Page 70 of Fragile Heart

Before I can dwell too much on the intimidating Italian, Iris and Rose rush onto the patio, their backpacks on and their hair done in identical french braids. Rose has a bow wrapped around the bottom of hers, a happy purple that coordinates with her no-nonsense outfit of dark jeans and long-sleeved flannel.

Both girls hug me before heading to the large car.

“Bye, Aunt Brielle!” Iris says with a wave.

Rose lingers longer, pushing a small card into my hands. “For that little spot next to our pictures in the living room,” she says.

“I’ll put it there as soon as I get home,” I tell her, giving her a smile.

“Rosebug, you ready?” Logan asks, stepping onto the porch. She turns to him and smiles so wide it lights up her entire face.

“Have a good trip,” I say. Logan and Carter nod. “Be safe.”

Faedra squeezes my hand, and then I walk away from them and toward my own car parked a bit farther down the block.

“You in there?” Melissa’s cautious voice cuts across the cabin.

I drop my head into the pillows, closing my eyes and pulling the blanket higher around my body. Caleb’s shirt is sprawled out under me, so close I can practically taste the cinnamon of his scent. It does nothing to ease the ache in my chest or the morose mood that’s clung to me the last several days since Faedra and her family left on their weeks-long trek through Yellowstone.

The front door slams closed, and I sigh.

“Brielle?” This time it’s Emily.

Damn it.

Melissa might just let me stay here in my nest surrounded by every single piece of clothing I’ve pilfered off of Caleb over the last couple weeks. But Emily? No way in hell she will.

There’s a gentle rap of knuckles against the doorframe of my bedroom.

“The parade’s starting soon,” Emily says. Her voice is softer than before. “We thought you might want to come.”

Surrounded by people and loud noises and prying eyes? Absolutely not. Maybe the overly nosy parts of living in a small town would have started going away if Caleb and I hadn’t started… whatever we’re doing. Dating?

Our dynamic feels too serious to use such a mundane word. He’s my scent match, not some random guy that I may or may not still be seeing in six months. But it’s not like we’re bonded or even living together. The thought has a thrill shooting through me, but I shove it away.

I drop my head into Caleb’s shirt.

Prying eyes sound miserable right now when my skin is crawling with the need for a knot in a way I’ve never felt.

Before I can decide how to tell Emily to fuck off, Melissa says, “Hudson gave me a bag with strict instructions to not open it.”

Oh, hell yes.

It had taken me two full days to admit I needed something other than Caleb’s cinnamon. When he’d come into the Rustic Roast to get a drink for Olivia, the request had just dropped out of my mouth. Hudson, to his credit, didn’t even blink an eye. He just nodded, grabbed Olivia’s caramel macchiato, and assured me he’d get something to help.

I sit up, shedding the blanket. “When did he give it to you?”

“This morning,” she says. She takes a step into the room, and panic seizes me.

“Don’t.” I scramble out of the bed and cross the room before she can get any closer and mess up Caleb’s scent. I snatch the bag from her and rip it open.

Ethan’s mint hits me in a single wave, and I groan. The flannel is soft and warm and smells faintly of the barn underneath his mint. I let my eyes close and breathe it in. That bone deep ache dulls into something manageable at last, and my head clears.

“You all right?”

Emily’s voice has gone cautious, just like Melissa’s. I focus on her without pulling the stolen shirt away from my nose. Her frown is nearly identical to her brother’s.

“Yeah?” It comes out as a question.

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