“Any luck?” I ask, moving closer.
She shakes her head, and her burgundy braids sway against her delectable ass with the movement. “None. The hotels are booked solid. The airport’s shut down. I even talked to Cassidy. She’s snowed in too. Looks like Jamaica’s officially canceled.”
“Your friend you were traveling with?”
“Yeah,” she says, sinking onto the couch with a weary chuckle. “She’s stuck with her ex. So really, neither of us caught a break.”
Her tone is light, but there’s resignation beneath it, and before I can stop myself, I’m wondering what else she told Cassidy about being stuck here. About me.
Over the years, I’ve slipped a few harmless questions into conversations with Bella—casual mentions of Mommy’s friends, what they do together, that sort of thing. I always stop beforeit sounds like fishing, but I still listen for any male names that come up. So far, nothing but Aunt Cass.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About the vacation. About... a lot of things.”
Her eyes snap to mine, wary. “Enrick—”
“I know we agreed not to do this,” I cut her off, because if I don’t say it now, I might not get another chance. “To keep things strictly about Bella. But you’re here, and—”
“Uncle!” Penelope—Penny—my fourteen-year-old niece, bounds over. “Mom says to ask Aunt Desiree if she has any food allergies. She’s making spaghetti for supper.”
Desiree turns to Penny. “No allergies. But really, I don’t want to impose—”
“Are you kidding? Mom’s been dying to meet you. She says it’s weird she’s known Bella forever and never met her mom.”
“Penny,” I warn, but she’s already dancing away, laughing.
Desiree raises an eyebrow. “Good to know I make for interesting dinner conversation.”
“My family has... opinions about my personal life.”
“Or lack thereof,” Maverick adds helpfully as he passes by. “Six years is too long to pine.”
“I’m going to murder him,” I mutter, and Desiree surprises me by laughing.
“Your family seems nice,” she says. “Very...”
“Overwhelming? Intrusive? Likely to embarrass me at every opportunity?”
“I was going to say warm.” Her expression softens. “Bella’s lucky to have all this.”
The wistfulness in her voice kills me. “Desiree—”
“I should check on her.” She stands abruptly. “Make sure she’s not making a mess.”
But I’m already on my feet, blocking her path. “Wait.”
We’re too close. Close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in her brown eyes, feel the heat radiating from her body.
Those five weeks after our night together—before everything went to hell—we’d text constantly. Morning greetings, lunch break check-ins, late-night conversations that stretched until dawn. Planning my next trip to Atlanta, her first visit to Winter Bay.
Then she called with the news of her pregnancy, and I destroyed it all with my accusations.
She tilts her head back to look at me, and the gesture takes me right back to Atlanta, to a hotel room where she arched her neck just like this while I kissed my way down—
“Enrick.” She presses a hand to my chest, and I don’t know if she’s pushing me away or holding on. “We can’t do this. I’m only here because of the storm.”
“No.” I cover her hand with mine, trapping it against my racing heart. “You’re here because Patricia broke her hip. Because fate or God or the universe decided six years was long enough.”
“Don’t...”
