Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

“You came here for lunch?”

“Kind of.”

I roll my straw around my glass, fighting a huge smile from swamping my face. It’s been plastered on my lips ever since Machlan dropped me off this afternoon.

My brother pulls his brows together. Setting his wallet on the table, he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me skeptically. “What are you not telling me?”

“Well,” I say, letting go of the straw. “I kind of came here today with Mach.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not, and that choice of words is horrific,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “What does that even mean? Does anyone actually shit you? How would you do that? Like, I don’t get it.”

“It’s a form of expression. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

“Then did I hear you just say you came to lunch here with Machlan?”

“Yes, nosy. I had lunch with your best friend today.”

I hate how smug I feel and how I know Cross is picking up on it. How could he not? A total stranger could see how satisfied I am right now. I can’t help it, though.

I’ve replayed every second we spent together today. What surprises me the most is my favorite moments aren’t the ones when he held me or touched me or gave me hope that things might find some normalcy between us. My favorite parts of today are the ones where I looked in his eyes and saw him. Not the man who owns the bar or the one who has commitment issues. Not my brother’s best friend or the guy who broke my heart.

Today, he was Machlan.

The guy who whispered “I love you” one Saturday night while we watched a movie on his nana’s couch.

The man who gave me the opportunity to feel a child growing in my stomach and be a mother even if for only a few hours.

Today, when I looked in his eyes, he was the boy I fell in love with.

If I thought about it too much, I’d flip into terrified mode. I’d start overthinking this whole thing and realize how awful I’ll feel when things don’t work out or how lonely it’ll be when I leave and he lets me. Again. But the beauty of today is this: I don’t overthink it. I embrace Emily’s advice and Machlan’s words and just let it be.

“I can honestly say I’m surprised,” Cross says. He takes his credit card from the waitress and thanks her before turning back to me.

“Why?”

“I thought you were going a different direction.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I tried. And I still don’t know what direction we’re going, per se, but I like this … whatever it is. Being able to spend time with him. It’s nice.”

“I’ve always told you whatever you two figure out is fine as long as you don’t get hurt in the process.” He takes some cash out of his wallet and places it in the center of the table. Then, just as our dad used to do, and I do, he takes the saltshaker and places it on top. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

We stand, scooting in our chairs, and meander through the tables at Peaches. Cross holds the door open for me and a couple of ladies coming in, before following me outside.

The air is crisp and the wind gusty as we make our way to his truck. We get situated inside and don’t speak until the heat is on.

“Can I ask what led to you and Mach having lunch?” he asks. “I mean, it’s none of my business, and I’m totally okay with that, but I have a feeling I’ll end up hearing about it from one of you on the back end. If I have some background, it’ll help.”

I watch clouds tumble across the sky, deep gray billows across the light gray backdrop. “I was walking to Carlson’s for lunch, and it started pouring. He happened to drive by and pick me up.”

“Sure, he did.” Cross laughs, putting the truck in reverse.

“What?”

“He didn’t happen to see you do shit. Fucker was probably stalking you.”

My heart skips a beat. “No. I don’t think so. I think it was random.”

“Sure, it was.”

We lurch forward as he shoves the transmission in drive. Cross laughs again, this time more to himself than me. I watch the amusement dance across his features and wonder what he’s thinking. I’m too afraid to ask.

Biting my lip, I look out the window but don’t really see anything. All of my attention is on my brother’s assessment of the situation. I turn to him, curiosity winning.

“What did you mean by that?” I ask.

“By what?”

“By saying he didn’t happen to see me.”

He rolls his eyes. “When it comes to you, nothing Machlan does or says or sees is random.” He quiets as he pilots the truck onto the exit ramp back to Linton. “If you’re in a ten-mile radius, Mach can’t focus on anything else.”