Page 16 of Sterling Stone

“Who?”

“Where?”

The questions fall in line like the ages of my brothers, from oldest to younger: Clay, Knox, Sebastian.

I double-tap the table and blow out a breath, sorry I’ve opened my mouth.

“Just met someone about a month ago. Thought the night was something special and hoped I’d see her again.” I shrug. “But I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Sebastian questions, arching his brow.

“That sucks.” Knox shakes his head.

“Shit.” Clay focuses on me, his eyes soft with understanding.

“What are you going to do?” I state, like it’s a non-issue.

The truth is I’ve spent most of my life reassuring my brothers, and Vale, that they deserve love. That their other half is waiting for them, seeking them out, because I believe there is someone for everyone. Just not for me, apparently.

My life is full while empty at the same time, but it’s not something I’d ever admit to any of them.

I’m the oldest. I’ve always needed to be strong for them. It’s written in my name. Stone.

“Sometimes things just happen,” I use as a way of excuse for why it didn’t happen for me and my mystery woman.

“Like a woman falls outside a bakery in a storm,” Sebastian states, eyeing me while reminding me how he met Enya.

“Or returns to her hometown,” Knox adds, a nod to his own story.

“Or she rescues you in the rain.” Clay’s story mirrors Sebastian’s in that a rainstorm brought him Mavis, only he’s the one whose truck broke down. She saved him.

“Yeah, well . . .” I really have nothing to add to their initial meetings with their soulmates.

A woman ran into me in a hotel hallway, rammed me with a book, then I knocked her jaw with my head. Not exactly a meet cute. Vale has explained that’s how all romances begin.

We didn’t have a romance. We didn’t even have a fling.

We had one kiss.

An encounter that still haunts me.

Clay reaches over to squeeze my shoulder again, and I’m grateful when Emerson’s youngest sister, Eleanor, arrives at our table to take our order and pull the spotlight off me.

I’m better at letting them talk while I listen.

That’s what I always do.

6

[Taxi]

“That looks beautiful, Kendra.” I compliment the budding artist’s delicate work as she adds additional flowers to the mural on the community center’s exterior. Passion flowers are Tennessee’s official wildflower, and the intricate design adds a burst of exotic to the complex image that combines the familiar faces and symbolic images that represent this community. The flowers are often muted lavender with white accents, but sometimes white with blue striping.

And that blue reminds me of the color of a certain someone’s eyes that I should have forgotten by now.

The star-like flower feels appropriately named as I tell myself that night was only one of false passion. Not the deeper sensation my rose-colored glasses believed I was experiencing.

Yet. Deep inside, something still tells me I’m wrong.