No one can take my snapping and snarling and awkward silences on the chin as easily as this man. And the thing I’ve never understood is, he’s five years older than me and lost both his parents when he was thirteen, yet he’s retained this positive outlook that I gave up years ago, if I ever had it at all.
“Then?”
“Well, I helped clean up Ben.” He shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That kid is a magnet for dirt. I swear, a piece of eggshell floated right into his hair.”
I smile. “I hear you.” Every lick of his chocolate ice cream cone left more on his face than probably went into his mouth. My parents used to say I was bad, walking into the house looking like I spent all my time rolling around in the dirt. Ben is something else.
“She seemed grateful. She kissed Ben to say thanks, then he said she should kiss me too.” His eyes meet mine warily. “Just to say thanks. I want to be clear about that.”
“I won’t kill you for kissing her, Win. I told you this before, and I meant it.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, “but that was before I kissed your scent-match.”
As I scrutinize him, I recall the bitterness in his voice when I asked him how to be more likable. His advice had been exactly what I’d needed to hear. Instead of focusing so much on fucking up what I say, focus onlisteningto the other person. “I’m guessing something out of the ordinary happened.”
He drags his gaze from mine and slumps into his seat, crossing his arms. “I thought it would be a kiss on the cheek. Just a friend thing. I mean, that’s all Win Gabriel is good for: being a friend.”
The bitterness returns twofold. Now I know exactly what it’s about. “We’ll get back to that. What happened next?”
“Well…” He glances over at me, then leans toward his door, putting more space between us. “She seemed to like it. Kissing me, in case I wasn’t clear.”
I’m tired, and I’m hungry, but I don’t tell him to get to the fucking point. He’s tense enough, and he’s a friend. And he’s owning up to something that he’s scared I’ll kill him for, but he’s still doing it because he feels it’s important for me to know.
I lift my brow. “So the second I park outside the house, you get in my truck and prepare for me to kill you?”
He nods. “That sounds about right.”
I sit back in my seat and look out toward the house as I speak. “Do you know why I hate small talk?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him tilt his head toward me. “You don’t like people.”
“I consider it a waste of my time. I could be eating, watching TV, or working on the house. Hell, I could be staring into space, and I’d consider that a better way to spend my time than talking about the weather or whatever football game everyone watchedlast night. You’re not like me, Win, and you don’t want to be. People like you because you give them every part of yourself. You care so deeply that they feel it. Even me. You still found a way to connect with me. If you take one thing from this conversation, take that.”
He lets out a quiet, barely audible breath. “I don’t know how to be more than a friend to Rose.”
“I don’t know how to talk to someone without sticking one, but usually both, feet in my mouth,” I counter. “And I don’t for one second believe you’re incapable of being more than a friend to Rose. You need to get out of your head and just be you, instead of who you think she wants you to be.”
We look at each other, and I see the struggle going on inside Win. The will to believe me, but the doubt winning.
“You really don’t have a problem with me kissing Rose?” he eventually asks.
I open my door, eager to see Rose, play with Ben, and eat something. In that exact order. But for now, I look my friend in the eye and speak from the heart. Something I only learned to do because of him. “I have a problem with you thinking you’re not worthy of the happiness you deserve more than me. That’s what I have a big fucking problem with, Win. You’re a good man. Too good to think as little of yourself as you do. Come on. Let’s go see the reason for both our happiness.”
Win gets out of my truck with a relieved smile, and I clap him on the shoulder on the way to the front door, lucky to have him in my life.
“I might have accidentally told Ben that Rose is pregnant, so we don’t have to keep mouthing baby anymore when Ben’s around. Rose said she was kind of relieved about that,” he says.
“Good to know. Ben and Rose brought me an ice cream cone at work.”
He opens the front door, grinning. “I know. They came to see me at the diner after.”
I chuckle. “How much chocolate was Ben wearing?”
His eyes sparkle. “Enough.”
Never has one word made me laugh so hard.
Chapter 13
