Page 49 of View With Your Heart

Britton seems to know more of them than she thought she would, and I marvel once more at how well they know her when no one ever mentioned her to me. I’ve missed out on years with her. We hadn’t kept in touch after that fateful weekend. We hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers as we’d spent every second inside that hotel room. What a fool I’d been.

“Hey, can I borrow you a second?” I ask, slipping my hand down her arm and tugging her toward the house. We’re outside in the warmth of an early August evening, but I need a second of privacy with her. I don’t have to worry about Gee, as he’s raced off with Holden, and Theo won’t be attending tonight as he has to work a slightly later shift for the adventure shop.

Britton excuses herself and follows me, allowing my hand to slip to her fingers and lead her inside. We enter through the screened-in porch and step into the dining room directly off it. The house is smallish, so I round the staircase, finding the only spot hidden from the view of the backyard.

“What’s going on?” Britton questions once we stop, and I look from side to side, making certain the staircase blocks us.

“This.” My hands slip into her hair, and I tug her to me, landing my lips on hers. I take my time to savor her mouth. Her hands grip my biceps at first, but as the kiss heats, her palms move up my arms, over my shoulders, and into my hair. I tilt her head, and the kiss deepens. God, I’ve missed her during the day, and the feeling reminds me of when we were kids. I’d have to work, and she would hang out at her uncle’s. I’d think about her all day, counting down the minutes until I could see her.

“Well.” A sharp male voice breaks us apart, and Britton tucks her head to my chest as if it will hide her. I smile at Jess over Britton, and his eyes narrow.

“I’d say get a room, but this is my house, and I don’t want to consider what that would mean for me.” He’s teasing, but his voice still holds a serious edge.

Britton doesn’t look at me but lifts her head. “I just need a minute. Bathroom?”

Jess points up the staircase, and Britton climbs the stairs. Watching her walk away, I stare at the sway of her hips and the tightness of her ass. Jess waves a hand before me.

“You’ve got it bad again, don’t you?” he asks, and my head turns toward him.

“What do you mean?” I smile like a fool because I’m definitely in a happy place.

“What are you doing?” Jess hisses, glancing up the staircase and then back at me.

“What do you mean?” I repeat, my voice a little harsher.

“I didn’t think I’d need to spell this out for you, but don’t be dipping in the local flavor.”

“What the—”

Jess holds up a hand to stop me. “We aren’t kids, man. You can’t just hook up and then walk away. There’s a kid involved here.” I get where he’s coming from. As a single dad before Emily, Jess was protective of his child. Brit’s protective of Gee. “I don’t want you to hurt her.”

“What’s she to you?” I snap.

“What’s she to you?” he reiterates, staring at me. He knows how I felt about her as a teen, but we’re twenty years past that time.

“We’re just hanging out. Having fun.”

Jess sort of rolls his head in a dismissive motion. “You can’t be that stupid, right, Gavin? You can’t be so blind not to see what’s happening here.”

I stare at him, apparently not seeing something.

“She was in love with you when we were kids, and she still has that dreamy look about her when she looks at you.”

“She does not,” I stammer like I’m still a teenager. Does she? God, it’d be amazing if she did.

“She’s been through a lot, though, and I don’t want you to take advantage of her.”

I’m not taking advantage of her, and the accusation hurts. “What do you know about her?” I demand, curious myself, as so many details feel like they’re missing.

Jess shakes his head again. “Not much other than she was close to that uncle who left her the house. It led to a family feud for a bit, but she didn’t give in. She had a husband who died after a short bout of cancer. Emily told me it happened fast. Like one year from diagnosis and he’s dead. He was only fifty.”

Shit. That does suck.

“It’s been three years,” I state, not trying to sound insensitive. You can’t put a time limit on grief, but Britton is still young herself.

“My point is, she’s lost enough. She doesn’t need you playing with her heartstrings and then snapping them when you disappear again.”

“What are you, a poet? When did you become the master of relationships?” I say, taken aback by all this protectiveness and unwarranted advice.