I just blink at her.
What did I just do?
I kissed her.
I take a step back. I have to get out of here. Now.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have… Lock the door behind me.” Before she can reply, I step out into the dark night.
Icy rain burns my skin as I stomp back to the van. I tilt my head back, letting it wash over my face. My jeans feel too tight. I can still feel the way her cheek fit in the palm of my hand.
Why did I do that? I don’t kiss. I don’t do romance. A childhood of watching my mum break up with man after man made me realise relationships were pointless, and I’m not the one-night-stand type. I prefer being alone. It’s simpler this way.
But seeing Summer there, all soft and sweet and pressed up against me, with those goddamn jewels stuck on her nails and her pink sparkly lips, made something inside me just…crack.
Why?I don’t evenlikeSummer. When I took her to the Dewdrop, I was annoyed. Annoyed that Fraser was busy and I had to pick her up. Annoyed that this grown woman was apparently so spoiled that she didn’t have the survival skills to feed herself.
But she was different than I thought she would be. Sweeter. I remember her buzzing excitement as she begged Isla to let her help with the wedding. Her vulnerability when she talked about her mum.
I don’t understand her. It’s confusing. Thunder echoes in the sky above.
I climb back into the van, furious at myself.
When I slam back inside the farmhouse, Fraser’s sprawled across the sofa, and Alec’s working at the dining table.
Alec looks up as I shake off the rain. “You’re back,” he says, shutting his laptop. “Where is she?”
I unlace my boots. “Cabin.” Where else would she be?
“Is she okay?” he demands.
“Fine.” I unwind my wet scarf. As I do, I get another flicker of Summer’s sweet perfume, and my belly crunches with desire. I go still.
No. I don’tdothis. I hang it up and stomp over to the drinks cart in the lounge, pouring myself a dram of whisky.
Alec follows me. “You’re sure?” he asks hoarsely. “Were there any issues getting back? Everything should be secured for the weather. Did you notice anything that might give?”
I look at him. His eyes are shadowed from lack of sleep, and his face is pale.
Unsurprising. Alec always gets like this during a storm. With good reason. I’m not a fan of them either. I look out of the window, and memories flash up.
Lashes of cold rain on my face.
Pain so unbelievable that it feels like I’m being crushed to death.
Alec’s wet, desperate face over mine.
I grimace and take a swallow of whisky. It’s been years. I’ve made peace with that night in a way Alec hasn’t. Sometimes, during storms like this, he looks at me with that same desperation. Like he’s still there.
It’s how he’s looking at me now as he steps closer. Like I might be dying in front of his eyes. It’s hard to handle. “Cameron—” he starts.
“You eaten?” I interrupt, heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge. I already know the answer.
He blinks. “What? Ah, no.”
I pull out a container of stew I made him this morning and set it on the counter. “Here. Eat.”
He shakes his head. “I should go check on the fencing, see how it’s holding up?—”
