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“Yeah, but he’s with Ashley,” his younger brother replies, grabbing my hand. “You remember Kathryn, right?”
Samuel’s eyes are intense as he turns his gaze fully in my direction. It’s like being instantly thrust under a microscope. He watches me, taking everything in from my casual appearance to the fact Jensen’s hand is wrapped around mine. Finally, he replies, “I remember. Good to see you again, Kathryn. How long are you in town?”
“Uhh, actually, I live here now. I’m back in my old home,” I tell him and watch as surprise filters across his face. Apparently, I’ve been able to hide my homecoming well, even though I have dozens of workers in and out of the property all day.
“Oh, well, welcome home. I’m sure everyone is happy to have you back,” he replies, glancing at his younger brother with a look that conveys concern.
I tense, knowing everyone in this group thinks poorly of me. In their eyes, I left Jensen, never to be heard from again. They don’t know I tried to reach out to him, that I cried myself to sleep for weeks. That when I finally did hear from him, it was in the form of letters that were found between him and his father. Hurtful letters that only ensured my tears continued for a lot longer.
Of course, I know now it was all an illusion, a mirage painted by someone evil to keep me away from the boy I loved.
“Well, it was good seeing you guys. We’re grabbing some food and then I promised Kate one last ride on the Ferris wheel,” Jensen says, pulling me to the window at the food cart in front of us.
“Let’s go, Sammy. You’re taking me on the Tilt-A-Whirl,” Free says, tossing what’s left of her sticky cone into the trash can, licking her hand, and grabbing a hold of Samuel.
The look on his face is quite comical as she puts her sticky fingers all over his suit. “I am not riding the Tilt-A-Whirl, Freedom,” he demands, digging his heels in the ground.
“Oh, yes you are.” Then, the craziest thing happens. She pulls him toward the big spinning contraption on the other side of the park, and Samuel…follows.
When I glance in the direction of where we left Jensen’s sister and her boyfriend standing, I find them still there, watching. Well, specifically, Harper’s laser eyes are pinned directly on me, a concerned look on her face. I can tell she’s trying to figure us out, and frankly, I haven’t even figured us out yet. There are still so many unanswered questions, so much time elapsed, and so much history stands between us. I don’t have the energy to try to figure out what us means. All I know is I’ve had a great time together, catching up with an old friend, enjoying the festival I grew up attending.
An old friend who still makes my body sing with just the slightest glance…
Harper and Latham finally walk away, holding hands and chatting quietly to themselves. I know she doesn’t trust me, and that’s fine. If I were in her shoes, I probably wouldn’t like the girl who broke my brother’s heart either, but there’s so much more to the story than what she knows. I just hope she gives me a chance to explain it someday.
The deep timbre of Jensen’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to find him paying the young woman at the food truck for the small tray in front of him. They’re small discs covered in batter and deep-fried, with powdered sugar sprinkled on the top.
“Let’s go over to the seating area. These need to cool for a second,” he says, taking the tray in one hand and my hand in the other.
We worm our way through the crowd, Jensen offering greetings to those he knows—which just so happens to be about everyone there. We find one end of a picnic table open and have a seat. A family of five sits on the other side, three kids with sugar-covered lips smiling at us and bobbing their head to the music in the band shell. A small four-piece band plays a popular upbeat country number, one I recognize from the radio, though it’s been so long since I’ve listened to this kind of music, I don’t recognize the artist. My mother insisted on classical music or even original compositions from Broadway plays and musicals.
Jensen always loved country music, and that suited him. With the slightest hint of a Carolinian accent, the Southern twang and mix of guitar and banjo always reminded me of him, even when we were many miles apart. Early on, after we left town, I would listen to any country station I could find on my radio. If I closed my eyes, I could picture him sitting in the driver’s seat of his old truck, me riding in the middle, and hear him singing along to whatever song was playing. After a few weeks, Mother became tired of my morose, forlorn mood and insisted I listen to something else. My radio was taken from my room and replaced with an MP3 player already prefilled with the music she preferred I listen to. More worldly music fit for a young lady, as she called it.
I hated that fucking classical music.
“Here,” Jensen says, shoving an Oreo in my face.
I should probably take it from his fingers, but for some reason, I don’t. Instead, I find myself leaning forward just a bit and taking a bite. The moment the warm, gooey Oreo hits my tongue, an explosion of chocolaty flavor fills my senses. “Oh my God,” I groan in total sugar-coma pleasure.
“Good, right?” he says, his eyes bright and glued to my lips, which I’m sure are covered in the powdered sugar. The tips of his fingers are covered in it, and I have the strongest urge to grab his hand and lick it off.
Before I can do something as embarrassing as that, he moves his hand to his mouth and finishes off the Oreo, never taking his eyes from mine. The only time I avert my gaze is when it drops to his tongue as he licks the white powder from the corner of his mouth. The moment my eyes return to his, I see a fire burning just below the surface. The air is thick with sexual tension, and suddenly, it feels almost scandalous to be sitting in the middle of a family-friendly festival when all I can think about is licking powdered sugar off of Jensen’s abs.
Okay, maybe not only his abs…
We finish the Oreos in silence, our gazes flitting between the small stage up front and each other. The moment he pops the last one in his mouth, I’m moving. I don’t know what possesses me to, but I’m standing, gathering up what little trash we’ve accumulated, and turning toward the way we came. Jensen is behind me. Even though I don’t feel him, I can sense his presence.
When we reach the edge of the grassy area, I drop our trash into the receptacle. Jensen’s long legs easily bring him to my side, his warm hand slipping around mine as we walk. We don’t engage in any conversation as he leads me to the side street where he parked his truck.
The ride back to my home is quiet. Neither of us speaks. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. Please come inside and do me against the wall seems a little inappropriate, but in the grand scheme of things, I’d be up for it, if the offer were on the table.
Jensen pulls into my driveway, enters in the temporary code for the front gate, and heads to the house. I almost roll down my window, desperate for a little fresh air. The combination of Jensen’s aftershave and the thick sexual tension is stifling, making it hard to breathe. He parks in front of the doorway and hops out before I can so much as thank him for the evening. The passenger opens, flooding the cab with warm night air, as he extends his hand and helps me down.
“I had a great evening,” I tell him, finally finding my words.
“Me too. It was good to hang out with you again like that.”
I stop when I reach the front door and turn to meet his gaze. My heart is pounding in my chest like a snare drum, so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it from where he stands. My mouth is moving before I can stop myself, speaking words that are as true as the sun rising in the morning. “I missed you.”
