Page 17 of Fall Love

His gaze roves down what he can see of her body. “Whoever blushes first, drinks.” He stares directly at Isolde. “I want to pet your beaver.”

Isolde’s face flames, and the corner of Landon’s mouth tips upward, pleased that he’s gotten a rise out of my sister.

“Dude,” Tate scolds.

“It’s an otter,” Isolde clarifies about a local otter that’s taken a liking to her. While highly destructive, hyper, and not to mention a wild animal, this one has developed a rare routine of visiting Isolde’s place. Probably because she feeds him.

“And I’m not playing.” Her cheeks turn rosy once more.

“Aw, sweet otter Isolde, you’re turning red again. Drink.”

Isolde scowls, giving him her best teacher face. “Landon Abbott, go away.”

My sister should really tell him to fuck off, but she rarely swears, and as they stare each other down, I’m not convinced she really wants him to go.

“Leave it,” Tate counters, bumping his shoulder against his cousin.

Landon chuckles. “I can never help myself. You’re just too easy, otter.”

Isolde glares back at him. “I am not easy.”

“That’s okay, I like it hard,” Landon wiggles his brows.

I shake my head.

While all this back-and-forth is funny foreplay to witness, I have other things on my mind, like the sudden nearness of one flannel-shirted man who smells like cinnamon and cloves. For some reason, my mouth waters.

Tate leans on the wobbly table, his forearms on display as his shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbows. “Do they always flirt like this?”

I snort, lifting my own cup for a drink, hoping to wash back how I’m suddenly salivating from his smell. And his nearness. And his forearms.

I haven’t gotten laid since . . . him. I haven’t been with anyone in any other manner since him either, which means I’ve been a lone otter in the bedroom and pregnancy hormones are no joke.

The number of times I’ve been turned on when I thought that mechanism was shut off by pregnancy is embarrassing to count.

“I think flirt might be a little strong for whatever they are doing. And how did I not know before that Landon or the Masters are your cousins?” Has he been back to Lovewell Landing since January for family occasions? Have I simply missed him in town? Or was he purposely avoiding me?

He shrugs. “I don’t know. We were all at the New Year’s Eve party.”

Our eyes lock on one another, because we both know he and I did not stay at that party.

CHAPTER 7

[Tate]

NEW YEAR’S EVE

Nine months ago

The party was packed and a good reminder I wasn’t eighteen anymore. Too many people, too close together. The authentic racecar driver outfit I was wearing belonged to my cousin. I didn’t ask how he had it, but I was sweating in it.

Growing up, I’d spend long weeks during the summer in Lovewell Landing. Landon Abbott and Fisk Masters were my best friends. As second sons, we shared a common bond and were roughly the same age.

Fisk was the one throwing the party. Nearing forty, he was essentially still a frat boy, although he was hardly an Ivy League university kid. He’d never gone to college. Like many families around here, the family business was generational. A child took over from his parents, who took over from their parents. Sometimes, second sons broke the rule. Fisk owned a bait and tackle shop.

It’d been a long time since I’d been to Lovewell Landing. Working for Hessfield Holdings was practically an around-the-clock kind of job. Demands from clients. Deals to be brokered. Sometimes, my phone felt surgically attached to my hand.

On a personal level, the past year had been a shitshow.