Page 3 of Tell Me Something True

He leaned toward her, resting his left elbow on the bar, his right hand on the edge of her stool, his thumb mere inches from her thigh. Close enough to feel the heat from her body. To hear the slight catch of her breath.

Close enough to know the pull between them was as strong as ever.

“We used to fuck,” he repeated, slow and even. “But we were never friends. We were nothing. You proved that when you left without a word.”

She flinched, the movement quick and slight, before she dropped her gaze.

He’d surprised her.

Hurt her.

Neither were like the boy he’d been. The Miles she’d known had been kind and honest to a fucking fault. He’d held nothing back. Gave her his feelings freely. Shared his truths in the hopes that she’d share hers.

That Miles had been an idiot.

When she lifted her head, her eyes were clear, her smile long gone. She ran the tip of her forefinger back and forth along her chin, just under her lower lip—back and forth, once… twice… three times before curling her fingers and dropping her hand.

She’d always rubbed the thin scar on her chin—hidden now under her makeup—when she was nervous.

Another thing that hadn’t changed.

It made him want to find out what else was the same.

“I didn’t leave without a word. I left you a note.”

He raised his eyebrows. Yes. She’d left him a note, two words scribbled on the back of a piece of junk mail.

I’m sorry.

She cleared her throat. “And I didn’t feel comfortable blurting out our past physical relationship in case someone overheard. I remember you mentioning how quickly rumors can spread in a small town, and I didn’t want word to get back to your wife.”

She glanced at his left hand.

He slid it off the bar and to his side, hiding it from her view.

“You remembered that?” he asked, refusing to answer the question she was really asking.

Her frown was a flash of irritation, here then gone.

She laid her hand on his forearm, and he realized he was still too close to her. As if he had every right to invade her personal space all because he wanted to prove something. To see her reaction.

To test his own willpower.

He stared down at his arm. Her hand was pale against his skin, her fingers cool. She wore several silver rings—on her thumb, forefinger and pinkie.

No engagement ring.

No wedding band.

And he’d drop to his knees and lick the floor before he admitted he’d been wondering about her, too.

“I remember,” she said. “I remember how much this place, these people mean to you. I remember how much you love your family. I remember how excited you were to come back here and serve your community.” She ducked her head and finished on a whisper by his ear. “I remember everything.”

He stopped breathing. His heart thudded heavily as he lifted his head, his nose brushing the underside of her chin. She even smelled different, her perfume no longer vanilla and spice, but something softer, more floral.

And it pushed him over the edge.

“Me, too,” he murmured, his lips moving against her upper cheek. “I remember everything.”

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