Rhys’s stepmother. Genuine affection warmed the center of my chest. “Hi, Wren.”
“I heard you were in town.” She pulled me in for a quick hug. “Are you staying after you get your drink?”
Had Rhys told her about me? Doubtful. “I haven’t gotten my tea yet, but I didn’t plan to stay.”
A knowing glint entered her gaze. Was she wondering if it was the crowd or Rhys behind me leaving? “Why don’t you order and sit with us until it’s ready.” She tipped her head. “Maybe you’ll decide to stay longer.”
I opened my mouth to deny the possibility, but she turned, presenting me with her pristine bun. The girls were already at a table and they waved to us.
I almost ordered a sparkling lemonade, but I stuck with an iced chai with oat milk.
“I didn’t know you could milk an oat,” Rhys said from behind me.
I liked growly Rhys a whole lot more than I’d everthought I would, but he was the same guy who’d always made me laugh when I’d gotten stuck in my head. I turned, saving my eye roll for when he could see. My mouth went dry. A guy should not look that good in blue-and-green flannel and a black T-shirt. His forearms were covered, but I remembered every bulging ridge and vein.
“Milking oats is a hard job,” I said. “You can’t take days off and the oats need to be hooked up morning and night.”
“Good thing I stuck to a cow-calf operation.” He stepped around me to order.
I took the out and created distance between us. While I could be on the other side of town and still be acutely aware of that man, seeing his lighter side scrambled my brain. Tempted me to stay, no matter how close to my ultimate dream I was.
Bethany waved me over as if I couldn’t find them in a coffee shop that was three times narrower than it was long. Her genuine reaction bolstered my steps. The girls enjoyed being around me. Hanging with them was like being around my sisters. To them, I was no longer June Bee, rising star. I was Junie, their guitar teacher who liked their dad’s muffins.
I slid into a chair. The table was smaller than a card table and there were five of us. The empty seat next to me was for Rhys, and I’d practically be in his lap.
I glanced up at his approach. His brows were drawn together and his jaw was tight. He set his drinks down, including mine.
I wrapped my hands around the mug as if I could still feel his touch on the material. I had forgotten to tell them to make my drink to go. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” He brushed behind me, his crotch way too close to the back of my head. I should’ve taken the chair closest to Wren.
When he sat, our thighs were pressed against each other. I couldn’t scoot over without falling off and he couldn’t slide the opposite direction without pushing Wren out of her seat.
Instead, he slid backward. I wiggled my chair closer to the table. Wren glanced between us, then took a sip of her sparkling lemonade.
I didn’t know if we were friends or if I was supposed to act like I hadn’t ever seen him naked. Were we just two people who’d gone to high school together? Regardless, we could be civil. Even if my urges around Rhys Kinkade were extremelynotcivil.
Rhys
Her peony scent curled around me like a lover’s embrace. She’d changed whatever the hell she used for soap since we’d dated.
I took a hard pull from my lemonade. Between the suction and my grip, the plastic cup almost crumpled. I set the drink down before I spilled the remaining juice and ice onto my pants.
At least a groin full of ice would temper the heat that simmered in that region when June was around.
Sitting back, I brushed against her arm. She’d crossed one leg over the other, giving us a little breathing room.
“It’s nice to see you home,” Wren said. She’d been delighted to hear that June was in town. Now she was at the coffee shop with us. She must be elated to see me and June speaking again. Wren had hated our breakup and the reason for it, but she’d supported me.
“It’s great to be back,” June said.
A canned response. I grunted. June shot me a side-eye.
“Are you in between records?” Wren leaned forward. “Is that what they call it? Tours?”
June shrugged, and damn, I had a good view of the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took. The damn cardigan hid most of her cleavage.
I tore my gaze away. Annette Prichard entered the coffee shop. She was a couple years younger than me, also divorced, and had a daughter Bethany’s age. We often split duties running kids around if our work got in the way.
