309 Wildflower Falls Way Page 4

  “I won’t if you won’t,” I say.

  “Deal,” she says.

  Will I really be okay with just being friends with her? As the rest of the evening passes, I keep asking myself the question, and I honestly don’t know the answer.

  But I do know one thing for sure: I’m never going to like her just as a friend. There’s no way in hell I could. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, no exaggeration, and on top of that, it’s attractive as hell that she’s so independent and smart.

  I may not have any control over the attraction I feel for her. But I do have control over whether I let it get to me.

  At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, long after I’ve said goodbye to Aspen, she’s still on my mind. I’m thinking about her as I heat up Chinese leftovers for dinner, I’m thinking about her as I mindlessly watch TV, and I’m thinking about her as I go to bed that night.

  Surprise, surprise: when you go to sleep thinking of a girl, she pops up in your dreams.

  In the dream, the two of us are down at the marina, walking along the water. Except it’s like a fantasy version of the marina, where everything is twice as picturesque as normal. There’s flowers everywhere, birds chirping, sunshine glinting off her hair. I turn to her to say something about it, and she laughs and slips her hand into mine.

  Then she tilts her chin up, her eyes begging me for a kiss.

  You sure? I ask.

  Of course I’m sure, silly, she says. The corner of her mouth quirks up. I want you, Wells.

  I press my lips to hers. Taste her sweetness. I’m quickly overwhelmed by how right it feels. She laughs gently, happily, into our kiss—and parts her lips for me, letting me in.

  Just as I’m about to slide my tongue into her mouth, I’m yanked out of the dream and hurled back into reality.

  “Fuck,” I groan, dragging my palms over my face. My chest is hot, my heart racing…and to top it off, I’ve got a massive hard-on beneath the sheets.

  So much for keeping my feelings under control.

  For several torturous minutes, I try to ignore the hard-on and go back to sleep. But I can’t. It’s impossible. I’m too wound up from that stupid dream.

  So give yourself some damn relief. You can do it without thinking about her.

  With a sharp exhale, I thrust a hand down beneath the covers and wrap it around my cock. My mind claws at the past, trying to conjure up any other woman. But it’s like that part of my imagination just…shuts off.

  I can’t come up with anything. My mind keeps circling back to her.

  The strokes of my hand are hard and unforgiving. Breathing harder, I speed up, clenching my jaw tighter.

  Don’t think about her. Don’t fucking think about her. Just don’t—

  But her smile. Her gorgeous hazel eyes. And her ass in those jeans…

  “Goddamn it,” I grit out, furrowing my brow as my grip tightens. There’s no turning back. Thoughts of Aspen have fully infiltrated my mind—the creamy skin of her neck, the curve of her hips, the way she bites down on her bottom lip when she’s concentrating hard…lips I want to suck, lips I want to…

  A groan rumbles from my chest and I come, pleasure and guilt simultaneously slamming into me.

  I pull my t-shirt off, clean up the mess, and throw the soiled shirt onto the floor. As I regain myself, clarity reenters my mind.

  I can’t fuck this up. Won’t fuck this up. I told her I wanted to be friends and she trusts me that I meant what I said. She needs a true friend, not some asshole who tries to get close to her under the pretense of being a friend. She deserves so much better than that. She deserves the fucking world.

  Besides, even if she did want something more from me, I don’t know that I could give it to her.

  Chapter Seven

  ASPEN

  “Thanks again for helping me do this, Wells,” I say.

  “Yeah, of course,” he says, pulling his truck out of the driveway. “I’m happy to help.”

  At least once a month, I like to make a huge batch of soup and bring containers of it around to the elderly folks on the mountain. It’s a habit I started when I opened the cafe. I know it’s not much, but it’s something, and everyone I visit seems to appreciate it.

  I’ve always made the rounds on my own. But the other day when I mentioned it to Wells, he asked if he could help out. I thought it was sweet of him to offer and said yes. Now here we are, driving around the mountain together.

  I’ve hung out with Wells and the guys a handful of times over the last couple weeks. It’s funny how quickly your life can change. To my surprise, I’ve even started initiating some hangouts. The four of us have grabbed ice cream together at Cherry on Top, hung out at the Reef Beach Bar, and played mini golf together at Dimpled Balls.

  I’ve had a blast every time.

  “All right,” I say, peering into the cardboard box at my feet. There’s just one container of soup left. “Last one up is Mr. Bernard. He lives just up the road. There’s a carved wooden bear at the end of his driveway.”

  Wells nods and lowers his foot on the gas pedal. A minute later we’re pulling up in front of Mr. Bernard’s house. I lift the last container of soup out of the box and Wells and I walk up to the cabin. After Wells knocks, it takes a minute before footsteps approach and the door cracks open.

  “Who’s there?” a husky voice says from inside.

  “It’s Aspen Wright, Mr. Bernard,” I say. “We’re here with some homemade soup.”

  “Aspen.” He pulls the door open wider, revealing himself. He’s a bit stooped, but the way his face brightens instantly makes him look more spry. “Nice to see you, dear.” His eyes slide over to Wells. “I see you aren’t alone.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” says Wells. “I’m Wells Powell.”

  “Mmm.” Mr. Bernard nods and steps aside, motioning us inside. “Come in, come in.”

  Wells and I enter his house, heat sweeping around us as we step in. Mr. Bernard leads us into his living room, where a football game is on TV, and then through to his kitchen.

  “Would you like me to put this in the fridge?” I ask, nodding at the soup in my hands.

  “Sure. Thank you, Aspen. It’s always so nice of you, thinking of us folks up here.”

  “My pleasure.” I open the fridge and gently nudge aside a few things to make room for the soup. Closing the door, I say, “How have you been?”

  “Oh, fine,” he says. “Taking each day as it comes.”

  “You’ve got a really nice house,” says Wells, looking around.

  “Made it myself,” Mr. Bernard says. “Back when I was a strapping young man, that is.”

  “That’s awesome. As Aspen will tell you, I’m not the handiest of guys. But I’d love to build a house one day.”

  “Every skill can be learned, young man,” Mr. Bernard says. He smiles and looks back at me. “How nice that you’ve finally found someone, dear.”

  “Oh, no, Wells and I aren’t together.” The words come out of my mouth quickly. “We’re just friends. That’s all.”

  “Friends?” Mr. Bernard looks disappointed. Then a smile spreads across his lips again. “My wife and I started out as friends, you know.”

  “I didn’t know that.” I can’t bear to look at Wells. Is he embarrassed, too? Amused? “Well, we’ll let you get back to the game.”

  “All right.” Mr. Bernard winks at me and leads us over to his front door with a slow gait. “Have a nice rest of your day, you two.”

  As Wells as I walk back out to the truck, I continue to avoid looking over at him. We both get into his truck and I busy myself with my phone, checking some emails I’ve already read.

  “Back to the cafe?” Wells asks, starting the engine.

  I nod, my eyes still on my screen. “Yep.”

  On the drive back, Wells seems a little extra talkative than normal. He comments about how muddy the road is, and how it looks like it’s going to rain again soon, th
en asks me what kind of soups I’ve made before.

  I can’t tell whether he’s trying to take our minds off of Mr. Bernard’s comment, or if it didn’t affect him at all and he’s just talking to talk.

  It doesn’t take long to get back to the cafe. As soon as I see it, I feel relaxed again. Home. One of my homes, anyway. The truck comes to a stop and I open the passenger door and hop out, breathing in the fresh air. I’m about to thank Wells again for coming and say goodbye, but to my surprise, he’s getting out of his truck, too.

  “I’ll help you clean up,” he says, catching my quizzical gaze.

  “What?” I say. “Wells, you don’t need to do that. There’s barely anything to clean up, anyway. There’s pretty much just the soup pot and a couple knives.”

  “Ah. Right.” But he walks with me up to the cafe anyway. We slow as we reach the door.

  Why does this feel like the end of a date?

  My eyes flit to his lips. His full, smooth lips. He’s probably a really good kisser. Not that I should be thinking about what kind of kisser he is. Friends don’t do that. And they definitely don’t think about anything else along those lines…

  Who am I kidding? I’ve been attracted to him this whole time. From the moment he pulled up in his truck on Wildflower Falls Way, I’ve felt pulled toward him in a way I haven’t felt toward anyone else. I’ve just been ignoring the feelings. Brushing them off.

  Has he been doing the same?

  “What else are you up to today?” I ask, just to say something.

  “I have a shift later. Not sure what I’ll do until then.”

  You could kiss me…

  Shit. Shit. I can’t be thinking thoughts like that.

  “What about you?” he asks.

  “Oh…uh…just stuff around the cafe.”

  “I thought today was your day off.”

  “I should actually take the day off. Honestly, though, if I did nothing today, I’d just be thinking about the things I need to do around here…”

  He nods. Then, drawing in a breath, he says my name. The sound is low and soft and sets my skin tingling.

  I blink, lost in his eyes.

  “Yes?”

  I’m suddenly a little dizzy. Is he leaning in? I can’t tell if he is or if my eyes are playing tricks on me. Is he going to kiss me? Is this really going to happen?

  In that moment, it feels like such a sure thing. The heat burning between us is palpable.

  And then, like that, the moment passes. Relief and disappointment simultaneously flood my chest. I blink again and come back to the moment. Okay. He’s definitely not leaning in. We’re just two people standing here.

  Two friends.

  “Have a nice rest of your evening,” he says. His face looks different, but I can’t quite figure out what his expression means.

  Chapter Eight

  WELLS

  “F inally, man,” says Carter. “Took you long enough.”

  The guys and I are hanging out at Auntie Oakley's Roadside Diner, working our way through a basket of chicken wings. I’ve just told them about how I came close to kissing Aspen the other night—how I hadn’t planned on it, I’d just gotten caught up in the moment, and how I saw the uncertainty in her eyes and changed course at the last second.

  “Took me long enough?” I echo, grabbing another wing.

  Miles snorts. “Uh…it’s super obvious that you like her, dude.”

  Who am I kidding? Of course the guys know. We might not sit around talking about our feelings all the time, but they know me. My feelings for Aspen have probably been written all over my face this whole damn time. I’ve just been in denial. I’ve been fooling myself, thinking I’ve been keeping my feelings on the down-low.

  I bite into the wing, still deep in thought as I chew the meat.

  “Think it’s been obvious to her?” I say.

  Miles tosses a bone into a bowl. “Who knows. I don’t know jack shit about girls.”

  “Did it seem like she wanted you to kiss her?” asks Carter.

  I think back to the other night and recall, as best I can, that moment. I remember the way Aspen smiled at me when we were standing by the door of her cafe…there was something so open and warm about that smile. But when I started to lean forward, her expression changed.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s hard to say. She didn’t back away or anything. But there was something in her eyes. It could have been that she was just nervous. But it could have been something else. And I didn’t want to take that risk.”

  “Makes sense. It’s not like she’s just some random girl.”

  I shoot him a look. “You saying it would’ve been okay to make an unwanted move on her if she was some random girl?”

  “No. Come on.” He rolls his eyes. “I meant that it matters more because you guys are friends. There’s more at stake or whatever.”

  “I know, I know.” I toss my half-eaten wing into the basket. I’ve got a feeling I won’t have much of an appetite until I figure this out with Aspen. “All right. Thanks for listening to my woes, guys.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” says Miles, shooting me a grin before sinking his teeth into another piece of chicken.

  Later that afternoon, on my way to work, I text Aspen and ask if she wants to hang out sometime tomorrow. Usually when I text her she gets back to me quickly—not always right away, but within the hour.

  But an hour passes and I don’t hear anything from her. My shift at the bar distracts me, but I’m still constantly checking my phone to see if she’s texted me back. I’m so damn distracted that I even pour someone the wrong kind of beer, something I never do.

  “Sorry about that. It’s on me,” I say, grabbing a fresh pint glass for the customer.

  My shift is nearly up by the time Aspen gets back to me. It’s a short text, and one that makes my stomach sink: Sorry, I can’t.

  That’s it.

  Fuck.

  I start to write another text to her. Hey, look, I’m sorry about—I start to type, then shake my head and delete it. I don’t want to do this over text. I need to look her in the eye when I apologize. I need to be able to see her face.

  THE NEXT EVENING, just before it closes, I drive over to the Pine Cone Cafe. There are a handful of vehicles in the parking lot and I pull into an empty space right by the front door. Even before I get out of the truck I can see Aspen through the front window of the cafe. She’s smiling and nodding to one of her customers as she stacks a few empty plates on her arm.

  I get out of my truck and walk into the cafe. Immediately I’m surrounded by the coziness of the place. Between all the wood and the homey decor, it feels more like walking into someone’s home rather than a business.

  There’s a sign at the front that says Please seat yourself, so I grab an empty table. Aspen still hasn’t noticed me, and I watch her from afar for a few minutes.

  She moves around the cafe with ease, multitasking in a way that looks effortless as she scoops up empty plates from tables, sets down bills, rings people up, and answers the phone by the register.

  She’s bringing some food to another table when her eyes drift over to the one I’m sitting at. She looks surprised to see me. And maybe guilty, if I’m reading the look in her eyes right. She delivers the food to the other table, then turns and comes over, tucking an order pad into her apron.

  “Hi,” she says, a tentative smile on her face. “I’m busy right now, but I can talk as soon as the cafe closes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I get you coffee or something while you wait?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Something twists inside my chest as I watch her go. God, this sucks. I’ve never experienced such a deep connection with a girl like I have with Aspen, and I have to restrain myself from doing anything about it. I mean, yeah, I’d rather have her as a friend than nothing at all, but that doesn’t make the situation any less painful…

  “Here you go,” she says when she
comes back, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. She gives me a quick smile—another tentative one. “Wave me down if you need anything else, okay?”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  It doesn’t take too long until everyone else in the cafe finishes up and leaves. After Aspen turns the sign in the window to CLOSED and locks the front door, she comes over and slides into the chair across from me. She looks tired, as you’d expect from a long day of work. Her hair is coming out of her ponytail and there’s weariness in her eyes.

  Or, shit, maybe it’s wariness.

  But I don’t want to make any assumptions, so I ask, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Well, no. I mean…” She looks away, then back at me. “The other day, when you dropped me off here, did you almost kiss me? Or did I imagine that?”

  She doesn’t ask in a flirty or coy way.

  “Yeah. I almost kissed you.”

  “Right. Well, I’m flattered. I’m really flattered. But, the thing is…”

  My heart sinks. I don’t think I can handle her saying the words.

  “I’m really sorry I did that, Aspen. It won’t happen again.” I run a hand through my hair. “We’re friends. And I don’t want to mess that up.”

  “I don’t want to mess it up either.”

  “Okay. So let’s just forget it happened.”

  She looks doubtful. “You think we can?”

  It’s a damn good question. One I’m not sure the answer to, to be honest. But what’s the alternative? Stop being friends because of this?

  The idea of not seeing her at all anymore kills me.

  “I can. And if you can run a cafe all on your own, I’m pretty sure you can do anything, Aspen,” I say.

  Her serious expression breaks into a smile. Okay. Good. It feels like we’re okay again. We’ve made it over this little bump. We’ll continue to be friends and everything will be okay.

  So why do I have a gnawing feeling that this is all wrong?

  Trying to get my mind off what could have been and what is never going to be, I look away from her and admire my surroundings.