Page 107 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“I’m providing assurance. He can’t remember how to walk. I’m reminding him he can.”

“With Melody’s morning sickness, she’s worried the nerves are going to make her nauseated. So, until that asshole said it, I wasn’t worried about my ability to walk. I was worried about my bride puking on my tux.”

The guys started giving him shit, bringing up stories of puking after nights of drinking. I puffed the cigar and tried not to think about Cleo being somewhere on the property.

And then I heard it. Laughter. Completely unguarded. Cleo. My whole body reacted. Every muscle went tight. My attention zeroed in on the sound coming from inside the house.

Three weeks. I’d managed three weeks without seeing her, without hearing her voice. I’d love to say I hadn’t thought about her, but that was a lie I was not brave enough to tell. I was pretty sure lightning would strike.

“Cash.” Finn was looking at me. “You good?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like you’re about to bolt.”

“I’m not bolting.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I took a drag of the cigar and tried to appear relaxed. Tried to focus on the ocean view and my brothers. Anything except the fact that she was inside and I was out here and every fiber of my being wanted to go to her.

I’d hoped the time apart would help. That distance would make this easier. I really hoped that when I saw her this weekend I would feel… less.

I didn’t feel less. I felt like I was being pulled toward her by a force I had no control over. A gravitational pull. Animal magnetism.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I said abruptly.

Finn raised an eyebrow. “There’s drinks out here.”

“Different drinks.”

“Right.” He was smirking. “Sure.”

I left the patio and went inside. The house was full of people. Mostly family. I nodded at a few of them as I passed. I headed for the kitchen.

She was standing at the island.

Of course she was. Diet Coke in hand, wearing a floral sundress that should have looked casual but somehow looked devastating. Her streak of purple hair caught the light from the windows. She was laughing at something Melody said. Her whole face was lit up. I stopped in the doorway and just looked at her.

Three weeks. It felt like three years.

She turned and saw me. The laughter died. Something flickered across her face. Was she feeling the same pull I was felt?

And then that softness was gone. “Cash,” she said. Neutral. Careful.

“Cleo.” I walked over to the fridge, trying to look purposeful. “How was the drive out?”

“Fine. Traffic wasn’t bad.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Melody was watching us like we were a particularly interesting tennis match. “I’m going to go check on something. Upstairs. Far away from whatever this is.”

She practically ran out of the kitchen. Cleo took a long sip of her Diet Coke and didn’t look at me.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

She set down her drink. “About what?”