legs feeling unsteady on gravel I haven’t felt in years. “Hey, Jesse.” I aim for casual, but my voice comes out breathy and uncertain.
He’s walking toward us now, and I can see the changes of time up close. There are lines around his eyes from squinting in the sun, and his hands are rougher, probably more calloused than I remember. He’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and faded jeans, but somehow he makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a romance novel.
“You look good,” he says, his eyes looking me up and down. I hate the way my pulse quickens at the compliment.
“Thanks.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious about my wrinkled clothes. “You look…different.”
“Seven years’ll do that to a person.” His smile is easy, but there’s something guarded in his eyes. “Heard you were doing big things in Chicago.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, trying to play it off, like it doesn’t mean as much as it does. “Big things have a way of falling apart.”
Truett clears his throat, breaking the moment. “Jesse, can you help me get her stuff?”
“Sure thing.” Jesse moves to the back of the truck, and I catch a whiff of his scent, something woody and masculine that makes my stomach flip.
God, I’m pathetic. Seven years away, and I’m still reacting to him like a teenager with a crush.
But I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who just had her entire life implode spectacularly. I came home to lick my wounds and figure out my next move, not to moon over my brother’s best friend.
Even if he does look like he stepped out of my most vivid fantasies.
“I’ll show you to your new room,” Truett says, shouldering my larger suitcase. “Then we can talk about what you want to do tomorrow.”
I nod, following him toward the house. But as we climb the porch steps, I can feel Jesse’s eyes on me, and I can’t help but wonder if coming home was the best idea after all.
Because some feelings, it seems, are harder to outrun than others.
And some mistakes have a way of following you home.
TWO
JESSE
She’s exactlyas I remember her, only hotter. No longer the girl I had to let down easy. Instead, she’s the woman I could have if given the chance, and make no mistake, I could still have her. Especially with the way she was eyeing me. But I have to remember now, this isn’t just my best friend’s little sister. It could have much bigger implications.
Groaning and shaking my head, I go over to where her other suitcase is stacked. It’s not nearly as big as I thought it would be, but I have a feeling there’s more coming. She’s always been high-maintenance, and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon.
With a grunt, I heft it up and head into the house, stopping when I hear my name.
“Jesse, want us to ride out to the south field?” It’s my brother Carson, the youngest of the bunch. The one who needs the most instruction and micromanaging. He’ll learn how to make decisions on his own at some point. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Yeah, go check fences. I’ll come join you later,” I say as I give him a look.
He reads it and nods. “See ya.”
I watch Carson jog toward the barn, his boots kicking up dust with each step.
The screen door creaks as I push through it, the familiar sound echoing through the ranch house. This place hasn’t changed much since we were kids running through these same halls. Hell, I can still see the scuff marks on the hardwood floor from when Truett, Aubree, and I would slide around in our socks after Sunday dinner. Our parents were best friends, and we spent more time here than we did at our own ranch. It still stands that way.
“Upstairs, second door on the right,” Truett calls from the kitchen, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s tinkering with at the table. Looks like part of the irrigation system from the back pasture. There’s a small piece bent, and he’s determined to get it fixed. Up here, people don’t bother him all the time.
I take the stairs two at a time, muscle memory guiding me to what used to be Aubree’s room. The door’s already open, and I can see she’s started making herself at home. A few things are scattered on the bed—some fancy-looking clothes that probably cost more than most people around here make in a month. It’s not like she’s going to be wearing them here anytime soon.
Setting the suitcase down by the window, I can’t help but look around. Truett kept it exactly the same as when she left. Purple walls with those ridiculous boy band posters she used to obsess over. The bookshelf is still packed with romance novels she thought no one knew she was reading. I knew, though. Caught her more than once, completely absorbed in some story about cowboys and love and happy endings.
