Page 78 of It Should Have Been Us

I swear I could still feel his mouth on mine. The way his body enveloped mine completely, pulling me in the cocoon ofhis warmth. It was funny because although I’ve been in Bluebonnet my whole life, feeling Miguel’s arms wrapped around me felt like I was finally,finallyhome once again. He made me feel safe and secure, like no matter what happened, I’d be able to survive it. We’d be able to survive it.

“What are you thinking about?” Savannah’s hand grips mine, bringing me out of my thoughts.

But there is no we. There hasn’t been for a while.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Your face says otherwise.” Savannah’s expression turns serious. “Did he do something? Because if he did, just say the word, and we’ll go and wreck his car or something. I read this one book in which a girl put an open tuna can into her ex’s car, and he couldn’t find it, so the smell got so bad he had to tow it.”

“She did what?” I let out a strangled laugh.

“I’m telling you, the girl was vicious.” She wiggles her brows. “Wanna try it?”

“No, silly. I just…” My smile falls down. I didn’t know what to tell her or how to explain this thing between Miguel and me. It was too damn complicated, our lives too intertwined together. “He’s everywhere, you know? No matter what I do or where I go, he’s around, and it’s messing with my head. He wasn’t supposed to come back.”

He wasn’t supposed to turn my life upside down with his demanding presence and reckless kisses that made me feel alive for the first time in the last three years.

“Becky…”

Before she can finish, the bell jingles once again. Grateful for the disruption, I look up, a smile forming on my lips, but it falters a little when I see the woman standing in the doorway.

“Rose?”

What is this? A freaking high school reunion?

“Becky?” Those blue eyes widen, lips parting in surprise as she stares at me across the room.

Rose Hathaway or I guess now it’s O’Neil, if it’s to be believed by the town gossip, looks exactly like she did four years ago when she left for college. Her long dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail, not a strand out of place, and her makeup is impeccable, a pretty summer dress hugging her curves.

Rose looks around the space, uncertainty written on her face. “Is this the place where the reading club happens?”

“That’s the one, but this one is…”

A high-pitched screech interrupts me, and a little boy rushes past Rose and toward the glass window.

My heart does a little flip inside my chest, and I can feel a jab of pain shoot through my heart at the sight of him as he places his little hands on the glass and stares at the cupcakes with big blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Rose mutters as she finally catches up to him. Her hand falls on his shoulder, and she pulls him away from the glass. She crouches down so she’s at his level and starts moving her hands.

I blink, and it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening.

Signing.

She’s using sign language with the boy.

Her son.

The first time I heard about it was around the Christmas holidays. I was in the store when I overheard two old ladies talking about the shotgun wedding between Rose and her high school boyfriend, John O’Neil, because she got knocked up.

And even though we weren’t friends any longer, hadn’t been for years at that point, a part of me felt bad for her.

It couldn’t have been easy to go off to college onlyto end up pregnant barely a few months into the semester and have to quit before you even had a chance to start enjoying it.

Not that Rose seems to mind it.

Rose smiles at the boy, her hand cupping his cheek gently as she leans in and presses a kiss on top of his dark curls. Smoothing her hand over the back of her dress, she gets to her feet, her piercing blue eyes meeting mine. “I really am sorry about that. Cupcakes are Kyle’s favorite, and he gets excited when he sees them.”

“No worries.” I look down at the boy. He’s so adorable; I can’t help but smile. He’s a mini version of Rose. He’s probably three or so, and some of that baby fat still clings to his face, making his cheeks round and pink. His brown hair is a mess of mussed locks, and a twinkle of mischief shines in his blue eyes. I lift my hands in a wave before slowly signing as I say, “Hi, Kyle. I’m Becky.”

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