Reaching for the only microwavable mug in the house, he winced, wishing they owned something that didn’t resemble giant tits. With no alternative, he surrendered to his fate, pulling the heavily-titted ceramic mug clad in a yellow and magenta polka dot bikini from the shelf.Practice your breaststrokeandThe Beachcomber, Florida,graced the back.
Soft footsteps gathered as the microwave dinged. Jack turned toward the quiet patter, his eyes sweeping over pink-tipped toes and shapely legs hidden by his faded flannel. Something inside of him screamed he wanted more. More of this—her dry and comfy in his sweatshirt and pajamas while he brewed her subpar tea, preferably in non-heavily-titted ceramic-ware.
“Sorry,” he managed through a cracking voice, handing it over to her. “We’re not mug people, apparently.”
Lydia studied the ridiculous mug while Jack grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“Well, this is—” She directed an amused gaze at Jack, taking a swig of his drink. “Do you think I should buy her dinner before I tea-bag her? Or…”
Beer fountained out of his useless mouth with impressive speed. He wiped the foam clean, a wide stretch of a smile following the swipe. Wrong time to take a sip.
Proud of herself, Lydia rummaged through her purse, mumbling, “I’ve got jokes now, too,” and pulled out a sachet full of tea-bags.
There it was again—the easy familiarity. There was no way they could have met before. He wouldn’t have forgotten about her, not when everything about her felt like it was imprinted on his soul years ago.
He leaned against the counter, trying to appear nonchalant while his insides whirred like a cartoon scribble. He probably would have pulled it off, too, if it wasn’t for his sweaty palms on the counter, and heaven forbid they betray him, but his socks. Jack faltered, promptly landing flat on his ass.
Lydia jumped. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
“Yup. Just—fell.” Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he bit back a string of expletives. Already covered in bruises from today’s game, his ego didn’t need one, too.
Sweet honey filled the air in soft titters as Lydia offered her hand. “Are you usually this much of a mess, or is this a special occasion?”
No, his ego couldn’t take much more of this. Ignoring her outstretched hand, he came back to a standing position with gritted teeth and muttered, “For god’s sake, woman, I found you in a fountain.”
“Hey! Low blow, Parker.” She playfully swatted at him, and Jack caught her wrist.
Lydia’s eyes widened at his hand wrapped around her own before relaxing into that infuriating smirk. “You caught me.”
The desire to yank her to his chest and close the ever-shrinking space between them once and for all itched him to his core. He’d never felt a magnetism like this before.
Magic. It had to be. That was the only thing that could explain whatever spell he was under.
“Aulie?” Gus rasped behind him.
Lydia blinked. Once. Twice. And then glanced over Jack’s shoulder. “Oh, darn it, Gus, you ruined my fun.”
Wait. What did he call her?Aulie?Like Gus’slittle sister—Aulie?Jack quickly released Aulie’s wrist as if he had been stung, trying to conceal his shock and horror.
Gus and Jack had grown up together in the small town of Chawton Falls. He wasn’t just Jack’s oldest friend, he was his closest, too.
Gus rubbed a hand over his buzzed haircut. “What are you doing here? And why are you bothering Jack? You know he hates when you do that.”
“We were catching up. It’s been a while since he’s been home, and a lot has changed since then. I thought I’d fill him in on what he missed.” She flashed Jack thatlookagain. The one that made Jack feel like she could reach into his chest and rip out his heart, and he’d saythank you.It didn’t matter now that he knew who she was. He still felt like somehow he was hers, like he always had been, even if he didn’t know it.“He found my debriefing fairly interesting, if I’m not mistaken.”
Since they were little, Aurelie “Aulie” Desfleurs had always been a terror, trying to tag along on fishing trips and dips in King’s Pond, much to Jack’s unsociable chagrin. She was chatty, annoying, with a flair for the dramatic, and a far too clingy disposition.
Butthis.This form of terror was entirely new, with a gentle slope to her nose and pink pouty lips that were being used for evil.
The day Jack turned eighteen and left his hometown of Chawton Falls for good, Aulie was fourteen and bawling her eyes out on the stoop of her childhood home because she had just dyed her hair an unfortunate shade of cotton candy pink. “It said spiced auburn. The box said spiced auburn,” she had muttered, tears streaming down her face.
Jack, like any finely raised New England boy, was highly uncomfortable with fits of crying. In his discomfort, he had chuckled and said, “You’ve always been such a dramatic little thing,” ruffling the offending hair with a passing hand on his way into the house.
“And you had to do this debriefing in his clothes on my campus because…” Gus narrowed his eyes at Aulie, crossing his arms. The veins on his corded forearms popped. Jack shivered, remembering the intimidating presence Gus brought to the ice for most of their high school years. It was at the core of his DNA to protect the people he loved—Aulie, especially.
“They looked cozy?” Aulie pulled at the tips of her fingers anxiously. She peeked at her brother with one eye. “And I missed you?”
Her brother’s resolve strengthened. “Seriously, Alouette?” He used the family nickname for Aulie, unknowingly emphasizing thelittle sisteraspect to Jack.
