Chapter Fifteen
Mila
It shouldn’t feel so easy.
Being with Everett, talking to him, wearing his coat. Even just walking hand in hand with him in silence. I don’t feel the need to fill it up with anything. I don’t need to try. I don’t need to worry.
I can just breathe.
He’s so comfortable in his skin. So at ease.
So kind and curious about me. Not like guys I’ve dated in the past who don’t shut up about themselves.
And God, he’s hot. All throughout dinner, I kept noticing different things about him that made breathing normally seem like an unreasonable ask of my lungs.
The muscular forearms below the cuffed sleeves of his dress shirt.
The strong, thick wrists. The way those dark curls on his head resist the product he’s put in his hair, springing rebelliously loose.
The slow, sensual grin that hooked up one side of his mouth before the other when I said something that amused him.
It made my stomach tumble every time.
And he was sweet, too. Offering me his coat was nice enough.
But standing there and rolling up the sleeves for me?
I nearly melted right there on the sidewalk.
I don’t even know how we ended up holding hands, but it feels right.
As we stroll down the path that follows the curve of the White Pine River, the contact between our palms sends an electric current zipping along my veins.
“So what do you do with your Saturday nights when you’re not tricking women into having dinner with you?”
“Mostly, I hang out with my buddies at The Axe & Barrel. We play in a league every Monday night.” He laughs. “Our group chat is called Axe Gods.”
“Of course it is.” I shake my head. “So who are the Axe Gods?”
“Ripley, Ben Hart, and Hunter Gannon.”
“So you’re pretty good friends with Ripley?”
“Yeah. For all that he’s a menace, he’s active in the chamber of commerce and always willing to host an event or pitch in when the local business community needs a hand. And he’s a lot of fun, although he works his ass off at the pub. Most nights, he’s managing and bartending. Does the books, too.”
“How long has he owned it?”
Everett thinks for a moment. “About five years? He’s made some good improvements, including axe throwing.”
“And Ben Hart is one of the Harts, I assume.”
“Yes, but he’ll tell you he’s on the poor branch of that family tree. His dad was the original Doc Hart—I think a second cousin or something to Tad? Ben took over his practice when he retired a few years back. So he’s the new Doc Hart.”
“Love it. Old Doc Hart was the best. So kind and gentle. I don’t remember his son. Is he older?”
“Yeah. He turned forty this year, and we give him so much shit about it. But he’s a great guy. He’s got a daughter, Vivian, from his first marriage. I think she’s in middle school.”
“Is he remarried?”
“No. The Axe Gods are all single.”
I laugh. “Who was the other god again?”
“Hunter Gannon. I think he might have been in your graduating class, but I’m not sure.”
“He was. But I didn’t know him well.”
Broody and quiet, Hunter didn’t really fit in with any of the cliques at school.
He didn’t play a sport, wasn’t involved in clubs, and seemed to work a lot of hours at the service station.
Rumor had it that his home life wasn’t good, and also that he’d been arrested for something at one point, so we were all a little scared of him.
But he was beautiful in a lean, angular kind of way.
I recall how Rachel was assigned to tutor him senior year and freaked out about it.
“Didn’t he join the military after high school?”
Everett nods. “He was in the Army. But he moved back to Hart’s Landing a couple years ago, and now he’s a firefighter. Really good guy.” When we come to the bridge, we stop. “Want to walk across?”
“Sure.” Side by side, we amble along until we reach the middle, where I turn and look out over the river, placing my hands on the iron rail. The moon’s reflection glimmers on the water. In the distance, music drifts from the bars along Main Street. “So do people still do the thing with the stone?”
“I don’t know.” He glances at me. “Did you ever do it?”
“Maybe,” I murmur, my tone mysterious.
“So is the legend true? Does it work?”
“I regret to say, it did not work for me.”
“Maybe you should try it again.”
“I don’t think so.”
He hesitates. “You know, not all guys are like your ex.”
“It’s not just because of Connor. I’ve got a long history of twisting myself into a pretzel trying to earn someone’s love. I pretend to be something—sometimes many things—I’m not, just to keep someone else happy.”
“Because you’re afraid of being alone?”
Because I’m afraid that deep down, I’m unlovable. “My therapist and I are trying to unpack that.”
“Have you ever tried being with someone who likes the actual you and not the pretzel you?”
I smile. “That sounds very healthy.”
“So why not try it? I know someone who’s kind of into you.”
“Oh yeah? He likes emotionally cluttered women who may or may not have accidentally committed arson?”
He nudges me. “That’s actually his favorite type.”
“Mmm.” God, he’s tempting. But I’ve been here before.
I get on this ride because it looks like fun, and then I can’t get off.
I end up either falling off, getting pushed off, or riding it alone.
Gathering my strength, I exhale before facing him.
“Everett, I can’t. I made myself a promise.
I need to figure out who I am when I’m not trying to please someone.
And I need to learn how to put myself first.”
“Or maybe try being with someone who puts you first,” he suggests. “Let him show you how to do it.”
“I wish I could.” My eyes travel over his face, his shoulders, his chest. I even risk a glance at his crotch. “Seriously, I really, really wish I could.”
Everett exhales. “Well, my friend is going to be very disappointed.”
“Tell him I’m doing him a favor.”
“He really wants to kiss you.”
My breath hitches. “He does?”
“He had the chance once before, but things went wrong.” He brushes my hair back behind my shoulders. “He thinks he deserves another shot. With your permission, of course.”
“Look at you, asking for permission. What happened to your rough edges?”
“I’m on my best behavior. For my friend’s sake.”
My defenses are melting. One kiss would be okay, right? Just two pairs of lips meeting in the dark, nothing more. No one to see. No meaning attached. Just a tidal wave of validation for my teenage self. “All right, Mayor McKean. You’ve got my permission. One kiss. For your friend’s sake.”
He brings one hand to the side of my face, first touching my cheek with his fingers, then cradling my jaw, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “Then I better get this right.”
A moment later, his mouth is on mine. Softly at first, his lips warm and gentle, teasing mine open in a way that makes me yearn for more. A drizzle when I want a downpour. Then it deepens, his head tilting, his hand sliding into my hair. He wraps his other arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
I reach for the back of his head, my fingers slipping through those thick brown curls. He opens his mouth a little wider, stroking my tongue with his own.
Holy smoke.
This kiss is hitting me in all kinds of places.
The backs of my knees. The hollow of my stomach.
Deep in my chest. Gooseflesh blankets my skin.
Whiskey, vanilla, and coffee swirl together to create a flavor better than any dessert I’ve ever had.
His mouth moves across my jaw and down my throat.
His tongue creates a hot spot on my neck that I feel between my legs. I moan softly. Helplessly.
“I should stop,” he says, his breath tantalizing on my skin. “My rough edges will start to show.”
God, I want to experience those rough edges. I want to get my hands on them. Wrap my legs around them. Swallow them whole.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “You sure we can’t see where this goes? Because I feel like we could have a lot of fun together, Freckles. No strings attached.”
“I’m even more sure than I was before. That kiss made this entire bridge tremble. I’ll never trust myself around you again.”
Laughing, he releases me from his arms. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Damn, he’s good. Sweet and funny and so fucking hot. And as we started walking back toward the embankment, I have to wonder—how the hell is he still single? “Can I ask you a question now?”
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t the women in this town falling all over you?”
“Who says they aren’t?”
I laugh. “Okay, so maybe that was the wrong question. How come you’re unattached?”
“One, I’m too busy, and two, I don’t want to date my constituents.”
“That’s fair.” I glance at him. “Have you ever had a serious relationship?”
“I had a girlfriend around the time my father died, but we ended up going our separate ways shortly after.”
“Can I ask why?”
“She wanted to get married, or at least talk about it. I didn’t.”
I nod. “Where is she now?”
“She’s still around—a pediatric nurse at the clinic, actually. She also volunteers at the animal rescue.”
I imagine a gorgeous blonde in nursing scrubs with puppies and kittens on them. She has perfect skin, an adorable giggle, and voluptuous breasts.
I am unreasonably annoyed.
“What’s her name?”
“Bella.”
Because of course it is.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, during which I continue to obsess over his ex.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Bella. Duh.”
He laughs. “What about her?”
“She’s obviously perfect.”
“She is?”