“And I’m not saying you can’t see people. Only that it would be better if you did it in another town.” I straighten my shoulders and stand tall. There we go. A completely reasonable argument made in a calm and controlled manner. “What do you think?”
He gives me a long look and says, “Yeah. I still think you’re jealous.”
“Nash.”
“Why are you angry if you’re not jealous?”
“Because you’re not listening to me.”
“My sweet, I hear every word you say.”
“You’re free to do whatever you want,” I say, clearly and concisely. “This thing between us is nonsense. I mean, the situation exists solely to give you the chance to experience a different life. So, the last thing I’m going to do is try to tell you who you can be with in that new life.”
“Thank you, my sweetheart. I appreciate that.” He nods somberly. “I know how we can answer the whether you’re jealous or not question.”
“Nash. Oh my god! Would you—”
Which is when his hands cup my face, and he presses his mouth against mine.
Aaron Porter is kissing me. Stunned is a good word. Shocked isn’t bad either. Because this sure as hell wasn’t what I was expecting. Schemes and speeches leave my head entirely.
The warmth of him is everything. His lips are firm and soft at the same time. I can’t explain it. Then his tongue is in my mouth and the taste of him is heaven. Heat rises in me at his touch. It’s honestly a little dangerous for him to have this power over me. Like one touch from him and nothing else matters.
His thumbs stroke over my skin, and he makes this hungry noise in the back of his throat. My hands grab at his t-shirt, and I rise up on my toes. There’s every chance of me climbing the man like a tree.
Which is when we both hear it—the sound of someone clearing their throat. It’s loud and insistent and maybe this is not the first time they’ve done as much. Our public display of affection is not appreciated. I’d honestly lost all track of time andspace and forgotten where we are. And now we’re standing here staring at each other in shock.
Nash is the first to recover. “Sorry, Bernadette, our passions got the better of us.”
The small gray-haired woman is not appeased, and she has tutting down to an art form. She’s also not the only one watching. There’s a man over by the bakery with a small child who just got an education in the art of making out (over-the-clothes edition).
And then, at long last, there’s Amy, looking somber over amongst the meat. Guess she got her answer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You two are quiet tonight,” says Grandma, with her phone in hand. She’s been busy with sudoku.
Darkness settled in an hour ago and stars hang high above. Nash is seated on the outdoor couch opposite us, with his guitar in his lap. He’s been playing for a while, but not singing. I have yet to hear his voice in person—aside from his karaoke appearance. But it’s nice to know my knowledge of country music isn’t completely trash, since I recognize some of the songs.
“We’re probably quiet because we’re thinking deep thoughts.” My original intention was to read a romance. However, watching Nash play guitar has taken precedence. “Is that by Brandi Carlile?”
He nods and gives me a smile. One that feels like it’s just for me. “‘The Story’,” he says.
“It’s beautiful.”
There’s been no discussion between us about what happened at the grocery store. He kissed me and then we went about our business. Which was weird. I tried to work and got nowhere. He went out somewhere in his car. I think the kiss meant something, but I’m not sure what. It no doubt dissuaded Amy from making a move. And it bolsters our story of togetherness. His theory regarding me being jealous was proven to be spot the fuck on.
Ugh.
I know I’m overthinking it. Like to the moon and back. He might have just been in a kissing mood and there I was. Though it’s probably that it means we both want more.
So now is the time to start worrying about next steps. Just really fixating on this shit. Such as who should make a move,etcetera. It’s strange to be pondering such things after the breakup messing with my head so recently. My ex is as gone as can be and I’m good with his absence. Someone else taking over my thoughts so soon is still a lot though. And doing anything in Grandma’s house against her wishes feels wrong. The whole point of me being here was to build stronger ties with her.
That kiss though…it was an eleven. I can’t recall another time when I was so in the moment. When my focus on what was happening was as all-consuming. His mouth on mine and the feel of his shirt fisted in my hands. How he held my face and the heat and hardness of his big body against mine. Then there’s the taste of him and how it went straight to my head.
“I’m not thinking deep thoughts, in case anyone is interested,” says the object of both my affections and smuttiest thoughts. His fingers gently plucking at the strings of the gorgeous, battered old guitar. The instrument just looks like it has a story or two to tell.
Grandma gives him a dour look over the top of her glasses. “Of course not. You’re too busy wooing June, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
