Page 17 of The Best I Never Had

I cough into my fist, refocusing on the problem at hand. “There is one concern. My mom’s determined to get me back together with the love of my life.”

I put a sarcastic twist on those last four words, but something deep inside jumps in response.

“She … um … she wants me to try to win you back.”

Thea’s eyes go wide. “And you told her no.”

I rub a hand over my brow. “Mom gets these moods. Sometimes she ends up in bed for weeks, and I figured we can’t afford that.”

Thea starts chewing on her lip, and I lean toward her. There are still a couple of feet between us, but it’s enough to get a whiff of her scent. Nothing flowery for Thea. It’s deeper, a spicy, addictive fragrance I didn’t realize until now I’ve been trying—and failing—to recreate with my baked goods. Harrison had asked why I suddenly put cinnamon in everything. I didn’t have an answer then. Guess I do now.

“I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable,” I say. “Just me seeking you out a few times here and there. Is that okay?”

“Why can’t anything be easy?” Thea’s head drops back as she groans toward the ceiling. “Fine. Addy wants your mom at the wedding, and I want to give Addy whatever she wants. She deserves that after everything else.”

I almost ask what “everything else” is. She was so closed off that weekend, keeping everything fun and light. Every question I asked slid off her like water, and I was left with nothing but an enigmatic memory. Now I have her here again, and I want to know more.

But it’s been a long day, and I can’t handle the inevitable rejection. “Fair warning, my mom and her sisters will be obnoxious.”

“I can take it,” Thea says, and it shouldn’t make my mind go to places it has no right to be. Thea, on her back, begging me for it. Promising she can take it all.

I stand abruptly, needing to get the hell out of this room. “Great. Then we’re all set.”

Thea walks me out, leaning in the doorway when I turn to say goodbye. For a second, all I can do is stare. There’s something more delicate about her now, face free of makeup, the escaped curls having dried into ringlets. My hand desperately wants to see if they’re as soft as they look.

“Are you tempted, Owen?” she asks quietly.

I can’t stop my eyes from flicking to her lips. Yes, I’m tempted. So tempted that my body sways forward on instinct.

“Tempted?” I ask, my voice scratchy, like it’s been hours instead of seconds since I used it.

“To come clean,” she says, and my body jolts backward. “You don’t strike me as the type who does well with lying, and it’s going to be a week this time instead of a few days. I need to know you’re in this with me.”

She’s not asking if I’m tempted by her. Just because I’m drawn to Thea doesn’t mean she feels the same. When she says I’m out of her league, she means on paper, not in reality. If she was interested—if she’d felt even an ounce of the connection I felt then—she wouldn’t have deleted her number from my phone. She would have left the door open for something more.

“No,” I answer, knowing that whatever confusing feelings are swirling inside me, telling my mother the truth is the last thing I want. “I don’t want to deal with the drama any more than you do.”

I knock on the frame of her door, giving her a tight smile I hope looks less awkward than it feels, then turn to leave. I make it only a few steps down the hall when her voice stops me.

“A dentist’s office that doubles as an art supply store,” she says.

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in, for me to realize she’s referencing our drive from the airport to Elk Ridge for Camila’s wedding. I’d been so nervous that I barely spoke on the flight up. Every time I opened my mouth—to ask what she thought about the mountains or to tell her something about myself—I was struck by a wave of self-consciousness that made me clam up.

I was mortified when the first thing I could force out was an abrupt “Fresh meat.”

She stared at me like I was Jack the Ripper. My body went so hot I thought I was going to burn a hole right through the car and drop onto the pavement below.

I gestured toward the building I was trying to point out. It was a run-down, wooden house straight out of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with nothing but a giant hand-painted sign that read FRESH MEAT. I’d seen a lot of weird places in my years up here, but that one took the cake.

Thea’s body relaxed as she took in the structure. “Do you think anyone actually stops there?”

“Do you think everyone who does stop there is a cannibal?” I asked, shuddering.

Thea laughed, and I glanced away from the road just long enough to see the crinkle of her eyes. “That’s not even the strangest place I’ve spotted on this drive.”

We spent the next hour scanning every storefront, both trying to one-up the other. By the time we reached Elk Ridge, I’d shaken off the last of my nerves around her.

I’m shocked she remembers. That something that small made it into her long-term memory storage.