MICAH
What the hellwas I thinking? Hugging Peyton had not been part of the plan. Not by a long shot. But now that I had, I wanted to hug her again. And with more frequency.
God, she was so warm in my arms. So responsive. Her minty coconut smell, potent and intoxicating and addictive.
How long had I wanted to do that? Hold her in my arms. Inhale her fragrance. Be impossibly close to her. Can’t recall a day since she started at Roar where Peyton hasn’t crossed my mind. Her fiery spirit wouldn’t let me forget.
But I wanted more. More than the borderline friendly hug we exchanged.
What I wouldn’t give to trace the tip of my nose along the bridge of hers. Taste her plump lips and impassioned tongue. Feel her soft skin under my fingers, her hot breath on my neck. Her gasp at my ear. And those brilliant violet eyes… I want them on me. Everywhere.
“Hey, big brother.”
I jolt on the barstool at the high-top table as Shelly rounds it and parks across the table. Judgment billows off her as she narrows her eyes.
“Hey,” I choke out, then clear my throat.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Of course,” I answer too quickly. “Why?”
Eyes that match mine rake over my face. Study every crease, line, and twitch. Search for clues why I jumped at her presence—something I have never done. But my poker face is strong and she gives up sooner than expected.
She huffs, sets her purse down, and laces her fingers on the table between us. This is Shelly’s way of telling me we aren’t leaving this table until I speak the truth.
Great.
“Micah, I have known you my entire life.” Here we go. I roll my eyes. “Which means I pick up on everything. Everything.” Her added emphasis makes me squirm in place.
I shift my gaze to the parking lot through the window. Get momentarily lost as the sunlight gleams on the row of cars. When I look back to my sister, her brows lift and lips purse.
“Can we at least order lunch first?”
“Fine.”
She snatches a menu from the metal clip on the table caddy. Not that she needs to read it. This bar and grill is a regular destination for our group. More during the evenings for karaoke, drinks, and laughter. But if I have more than half the menu memorized, she has the entire thing etched in stone. She, Cora, and Jonas ate here once or twice a week before Gavin moved back. Now, it’s half that—which is still more often than my attendance.
A guy sporting a black polo with the bar logo sidles up to the table. He sets glasses of ice water in front of us. “Hey, Shelly.”
The flush on my sister’s cheeks poses new questions. “Hey, Tom.”
He glances my way. “Micah.” I give a polite smile and lift my chin. “What can I get you guys?”
Shelly and I place our orders. Tom scribbles them on his small notepad, tosses a stellar smile at Shelly, then walks off.
“What was that?” I gesture over my shoulder with a thumb.
With a slight shift to the left, she peers over my shoulder, then straightens. “Tom and I have gone on a couple of dates.”
“Really?” I ask with humor in my tone.
She narrows her eyes and jabs the air with a finger in my direction. “Don’t try to distract me from what’s going on with you.” I mentally sag but show no emotion. Both her forearms rest on the table as she leans closer. “What is happening, Micah?”
Sometimes, I wish I hated talking with my sister. Wish we weren’t as close as we are. Don’t get me wrong, I love Shelly. Would walk through fire for her. But when the more intimate topics come up—my dating life and hers—we both tend to clam up. There are just certain topics and details siblings shouldn’t discuss. Right?
No matter how much I dance around answering her, she won’t let up. Like when we were kids and she followed me on her bike. I had told her I wanted to play with boys my age, not my little annoying sister. But she never backed down. She pedaled faster. Kept pace with me. Told me boys and girls can play together. And her refusal to play with only girls led to us bonding more each year. If two years didn’t separate us, people would swear we connected like twins.
Unwrapping the straw, I jab it between the ice and take a sip of water. Desperate to swallow past the nervous clump in my throat. This is Shelly. My sister. The one person I can spill all my truths to. She may be judgmental a moment, but once she processes, that harsh criticism falls away.
“I apologized.”
She tilts her head and regards me for three, two, one. A light kicks on in her thoughts as her eyes grow wide. “To Peyton?” I nod and take another drink from the glass. “How’d that go?”
“Better than expected.”
When I don’t expand, she lifts a brow. “Elaborate for me, big brother.”
Conversations with Shelly will never be basic. Will never be brief. We come from the same parents, were raised the exact same way, and will always want more details. To understand all the ins and outs in full description.
So, I lay it all out for Shelly. Tell her how I mulled over what to say all week. How I didn’t say anything unnecessary to Peyton until last night. That I asked her to Teddy’s after work—which piqued her interest and created a slight detour. A detour where I tell her we had gone there once already.
When I veer back to the original topic at hand, I explain how the apology went down. How I only remembered what happened all those years ago after talking with my sister and her friend. How my behavior made me physically ill.
“Shell, she accepted my apology with such grace. Made me feel worse.”
Reaching across the table, her hands wrap around mine. “If you’d actually taken the time to know Peyton years ago, you would’ve learned then that she’s pretty great. But everything happens for a reason. Cora said she kept to herself and had a small circle of friends. And that she was always with a tall guy with dark hair.” I lift a brow and Shelly reads my curiosity. “Reese, I think. Her best friend. Anyway… my point is Peyton is kind and genuine. Your reaction is normal. That’s called guilt, big brother. And feeling it, owning it, admitting it is a step in the right direction.”