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The word relationship surprisingly pricked, but Evie held her ground. No baggage, remember? She stroked her hand up and down his length again. “So…”
Nick grinned naughtily. “So!”
“Me on top then?” she asked. “If that’s okay?”
“Yeah! Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, it used to be your favorite.” She scratched her brow. “Maybe that’s changed.”
“Nope! Probably because I had an awesome teacher.”
Evie’s heart skipped, but she knew the past was best left behind. All that mattered was what she was feeling right now…
Lifting her thighs, she guided Nick inside her and sank down slowly. His exquisite girth stretching her tightness felt rapturous, eliciting a feral groan as she sucked in a measured breath.
Nick gasped gruffly and gripped her ass. “Thatta girl.” His eyes seemed to roll back in ecstasy and Evie took full advantage, hell-bent on experiencing a morning worth remembering.
Grinding against him then rocking forward and back, Evie fell into an intoxicating rhythm matched by Nick, his upward thrusts building in urgency, hitting where she needed him most. She rode him hard, thrilled by his control and stamina, skills he had lacked at twenty-one.
Much had changed, but much had remained the same, too, like Nick remembering that Evie wouldn’t orgasm without a little help. Sliding his fingers between their sweat-drenched bodies, he circled her swollen clit as she bucked and bounced, arching her back.
“Fucking hell, Tigs.” His heady, half-lidded gaze locked on her. “I’m gonna come just by watching you—”
“I’m close,” Evie panted, rolling her hips as the dizzying sensation spiraled, lifting her higher and higher, stealing her breaths till her frenzied chase crashed into an explosion of sensual pleasure and an expletive-laden cry. She froze, mind and body surrendering to every throb, every thrum of their clandestine reunion.
She whimpered into a huge grin. Who says second chances are a terrible idea?
Not Nick. With her name owning his lips, he thrust one last time and came hard, jerking with each pulsating release.
TWENTY-FIVE
EVIE
Then, Saturday, August 14, thirteen years ago
Evie cracked open a box of puffin pillows and peered past a shelf stacked with glassware. Head popping through the neck of a blue lambswool sweater, her temporary ‘helper’ promptly neatened his unruly hair, straightened the Fair Isle pattern skimming his abs, and resumed the demolition of a packet of locally baked beremeal shortbread.
“Nom, nom, nom! Me love Orkney coo-keee!” Nick crunched cartoonishly through his seventh treat, doing his best Cookie Monster impression.
Evie dragged the opened box behind her. “Nick, you’re supposed to be counting inventory, not eating it.”
“But they’re dead good. I’ve been hooked ever since our night on your trampoline.”
Yeah, me too. Evie smiled.
“Want some?” He bobbed his head to the Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever” on the stockroom’s crackly radio. The island’s only station preferred oldies to the day’s current hits.
“Tempting, but no, I’m good. I had a sandwich earlier.” The lie curdled in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything since dinner the night before.
“I promise, I’ll pay for everything I eat.” Nick budged up the sweater’s cuffs. “I’ll take this, too. I need a toasty jumper. Winters in Salford are terribly damp.” Lunging forward through his open legs, he rescued his fallen inventory sheet from the floor and resumed his count of lemongrass-scented candles, tapping each tin with his pencil’s Highland cow eraser.
He hasn’t complained once. Evie sat on an unopened crate of gin, delighted by his newfound appreciation for the shop and its merchandise.
Since his mother’s surprise visit a week ago, Nick hadn’t grumbled about Orkney at all. He had even offered to visit Evie’s favorite places—the Brough of Birsay, Happy Valley, Hoy—but when her work prevented their escape, he happily hung out in the café, playing games on his laptop and sampling her mother’s menu until Evie was his again. It was like he was doubling down against Kiki and her demands, digging his heels into the island’s earth while waiting for university to resume. Evie couldn’t have been more thrilled. Having Nick by her side—even if he was leaving shortbread crumbs all over the shop’s merchandise—kept her heart happy and her mind somewhat distracted from the troublesome twinges multiplying in her belly.
But still, Evie couldn’t shake the cruel comments made by his mother: calling him unprofessional, a has-been, yelling at him to “grow up, get over it, and get back to work.” Where was her love for her son? The concern for his mental health and the toll years of rejection had taken on his spirit? Years back when Nick first opened up about Kiki, Evie thought—no, hoped he was exaggerating, but witnessing the nasty put-downs in the flesh made her heart ache for him. Parents were supposed to love and protect their kids, not view them as a commodity.
Silently mouthing his count, Nick caught Evie’s gawk. “Gotta keep the boss happy!” He laughed and wrote down his candle tally then shifted toward a box of rune-pattered socks, wedging a finger of sugar-dusted shortbread between his lips.
