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My brows draw up. Okay, this is definitely not how I thought this was going to go. “Bold assumption.”
“Bold statement,” he counters.
My molars smash together, an emotion I can’t quite pinpoint pressing down on my chest.
I’m not a combative person. In fact, some would say I’m the easiest human in the world to get along with. I’ve always done what I’m told, followed the rules, and went above and beyond in any way I could. I partially blame the fact I had to grow up a little quicker than my peers since my mom was gone with work, but it allowed me to develop a solid discipline early in life, as well as teach me priorities and time management.
I didn’t have time to mess around and fall behind in school. I couldn’t risk the parties because half of them got broken up by police and sometimes got girls kicked off the volleyball team—a sport that I joined in hopes I could use it to get a scholarship so my mom wouldn’t have to stress about college costs. I couldn’t go to school dances because I was taking advanced courses, two of which counted as college credits, and the workload kept me busy. And I damn sure couldn’t date because dating in our private school meant drama, and I had literally zero mental capacity for that.
Because of all of that, though, I kind of became a wallflower of sorts. Meek and quiet, only saying what was necessary so I didn’t come off like a total bitch, but never enough to make too many friends. It’s not as though I had time for those, either.
Now, all this goes without saying, it’s not as if I didn’t muse with the idea of what a normal teenage life would be like. What could be if I made one different decision? One small alternate choice.
Like right now, if I gave in to the tickle on my tongue and told my soon-to-be ex-stepbrother, he can shove it because he knows absolutely nothing about me. If I told him I’ve chosen not to move because of the same reasons I stayed to myself in high school. For the same reasons I chose solitude on my couch playing a farming simulation game instead of going to the bar with friends and having a mind-bending one-night stand.
I want to say it. I want to be honest. For once, I want someone to know that maybe, just maybe, I wish I didn’t have to play it so safe in fear of getting hur—
As quickly as the spiral of thoughts began, I quickly shove them away. Maybe my mind is a little frazzled because of the dreaded weather, having to be alone with Elliot for the first time in forever, or because Mom is about to get a divorce.
Yeah, that’s it. I just need a warm cup of tea—or wine—and probably a nap to set everything right.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “I love this state. It’s beautiful.”
Elliot nods slowly. “Says the person who hibernates.”
“In the summer, I make it a point to do some hiking.”
He hums, cleaning up the husks from the counter before washing the freshly skinned corn. It takes an embarrassing two minutes before a memory hits me. But that was so long ago. There’s no way he remembers.
My gaze cuts toward him. “I thought it’d be fairly clear considering when I left for college in Florida, I never once said anything nice about it.”
“You never said anything bad.”
True. But before that, back when…I stop my train of thought again. Maybe I need something stronger than wine.
“Anyways. How have you been? I saw you fixed up that fifty-seven Aston Martin. It was gorgeous.”
A shimmer of pride passes over Elliot’s eyes. I’ve always thought they were magical, especially when he gives his rare smile. His iries’s color is like the part of the ocean where two currents meet. The deep blue crashing into the vibrant green, mixing in an angry, yet stunning collision.
My heart catches, heat engulfing my cheeks. I have to force my attention back to the potatoes, so I don’t acknowledge that even after all this time, I’m still physically affected by my stepbrother.
It’s supposed to feel naughty—gross, even. But the flip in my stomach is anything but.
Get a grip.
“It was. I hated that I only had it for one week.” His lips thin into his normal half-grimace. I see that hasn’t changed.
I’m not sure if I find solace in that or a little sadness.
“Anything exciting coming up?” I ask, fishing out the soft spuds and plopping them into a strainer.
Even in school, it was obvious where Elliot’s path would take him. He was obsessed with cars, and not just your run-of-the-mill Chevy, or fast and furious brand-new Ferrari. He liked the classics. Theexpensiveclassics. So naturally, it came to no one’s surprise when he started fixing and rebuilding them for collectors.
Elliot shrugs, taking a deep breath. “A few. But there’s a different project I’m almost done with that I’m more focused on.”
He glances at me in his periphery, an unreadable expression tightening his features.
“So.” I chuckle awkwardly, grabbing the first potato to slice. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
