Rio
I FOUND MYSELF BRUSHINGmy hair until it was half dry.
For a few days, Owen had been nothing more than the sound of footsteps on the stairs, the quiet closing of a cupboard, the hum of his rented car coming and going. After the first two days, we’d fallen into an unspoken routine, sort of sharing custody of Walter—making sure he got on the town’s ride to the Seniors’ Club or driving him there ourselves, making his meals.
Running parallel lives, we shared the same roof as if we were still in different time zones and wavelengths.
But today, he showed up in the garage. And now, he stood at my door and hugged me.
Dressed in gray sweatpants and a fitted white tee, he filled the doorway, somehow looking bigger, his presence heavier. His height, the strong arms with visible veins, his broad chest—the man was sheer force. On TV, that translated into power and movement, a body built for impact, pushing limits, breaking past anything in its way.
I felt that force enveloping me even in that gentle hug.
But it wasn’t just this striking presence of him I felt in his arms. It was something deeper—a kind of connectedness that settles in over years and roots itself in small moments.
It was the same way he’d held me when he arrived after my father passed. The same comfort as that first small smile he had given me in our kitchen when that girl felt it her duty to point out my stutter to everyone. The same quiet reassurance as when he asked me to dance at my sophomore year homecoming while I hovered on the sidelines. It was why I had asked him to be my first.
Owen was sexy—of course he was—but that wasn’t what I felt in his arms tonight. It washim. The friend.Our Owen.
And that was worse.
Because it undid both my heart and my body.
And because, even worse than I told Ruby—it wasn’t just complicated, it was a tangled mess of threads.
Pulling at any one of them would make everything come apart.
10
Owen
THE KNOCK ON THE FRONTdoor was brisk, familiar.
“Well, look who’s gracing us with his presence,” Simon said as soon as I opened it for him.
I smirked and clasped his hand, pulling him in for a half-hug. “I’ve been gracing it here for a while. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”
Simon scoffed, his gaze flicked over me, assessing, like he was trying to measure the difference three years and an injury have made. “You look ... American.”
“Yeah? You look married.” I tilted my chin toward the soft belly he was sporting.
He grinned as we walked into the living room. “Hazard of falling for a woman who loves to cook.” His eyes swept the room. “Where’s Walter?”
“Out back, grumbling at the weeds.”
“And Rio?”
I didn’t glance toward the kitchen where I could hear faint movement, the sound of a tap running. “Somewhere.”
Simon seemed satisfied with that answer and dropped onto the couch. “So, how’s it going with that knee?”
I rolled my shoulders. “Not too bad.”
“Right.” He leaned forward, forearms on his knees.
I could never bullshit him. Except for one thing. But she asked me not to tell.
“So, when do you go back?” Simon asked.
