The first text: Spock. You didn’t get it from me.
The second is an address in El Verano, California.
I wrinkle my nose. What? I don’t even know where that is.
A quick search on my Maps app shows me that it’s near Sonoma, but why my brother would be sending me there…
Unless…
A couple days ago, in desperation, I texted Craig, asking if he knew how I could get ahold of his idiot best friend who wasn’t answering my calls. If he doesn’t know what went down between me and Reece, my text has probably gotten him wondering, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything except the idiot who ran away from the best thing either of us has ever known.
Craig didn’t reply.
Until now.
“Brother, I love you,” I mutter to myself, as I quickly get driving directions to the address Craig provided.
Getting around the area on a Friday afternoon is no easy feat with the weekenders coming into town for a couple days of winery-hopping, and by the time the GPS gets me to my destination, I’m practically shaking with anticipation.
It’s a tiny blue house on a quiet street. A little run down, but a little charming too. There’s a white Honda and a beat-up blue truck taking up all the driveway space, so I park on the street, and, heart hammering, I make my way to the front door, which is…
Open.
Just a crack, but enough for me to hear masculine laughter.
Familiar laughter.
My heart seizes. Reece.
Before I can think better of it, I nudge the door open and step inside, my heart pounding in anticipation. In hindsight, I probably should have come up with a plan, but then I remember that I’m not the one who has some explaining to do.
I’m not the one who ran away.
I follow the sound of his voice, my heart quickening in a different, more dangerous way when I register that it’s not just his voice.
There’s a female voice too, high and a little giggly.
I should be braced for the sight. After what happened with Abby all those years ago, I really should be prepared.
But somehow, I’m not.
And the sight of Reece in a kitchen laughing with another girl, who’s standing far too close, nearly breaks me. He’s in the middle of eating whatever’s in the bowl he’s holding. I watch in agony as she reaches up and wipes a thumb across his lips, as though it’s her right to touch him.
And he doesn’t seem to mind.
What’s weird is that this moment is far more innocent than the one I’d walked in on when I was eighteen, and yet this one hurts so much more.
I can’t make a single noise, I can’t even breathe, and I put a protective hand to my stomach as though trying to physically push away the shock.
My gesture captures Reece’s attention, and his blue gaze swings around until it lands on me, his eyes widening in shock, then regret, and then, almost deliberately, defiance. As though daring me to care that he’s alone in another house with another woman.
Dare accepted, Reece. I care. I care.
The girl senses the tension and quickly turns around, and I register that she’s ridiculously pretty. She lets out a little squeak of surprise when she sees me. “Who are you? What are you doing in our house?”
Our house. Jesus.