Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(73)
Claire comes back and sets our food in front of us. “Do you two lovebirds want anything else?”
My stomach drops as my head whips to Avery. She places her hands in her lap and steadies her gaze on Claire.
“We’re fine. Thanks,” she says slowly.
“Lovebirds?” Mia looks at me like she does when she knows I have a candy bar in my truck. “Are you two in love like my dad and Neely?”
“No,” I say much too quickly. “We’re . . .”
I look at Avery. She’s watching me with wide eyes. I don’t know what to say, especially to a ten-year-old.
“We’re friends,” I say finally. “Avery and I are really good friends.”
Dane leans forward and grabs Mia’s glass. His gaze pins me to my seat. “Mia, finish your milk before it spills.”
My friends start talking, jabbering about Dogwood Day and where Neely’s purple bag disappeared to. I tune them all out.
I watch Avery chat with Claire, her head falling back in laughter, and wonder why this is so tricky.
Maybe getting off six times in the last fourteen hours is making me weak.
Or maybe it is because Avery fits so easily into my life without complicating it too much.
There’s one last possibility, one I don’t want to really consider. Is this feeling I’m experiencing the same one Dane feels about Neely, and I’m too scared to admit it?
Nah, I think. It can’t be that. You haven’t gone more than a week without sex for a long time. That’s what this is. Sexual satisfaction. Exhaustion. That’s all.
I bet my aura is a pale orange this morning.
Avery looks at me, and I wonder what color her aura would be today. Just as I’m about to ask her opinion, she grins.
“How are you, good friend?” she asks.
“Um, fine. You?”
She takes a piece of bacon off my plate. “Just pondering what it would take to be classified as a great friend.”
I shift in my seat. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear. “You’ll never get there if you keep stealing bacon off my plate.”
She turns her head. Her lips brush against my cheek as she finds my ear. “Maybe I don’t want to be your great friend.” She snatches another piece of bacon. “Maybe good friend is my limit.”
I scan the table. No one is paying any attention to us because they’re too immersed in Dane’s story about a sand dollar.
Dropping my hand under the table, I squeeze the inside of Avery’s thigh. There are too many things happening that I can’t control, too many ideas bouncing around my head that I can’t make sense of. So I focus on the one I know.
I tap her leg close enough to the spot where her leg meets her groin to get her attention. A small gasp lets me know I have it.
“You want to get out of here and see if we can go from six to seven?” I ask.
She grins, dropping the bacon. “Check, please.”
All I can do is laugh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AVERY
A white banner with navy-blue lettering welcomes us to Dogwood Day. People wander about, stopping at little booths, and gathering in groups while they eat corn dogs.
It’s the perfect afternoon for a festival, although I’m not sure that’s the right word for this event. It’s small and quaint and probably doesn’t even fit the official definition for a festival.
Still, it’s lovely. The breeze moves the air in a lazy way, lulling me into a state of bliss.
Penn walks beside me. His jeans have a little fraying at the hems and a couple of stains here and there. I wonder if he bought them that way or if he wore them to a state of perfection. The blue T-shirt that’s stretched across his body is the softest cotton I’ve ever felt, and I could just nuzzle my face into it and call it a day.
Except he would end up taking it off and then I’d take mine off and things would progress from there. Not that I would mind.
I look up at him and catch him watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“You look pretty today.”
“Thank you.”
He flashes me a shy smile and looks away.
Even though he’s seen me naked and contorted into various positions, and even though he’s made it clear just how much he admires my body, having him say I’m pretty is a whole new thing. There was a vulnerability in the way he said it. It was as if he wasn’t only talking about my looks or body or cleavage—he was talking about me.
That feels nice.
We’ve spent the week together. Getting to know someone has never been so fun. I know he burns toast every single time, brushes his teeth multiple times a day, and loves the smell of lemon. And he loves to kiss and cuddle and is willing to play Jeopardy every time it’s on.
But there’s always a hesitation—something that holds him back just enough to keep from really putting his guard all the way down. It’s there when we’re alone but even more apparent in the presence of others. It makes me nervous.
“Penn, how are you?” A man wearing a brown pullover and smarmy smile heads our way. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“Blame Dane. He’s been keeping me busy.”
The man looks at me. “Maybe Dane’s not all that’s been keeping you busy, huh?”