I gave her as few details as possible, despite her relentless questions. I just didn’t want to relive that kiss, and the look in his eyes right before it, right after it, and what it did to my body, to my heart. I definitely didn’t want that on my way to work. I’d had enough of that all night.
“Please tell me you’re not leaving the job half-done,” she said eventually. “The world wouldn’t end if you went for it. Besides, I still ship RiOwen.”
“Speaking of jobs, I just got to mine, so ba-haaaaye.” I jumped on the opportunity to dodge a question I couldn’t answer even for myself.
That afternoon, Owen drove Walter to his swim class, then made dinner. With protein overload, but I survived.
As we cleared the table, we moved around each other carefully, as if any accidental touch might set something off. The dining area was open to the living room, which meant we had plenty of space—but it still felt too small.
“How’s Clarice doing, Granddad?” Owen asked, stacking up plates as I rinsed them in the sink.
Walter shot him a glare that could fry an egg.
“Aren’t you together at swim class? Thought I saw her earlier.” Owen placed a salad bowl in the sink, and our hands touched under the running water, warm skin against warm skin, a fleeting stroke that sent awareness skittering up my spine as our shoulders brushed.
I pulled back, fingers prickling, and we both turned our heads, eyes locking for a beat, before Walter ranted something in response.
“Okay, Walter. Have it your way.” Owen retreated and returned to his seat.
I turned the tap off and dried my hands shortly after to find him reaching for the Scrabble board at the far end of the table.
“Fancy a game?” He leaned back in his chair, twirling a tile between his fingers.
Walter hesitated for a moment, then made a noncommittal sound. “Set it up.”
I bit back a smile as Owen got to work. He hadn’t given up on getting closer to Walter. And he knew Walter wouldn’t hold off long enough the opportunity to gloat over a win.
“You in, Wio?” Owen’s blue eyes parked on mine with challenge.
“Tsk. You two going head-to-head is the entertainment I’m here for.”
Half an hour in, the board was a battleground. Walter had just droppedquixoticon a triple-word score, puffing up like a rooster. “That’s forty-five points. Beat that, pretty boy.”
Owen barely reacted, just smirked as he placed his tiles.
Resurgent.
His gaze darted toward me. “Twelve points.”
Walter eyed it, unimpressed. “Could’ve done better.”
On his next round, the muscle in Owen’s jaw twitched as he placed the letters with slow, deliberate intent.
Unravel.
My stomach flipped.
Walter was too busy calculating points to notice. “Not bad. Still not beating me.”
Owen didn’t answer. A few rounds later, he added another word.
Mine.
My mouth ran dry. A sudden scorch shot through me.
I’d always tried not to assign too much meaning to his nickname for me—Rio Mio—but thatMiohad always sent a little spark through my heart. Now, seeing it spelled out, that spark threatened to ignite into wildfire.
Walter, oblivious, blew out his cheeks in scorn, then slapped down his final play with a smug grin. “That’s game. And what do we say when we lose?”
