Page 53 of New River Gorge(ous)
“Fine,” I huff. “I think I love her. But I can’t.”
“My sister.” Ben coughs. “Addie,” he corrects. “She told me she saw you. And listen, Beck. Addie’s here to stay. You can’t let the past control your future anymore. Addie wasn’t it for you. And as much as I love her, and as much as I’ve been your friend for our entire lives, it didn’t happen. It’s time to move on. Maybe she’ll move on, too, once she knows you have.”
My brow furrows. “What?” I say dryly. “She’s the one who moved on. While we were about to get married in front of an entire church of people. I’d say she moved on awful fast comparatively.”
Logan clears his throat this time. “Beck, if you don’t want to be with Addie again, you’ll need to make that abundantly clear.”
“Huh?”
“Addie has…” Ben supplies an unhelpful sentence fragment. The reason he trailed off is clear when Addie’s voice comes through.
“I thought my ears were ringing,” she says, her voice coming closer. “Who are we talking to, boys?”
I can hear the flirtatious tone in her voice, imagine the way she’s sashaying her hips as she walks, see her reaching her hand out to flirt with whoever is on the other end of the line, so I do the only thing I can think of.
I hang up and toss my phone on the counter.
Addie is the past. I’m looking toward the future.
I turn around and walk as fast as I can out the door.
28
Brooke
Meemaw suggests I take a bubble bath and read a book. But not just any book, aromancebook from her pile of paperbacks with men wearing breeches—and conveniently no shirts—as they sit on a horse, staring at women in long gloves and gowns, with titles likeThe Reluctant Duchess of Lovemore Manoremblazoned across the scene.
“No thanks, Meemaw,” I say as I push off the couch. “I think I’ll go wash up and go to—”
A knock on the door interrupts me. Meemaw pats my hand before releasing me. The knock sounds again, louder. I open the door just as Beck is about to pound his fist against the wood for a third time.
He stumbles slightly, catching himself on the doorframe.
“Are you ok?” I ask as I look him over. His mouth sets in a thin line, his jaw tight, his forearms tense. They are really nice forearms.
Beck doesn’t respond to my question. He just steps closer, over the threshold, and before I can totally understand what’s happening, he leans down and places a kiss on my lips.
My eyes bug out in surprise, although this isn’t an unwelcome one. He’s not demanding, he’s not rough. He’s just there, his lips touching mine firmly in far-too-brief a moment before he pulls back and meets my gaze with his own.
I blink a few times, unsure what to say and definitely unsure what that was all about.
Beck straightens and takes a step back. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice scratchy and low. “I…” He rubs his neck. “I’m sorry.”
He turns to leave and steps back onto the porch.
Utterly confused, I look back at Meemaw, whose very unsubtle hand gesture indicates I should follow him to the porch.
I step outside, shutting the door behind me.
“Beck?” I call.
He’s on the bottom step, but he stops before he slowly turns and looks at me. The uncertainty in his gaze does me in. He looks like that because he kissed me and thinks I didn’t want him to. A confident man who saves lives shouldn’t look like a wounded puppy, but in this moment, he does.
“I…” A flush floods my cheeks. “I liked that,” I whisper.
Something in Beck’s entire demeanor changes. He straightens and walks toward me with the confidence that I usually see in him. The kind of confidence that’s extremely attractive.
“You liked what, Brooke?” he asks, his voice extra deep.
