Page 34 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

“Least I can do.”

We walk for a few moments in silence. The town is alive tonight: people sitting at patio tables eating dinner, going for walks with their dogs, simply soaking in what’s left of summer before the chill of autumn takes over.

“Give me this,” Lily murmurs, then takes my hand.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

She moves up beside me, her arm rubbing against mine in that quiet intimacy you have with someone you’re dating. “We have to keep up appearances.”

I glance at passing faces. They smile. They clock the way we touch each other.

Nothing else needs to be said. The silence continues all the way to the park, and it’s comfortable. A silence I could live in. Hell, one Iamliving in. Kayla’s right to be worried. Doesn’t matter if I know this isn’t real. It feels real.

I breathe through it. One thing at a time. One morning walk, one date, one squeeze of her hand. Each thing separate is fine. But together . . .

“Are you alright?” Lily asks.

I guess it’s obvious I’m on edge. “Just . . . nervous.”

“Don’t be. It’s just me.”

I laugh and nod. Not because I agree.

If only she knew that Lily has never beenjustLily to me.

Chapter 11

Lily

We’ve chosen a perfect place as far as visibility goes. On the rolling hill of the great lawn at the center of town. From here, we have a view of all the paths, the gazebo, and the playground. There are peopleeverywhere.

Just as we predicted there would be.

I haven’t had much of an appetite if I’m being honest. My belly is full of butterflies, and they seem to have taken up permanent residence. Each time he comes to pick me up in the morning for our walks, I’m in knots over seeing him. I’ve started putting on makeup for him which I hope he doesn’t notice. Well, I hope he notices I’m looking nicer than usual. But I hope he doesn’t notice I’mtrying.

Today was no different, walking over to the bookstore where we arranged to meet, picnic basket on my arm.

And now, sitting here with him on the hillside, I can’t seem to settle the butterflies.

It’s the quality of his smile, his fleeting eye contact. Something so utterly boyish and yet . . . Jackson is entirely man.

Now, he sits across from me on the blanket, his long legs folded in a crisscross. I know under those pants are tight calf muscles and . . . much more. I hate myself for thinking about him this way, but I can’t help it.

I felt him under me in the car. How hard and wanting he was.

Big.

That’s not just something you forget.

“These are amazing,” Jackson says, picking up another macaron. “Your mom seriously made these?”

“She’s been perfecting the recipe for a while now,” I reply.

He pops the light blue macaron into his mouth and furrows his brow as he identifies the flavor.

I lean back on my hands. My arms have started breaking out into goosebumps. I didn’t expect it to be so chilly and definitely opted for style rather than comfort. Jackson is a gentleman, but even gentlemen get distracted by something they like.

And . . . I think he likes me. The way I’m shaped. And whatever.

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