Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Angus
E very song on the radio reminds me of her.
I can’t walk past my bookshelves and not see her dragging her finger over each book as she studied the titles.
Strangely, I wanted her to look at my things.
To see me.
Not Daisy’s brother.
Just me.
If I’d had my way, we would have stayed upstairs talking about books the rest of the night. I would have been happy to never have rejoined the others downstairs. She brought a light to my space that had never been there before. With her in the room, everything felt smaller. There was no escaping her.
And I didn’t want to.
But downstairs we went. Daisy stole her away, and they partied until the bar closed. It was paramount that I kept her out of touching distance for the rest of the night. I watched her. And I watched Rhen, just in case. But there were no more dances. No more touching.
The dreams I’ve had with her as the main character the last two nights confirmed what I already knew was true.
I’m used to this attraction being one-sided... but lately... I swear, it’s not just me wanting more. We’ve been more casual around each other. Touching more than usual. Even if those touches have been innocent.
I’ve always been aware of her when she’s in the room, but there’s some sort of new thread pulling me toward her. It’s a thread I need to sever, because I cannot go there with Mia.
Forget about the connection between our moms and my sister. That’s the smallest thing keeping me away from her.
If she knew the real me, well, it wouldn’t take a woman as intelligent as her to realize I’m not worthy to breathe the same air as her. If she knew the things I keep buried deep inside, she wouldn’t want anything to do with me. She wouldn’t want me anywhere near her son.
I’ve lost too many people. I refuse to lose her, too. If friendship is all I’ll ever get, it’s enough. I have internal demons I have yet to slay, but I’m working on it. Every Tuesday at 11am. With my therapist.
Putting the truck in park in front of the barndominium she and Sawyer call home, I roll my neck and take a deep breath.
You are just her friend. You’re driving her to an appointment and hanging out with her kid. You’d do it for any of your friends. Because that’s all she is. Your. Friend.
Leaving the truck running so the cab stays warm, I make my way to her front door. It’s been snowing for days and it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. The last thing she needs before her big interview is a case of the shakes because she’s freezing.
I knock on the door and hear what I think is a come in, so I let myself in.
“Gus, Gus!” Sawyer yells as he tries to run to me, but his dark blue snowsuit slows him down.
He is the cutest kid I’ve ever seen. No surprise since his mommy, well, she’s the prettiest damn woman I’ve ever known.
There isn’t a day that goes by that she doesn’t look good. Hell, Mia with her hair in a messy bun and no make-up is a dream, but this morning she’s not my sister's teenage best friend. She’s a grown woman and it’s all I can do not to stare.
Her long waves are straight, with the sides pulled away from her face and her minimal make-up is just right. Her black blazer, white silk blouse, and matching black pants fit her like a glove. The jacket curves in at her waist before flaring just right at her hips. Her pants are fitted, but not too tight, and the look is complete with what seem to be two or three-inch heels.
She is spectacular.
“Sawyer, did you tell your mommy how nice she looks?” I say, picking him up as his mom’s cheeks turn my favorite color of pink from my roundabout compliment.
His little arms squeeze around my neck and it feels fantastic. There’s something about a child's unconditional love.
“Do I look okay?” she asks as she frantically spins for me and scoops up a pair of snow boots. “Professional enough?”
“Very professional,” I assure her.
I’m not lying. I would hire her in a minute. However, she also looks delectable, but it’s safer to keep that part to myself.
“Okay, good.”
She kicks off her heels and slips the snow boots on, shoving her shoes in a bag she slings over her shoulder.
“I think I have everything Sawyer might need in here.” She pats the bag now also carrying her heels and looks at the clock on the wall. “Shit, we still have to put his car seat in your truck.”
“Don’t forget your coat,” I say, trying to be helpful.
“I’m too nervous to be cold.”
I see a puffer jacket lying over the back of the couch. “Is this your coat?”
“Yes, but seriously, leave it.”
I grab her coat and the car seat sitting on the floor next to the door with my free hand. “You might want it later. Sawyer and I will meet you at the truck.”
The Powells must pay a service to shovel their driveway and Mia’s because from her front door to my truck is snow free. Looking around the always immaculate property, a pang of sadness hits me square in the chest at the thought of no longer making memories here.
Our families have spent countless summers camping out, water skiing, grilling, and throwing some of the best 4th of July parties around. Easter egg hunts, Christmas Eve dinners, birthdays, anniversaries, we’d shared them all between this place and my parents’ ranch. Daisy and Mia learned how to ride bikes together, right here in this very driveway. This property is so much more than a house or piece of land. It would be like selling the ranch. Like selling a piece of your soul. If it means this much to me, I can’t imagine how hard it must be for Mia.
I open the door to the back cab of the truck and set the car seat, her coat, and Sawyer on the bench seat, hopping in behind him. He immediately stands up and jumps with excitement where he had been sitting. Keeping a hand on him at all times, I look at the car seat as beads of sweat tickle my neck. How am I supposed to keep him from hitting his head or falling while fastening this seat into place?
Luckily Mia opens the door and an adult who knows what they're doing enters the picture. “It goes in the middle.”
“Really?”
“Yep, scoot over and I’ll lock it in real quick.”
I slide across to the other side of the cab, bringing the safety seat to the middle. She climbs in and I’m struck dumb as vanilla infiltrates the air. There is no escaping her or the scent that has always reminded me of her. Any time I smell vanilla I think of her, but today she’s so damn close it’s like I’m high on her.
Our proximity doesn’t seem to have the same impact on her as she wastes no time getting to work without even a glance in my direction. When she pulls the seat belt through the designated spot, she finally looks up at me, only inches away.
“Can you clip this in, please?” She hands me the belt.
“Sure,” I mutter. It takes me three tries to click it into place because she’s leaning over the seat to watch, putting her head only an inch away from mine.
She smells too damn good. I’m not sure what has changed over the past couple of years, but being around her feels different. What I always tossed aside as a childhood crush has morphed into something I have a hard time controlling.
“There we go.” Her breath glides over my face as she looks up and beams me a smile. Seemingly unfazed, she moves away to grab her little man, plopping him in his seat.
“Let’s get you settled, munchkin. You're a little puffier than usual, aren’t you?” She adjusts the straps so he fits and clicks them together at his chest before running her finger over his cheek.
Bam!
That’s when it smacks me upside the head. It’s seeing her as a mom. Her love for her son, who she’s raising on her own, unlocked something inside me I didn’t know existed.
I haven’t been the same since that Sunday dinner when she told us she was pregnant. It was her indignant defiance warning all of us not to push her for answers or to shame her. She wouldn’t take our pity and insisted her child was not a mistake.
We all agreed it was a happy situation. But a situation, all the same.
I had a nameless fuck in my loft that night and have been trying to fuck her and the thought of someone else getting her pregnant out of my head ever since. But it hasn’t worked. In fact, having the privilege of watching her become the mother she is has changed everything. I’ve resigned myself to the one-night stands that parade through my loft. There’s no need for anything serious, because anyone else would mean I had settled when I know a woman like Mia Powell exists.
I’ve spent a lifetime watching her from the sidelines, telling myself I was fine with that. It took her becoming a mom for my feelings for her to burn too hot to be safe.
And it took until this very moment to realize exactly why.
Ain’t that some shit?