Page 11 of Mine For The Winter

And if he was here for a while she needed to set some parameters between them.

Because this washerhome. She didn’t care that it bore his family’s name or that along with his brothers and his cousins he owned a share of the land here. He was the one who left without taking a backward glance.

She was the one who’d stayed and paid the price.

“Looks like it,” he murmured. His gaze lifted to hers again. She was shocked at the intensity of her reaction to him. Her body felt tight, on edge. Like her muscles had memories of him that her mind had tried to forget.

Anger rose up inside of her and she let it, because it stopped her from feeling the pain.

“Are you planning on spending your days stalking the tavern?” she asked, her voice tight.

His mouth twitched. Was he finding this funny?

“I’m not stalking the tavern. I’m sitting on a bench drinking coffee. You’re the one who’s disturbing the peace.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and it made him smile more. Which made the fury inside of her heighten.

And then he slowly stood and she found herself having to tilt her head to look at him.

Had he always been this tall? Yeah, he had, but somehow he’d grown into his height. In his early twenties he’d still had a leanness to him, but now he looked muscled and strong. She was sure he could still lift her without losing his breath.

“But while you’re here, I’d like to talk to you,” he said. She tried not to stare at his mouth as he talked. It was too easy to remember how it once felt against hers.

“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not happening.” She’d spent way too long getting over Kris Winter to give him an opportunity to hurt her again. It had taken her years to build the wall around her cracked heart.

She wasn’t going to let him sledgehammer it apart.

“I have to go,” she told him. “Have a great stay.”

“I’ll see you around.”

She shook her head, even though she knew it was true. Winterville was too small not to bump into him while he was here.

Hopefully he’d be gone before she knew it.

She turned on her heels and started to walk away, because she couldn’t stay close to him.

Couldn’t bear to look at the man who’d broken her in every way.

“How’s your dad?” he shouted out when she was a few feet away.

“He’s fine.” Another lie.

“I heard about his knees. I’m sorry.”

She turned back around to look at him. He hadn’t moved from his spot next to the bench. He was wearing a hoodie and a pair of jeans, his thick hair lifting in the winter breeze. And for a moment he looked like the boy she’d loved so much it had consumed her.

And suddenly she was remembering the day they’d borrowed North’s boat and had zoomed around the lake, chasing otters and fish, the three of them – her, Lyle, and Kris – laughing out loud. He’d held the tiller, the breeze rushing through his hair, a grin on his face as she’d squealed every time he’d sped up.

They’d all been browned from the sun, but his nose had peeled to reveal pink flesh. How young they’d been then. How hopeful. How happy.

So different to now.

She blinked the memory away and concentrated on the man standing in the square, not the boy she’d once loved.

Because they weren’t the same.

He’d leave again. Because if anybody was good at leaving, it was Kris Winter. He’d perfected running away to an Olympic level.

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