Page 14 of The Other Side

The hands of the clock retreat over my heart. The tiniest huff of breath rushes from my lungs, brows gathering as my eyes eagerly roam his face.

He’s so handsome.

So beautiful.

His sandy-brown hair is clipped short. Almost buzzed above that gorgeous pair of hazel eyes. They’re darker than I remember. Tinted with splashes of brown.

My stomach tents when my gaze dips. I catch the stubble seasoning the olive skin of his sculpted jaw. There’s a thicker layer to his flesh; one formed with experience from the past ten years.

Ten years.

I rake my gaze along the bomber jacket over his shirt. Then his jeans. Every limb fills the garments with ease. He’s tall and broad. Big.

A man.

The only hints of the boy I knew are embedded in his peach lips and the elegant bridge of his nose. To this day, those features could land him a modeling gig if he chose to walk that career path.

His eyes avoid mine, fingers resting on his chin as he whispers, “Holy shit.”

A tremble scurries across my lips. My chest jaggedly pumps back to life, and my stare fastens to his rough fingers. I spot the few veins crawling over the back of his hand. He’s weathered by strength and great genetics.

A lethal combination.

“Babe!”

My head whips around, feet slightly stumbling when Jesse marches down the porch.

“I thought I heard you.”

His hands bury in the pockets of his slacks, a grin pasted to his face. He strolls up to me, and my eyes briefly snap closed. I angle my chin up when he slips beside me, inevitably stumbling over my words. “I-I was buying groceries.” I instantly wag my head, pointing to the sprinkled driveway. “I mean, bringing in the groceries. I was bringing in the groceries,” I breathe.

My eyes flick to Brant, lids hooding as my brain sprints to catch up. Then I pivot my attention toward Jesse, and his arm snakes around me.

“I told you,” he quips, his gaze parked on Brant. “She’s gorgeous, but sometimes her head is a little thrown when it comes to the practicality of things.” Jesse nudges me into his firm side, his amused eyes peering down at me. “I assume you forgot the recyclable bags. The durable ones.”

I barely nod, my tongue and belly tied together at the base of my throat. Jesse tosses a small smirk, and his focus rises to Brant again.

I think I might vomit.

No, I’m definitely going to vomit.

“So, you’ve met our architect for the extension.”

An architect.

He’s an architect.

When I turn my head, Brant’s eyes are stapled to my left side before they skate up. Our gazes bolt together as we fight through a swallow. The corner of his lips twitch, and the gesture wrenches the tiniest grin from me.

Abruptly, there’s a tenderness sheathing my heart.

It’s cozy. Warming the hollow pieces as flashes of his sketchbook burst through my mind.

“Yeah,” I say softly, slipping from Jesse’s embrace. “I should’ve figured that much.”

Jesse’s bending to grab an oat milk carton, and Brant’s a beat behind him. I tuck my hair behind my ear before crouching down, my palm clasping a plastic jug of orange juice.

“Here,” Brant says, offering me a milk carton. I’m cradling the juice in my right arm when I reach with my left hand.