Page 16 of Wild For You

As we approached our destination, the world around us seemed to pause, holding its breath for what came next.

“Your nephew,” I ventured, my voice treading lightly on the subject as if it were sacred ground, “he must be quite the character to have you so devoted.”

Nico's gaze softened, his footsteps slowing. “Yeah, he's a handful but worth every bit of trouble. Smart kid—reminds me a lot of my brother before things went south.” His eyes flickered away for a moment, lost in memories or worries too distant for me to reach.

Josie watched him, my heart squeezing with empathy. I imagined a young boy, caught in the crossfire of life's cruel caprices, and without hesitation, I found myself saying, “I’d love to meet him. And if there's anything I can do to help…”

“Really?” Nico seemed genuinely taken aback, his dark eyes meeting hers in the dimming light.

“Of course,” I affirmed. “Kids are easy to get along with. I used to help out at the community center, doing photography workshops. Maybe I could teach him a thing or two, if he's interested.”

“Josie, that... that means a lot.” He stopped walking altogether now, turning to face me fully. “I’ve been so worried about getting this right, keeping him out of the system like his father.”

My pulse quickened at the intensity of his gaze. “We look out for each other here,” I whispered, feeling the truth of my words knit into the fabric of the evening. “That's what small towns are for, aren't they?”

A grateful half-smile curved Nico's lips, and he nodded, his hand coming up to rest lightly at the small of my back as we resumed walking. The touch was fleeting yet deliberate, sending a shiver of anticipation through my veins.

“Thank you, Josie,” he said, his voice a warm echo in the cool air. “For everything.”

Haley skipped ahead, her little shoes scuffing the pavement, her laughter painting streaks of joy in the dusky air. She turned back to us. “You're gonna love our porch swing, Josie!”

“Can't wait to try it.” The idea of sitting there, beside Nico, swaying gently under the stars, seemed like a scene plucked from the pages of a storybook.

As we rounded the final bend, the outline of Nico's house came into view—a modest two-story abode. The promise of new beginnings seemed to hover at the doorstep, beckoning them closer.

“Here we are,” Nico announced, a trace of pride in his tone. His hand inadvertently brushed against mine as we walked up the steps, sending a jolt of awareness coursing through her veins.

“Looks perfect,” I breathed out, my eyes taking in every detail—the way the light danced across the porch, the cozy wicker chairs, the swing that awaited them.

“Perfect is overrated.”

“Maybe. But right now, it feels pretty close,” I admitted, my heart fluttering like a captured butterfly anxious to be set free.

11

Josie

Two days later…

The coffee shop was full of patrons and all I wanted was a quick cup of coffee and croissant. People were staring at me. Why? So, I kept my head down and waited my turn in line.

“Michael YoungBlood?” one of patron’s asked.

“Didn't I tell you? He's the one who used to get into all sorts of trouble back in high school,” said the barista, wiping down the counter with a rag that had seen better days. The barista, a middle-aged woman with hair the color of cinnamon, shrugged as if the weight of Michael's history was something she carried every day. “His brother is in town taking care of his son since he couldn’t keep his bum ass out of jail.”

Wait? Nico was Michael’s brother? He’s a Youngblood?Even after all this time, I never once asked him for his last name.Oh god.

“Trouble” was a word too lean to describe the hurricane that was Michael YoungBlood. I remembered—the rush of rebellion, the taste of stolen kisses, the ache of promises broken beneath bleachers veiled in shadow. The asshole that crept out of my life without so much of a word.

The person in front of me moved out of the way, and I placed my order. There were plenty of people crowding the pick-up table so I took a seat. My gaze caught my reflection in the window– green eyes wide with remembrance, wavy hair framing my face like the afterimage of a girl who once believed in happy ever afters. I traced the grain of the wood with my fingertip, drawing invisible patterns as my mind whirled.

“Michael was always the one starting fights, wasn't he?” one woman asked, her words more for herself than anyone else. “Couldn't seem to find his footing after their dad left.”

“Exactly,” the barista nodded, her voice carrying a note of sympathy that harmonized with the steam hissing from the espresso machine. “He was angry at the world.”

“His brother being back is so nice. I haven’t seen him since before he left for college. That was what, right after they moved here, wasn’t it?”

My heart clenched.

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