Page 57 of The Kiss Countdown

“I can’t imagine the pain you’ve all felt after losing someone you love. And I know as someone without kids, my words may not hold a lot of weight. But I think it’s pretty clear Vincent is set on this course. You may not agree with it, but if you don’t support him, you might lose him.”

Mrs. Rogers stares at me without emotion, then wordlessly gets up and takes the pizza from the oven. She cuts it and places her hands on her hips and heaves a sigh. “Food’s ready,” she calls loud enough for the men to hear.

“This smells good, Momma,” Vincent says. He grabs a plate and turns to me. “Do you want one or two slices?”

“I’ll take two, please.”

We all sit and eat, but my stomach ties itself up in knots when I realize Mrs. Rogers is avoiding looking at me. I really should have kept my mouth shut. In the moment, all I wanted was for Mrs. Rogers to realize the strain she’s placing on her relationship with Vincent, but I may have done more harm than good.

“You see all those trees behind the guesthouse?” Vincent asks. Instead of sitting like everyone else, he’s standing behind my chair and leaning down close to my ear. “Most of them are pecan trees. Every October we used to pick up buckets and buckets full of pecans.”

I tilt my head back to look at him. “What did y’all do with them all?”

“A lot we gave to neighbors. Some we shelled and toasted ourselves to make pies.”

“I’m sorry, but did I just hear you say ‘we’?” Camille says, and turns to Brianna. “If I’m not mistaken, wasn’t he the one always missing when it was time to take the shells off, but suddenly around when Momma took a pie from the oven?”

Brianna nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s how I remember it.”

“Yup. We all know how Vincent can’t stand to be around for the hard stuff.” Now the teasing is gone from her tone, and Vincent grows quiet behind me. It doesn’t sound like they’re talking about pecans anymore.

“Camille,” Mr. Rogers admonishes.

Camille shrugs one shoulder and continues eating her food.

I lean my head back until it’s resting on the chair so I can see Vincent. “So, no shelling pecans, huh? You mean there’s something you’re not perfect at?”

Brianna snickers.

“Working pecans isn’t the only thing,” Lance says. “Have you ever seen him out on the basketball court? Man is straight garbage.”

“See what you did?” I can’t see his face, but by his tone I imagine Vincent is pouting at Camille. “Got me out here revealing my secrets.”

“But was it a secret, Vincent?” I ask. “Really?”

Everyone laughs, even Vincent, whose low bass rolls through me. As I pick my head back up, he places a hand on the back of my neck and begins massaging. Camille has thawed too as she laughs around a bite of food. The only one not happy is Mrs. Rogers. She stares at her plate with a furrow between her brows, refusing everyone’s attempts to engage with her.

It’s very possible that I’ve caused the woman to hate me. Is this how uncomfortable Gina feels when she visits Mack’s family? I know it shouldn’t matter what Mrs. Rogers thinks of me since, in the long run, we won’t be in each other’s lives. But for some reason, it does.

Vincent’s hand is still on me, still massaging, and it feels wonderful. Once I’ve managed to get all my pizza down, he leans close to my ear. “Ready to head in?”

I sigh and nod. I was enjoying hanging outside, but maybe if I make myself scarce, Mrs. Rogers will cheer up. It is her birthday celebration, after all.

Vincent comes around to pick me up from the chair. It’s actually not so bad being carried around this time. Hishold is secure under my knees and back, and I relax against his chest, knowing he won’t let me fall. Once we’re inside, he sets me down on the bed and removes my one shoe.

“Are you happy now that you went against doctor’s orders?”

I grace him with a toothy grin. “Of course. When said doctor gives unreasonable orders, they have to be disobeyed.”

My shoe is off, and Vincent is looking at me with the same intensity as that night in his kitchen. A night that’s been seared into my brain and inducted into my core memories. And Lord help me, but I want to reenact that moment, this time giving us both the satisfying ending our bodies crave.

Our gazes hold as he stands and grabs my waist, helping me scoot to the top of the bed while I brace my hands on his arms.

I impulsively reach for his hand before he can back away. “You look tired. You should lie down.”

He looks down at our hands for a long moment, and I have no idea what’s going on in his head. “I need to take off my shoes,” he finally says, slipping his hand free and making his way to the dresser, where he slips free from his boots.

When he comes back to the bed, he sits at the foot, and I almost have to laugh. I’m pretty sure he got the message that I was implying he lie down with me, but here he is doing the most to keep his distance now that we’re alone. I guess everything outside really was an act for his family. Either that or he’s set on maintaining our boundaries. If I were as smart as him, I’d be thanking him and not lamenting that he’s not up here holding me. And that just goes to show how out of my mind I am. I lean my head against the headboard and close my eyes.

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