Speak of the devil.
It’s my brother.
Aidan’s nostrils flare as I hold his gaze. A small muscle ticks in his jaw, clearly indicating his displeasure. I remain frozen, unsure what, if anything, I should do.
Do I nod at him?
Give a wave? No, that’s weak.
Should I make my way over there and try to talk to him?
The decision is made for me when he sneers and breaks eye contact, going so far as to turn his back on me so he’s leaning it against the bar. He says something to the other man, then departs, working his way through the crowd to a table near the front windows. His friend, whom I recognize as the best man from his wedding and his partner on the force, collects their drinks and follows. I do my best to observe them inconspicuously while they sip their drinks. They’re both smiling and laughing, and I feel a surge of jealousy. It’s followed swiftly by a wave of self-recrimination, because it’s entirely my fault I don’t have that kind of relationship with my brother. Or a relationship at all.
Both men continuously glance in the direction of the dance floor, and I follow their gazes to find my new sister-in-law, Piper, dancing in the center of the crowd with Lucy Hale. The two women have their arms in the air and their heads thrown back in laughter as they sway their hips to the music, and when I glance back again to where my brother is watching, I’m amused to note that both men appear to be utterly entranced. Eventually, they join the women on the dance floor, and there’s some alpha-male posturing with a couple of other dudes that has me smirking and chuckling.
When they return to the table, I force myself to look away—to focus back on my beer … on observing the bartenders … on anything else other than my brother and his friends. I busy myself with peeling at the label on my bottle, then fiddle with the cardboard coaster-anything. My attempts at distraction prove futile, though, as I find myself seeking Aidan out again and again.
I can’t help that I’m curious about him.
Even with the five-year age difference, my brother and I were once very close. The death of our father bonded us in ways I hadn’t truly contemplated before now, but shared grief will do that to you.
Then I up and abandoned him.
Now, as adults, we’re essentially strangers. And it pains me to think I truly have no idea what he’s like as a man. It’s not a new realization, but it’s one I’m having a much harder time shoving down and ignoring now that I’ve returned and can see him in his element. If the wedding told me anything, it’s that he’s well respected in this town and has built up a solid community and friend group for himself. That thought is underscored by the arrival of two additional men, who join them briefly at the table before the four of them move to converge with the women at the edge of the dance floor. I’ve spent the last hour debating whether or not I should try to approach them. Piper, at least, would be welcoming. Ithink. But Aidan has continued to avoid looking in my direction ever since he noticed my presence.
I’ve just about decided to stop torturing myself and take off, when I feel it. A shift in the air. Then, just like when I’d gotten my first glimpse of her at the wedding, the sight of Stephanie Miller once again steals my breath.NotMiller anymore, I remindmyself, as she scans the bar. According to my mom, she goes by Jamison now.
Hisname.
I hate it … but I’m determined it’ll be Walker one day, so I don’t let myself dwell. I hold my breath as she glances around the room, her gaze moving quickly over me, but … then she stiffens, and I wait, knowing she’s registered my presence. Slowly, ever so slowly, those beautiful brown eyes trace back to meet mine.
They’re not the soft chocolate pools of my memory, though.
No.
Steph stares at me across the dimly lit space, and a chill runs down my spine at the coldness, the aloofness I find there. Her shoulders rise as she visibly sucks in a breath, then she averts her gaze, turning stiffly back to her girlfriends. She does her best to ignore me for a solid ten minutes, sipping at some fruity drink one of the men hands her and chatting with her girlfriends. She plays photographer for a group before handing off the phone to one of the men to then pose in a shot herself. Several times, I catch her turning in my direction only to stop herself before her eyes can find mine, and I know she’s fighting it. Resisting the urge to look at me.
For my part, I spend the entire time studying her. Her short blonde hair gleams under the warm overhead lighting, and there’s a delicious splash of color across her cheeks. I wonder if I’m the cause of it.
She’s dressed more conservatively than her friends, in a pair of black slacks and a white sleeveless turtleneck sweater. It’s not really an outfit designed for a night out dancing, or for a night out in general, this time of year. Nonetheless, I find it sexy as hell, though it’s highly likely I would still find her sexy in a paper bag.
Her sweater is figure-hugging enough to hint at her slender curves, the ones I ache to trace once more with my hands … and then my mouth. Her light tan is a contrast to the brightness of her shirt, and her toned arms are displayed to perfection.
That’s the word for her—perfection. She’s utterly fucking perfect.
And I need her to be mine again.
Steph’s posture remains rigid as I continue to watch her with her friends, never once relaxing under the weight of my gaze. And I don’t doubt that itisweighty. There’s no more surreptitious looks like I’d attempted with my brother. Nope, I blatantly stare at the one that got away.
The one Idroveaway, I remind myself with an internal sigh. I did this. I’m the reason we’re not together now. I’m the reason she can’t—won’t—even look at me.
I don’t regret it, though, even now, the decision I made back then. I regret the way I went about it, the way I hurt her, but I don’t regret saving her from the life she would have had shackled to a boyfriend in prison. The embarrassment. Theshame. The inability to move forward together.
But everything is different now.
Now is our time.
I’m determined to make it so, because despite her posture, despite the cool stare she met me with,I feel it. The connection. It’s still there, I’m certain of it.
