Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(58)

“I understand.” John is a lot like Aubrey. Or I guess Aubrey is a lot like John. His exterior is more weathered than Aubrey's, but it functions the same.

“Dad.” Aubrey steps from the house, one hand planted on her hip, the other holding out a grayish ball of...lint?

John's eyes flick over to her. When he sees what she's holding, his eyebrows squish together, and he looks away.

“Every time, Dad. You have to do it every time. I told you already. It's a fire hazard.” Aubrey’s exasperated. I'm still trying to understand what’s happening.

“I will, Aubs.” John reassures her, but he sounds a little petulant. Like a teenager being scolded by a mother. Or a husband nagged by his wife.

My back teeth clamp down on my cheek to keep from laughing. These two have the most unique relationship I've ever seen. And I thought my mom and I were different.

Aubrey thinks she and I are so dissimilar, but we're not. What has bonded her and John is the same thing that has bonded my mom and me. It goes beyond the normal and into the realm of shared brokenness.

“Claire, baby, come inside for a snack,” Aubrey calls out. Claire stands up and comes to us, smiling. Always smiling.

She stops in front of John. “I made a castle with a moat. Because there's an army of monsters who want to get in. And the moat has alligators in it.”

“That's a good way to keep the monsters out.” John leans forward and lightly tugs on one of the braids I watched Aubrey weave into Claire's hair this morning.

Aubrey holds out a hand. “Let’s go, little one. Peanut butter and apples await you.” They walk inside, and I hear Aubrey tell Claire to wash up before she eats.

John stands and I follow suit. He extends a hand.

As I’m shaking it, he says “Don't forget to clean out the lint trap in the dryer, Isaac, or she'll come after you too.” He laughs to himself and walks inside.

For me, the funny part is that I'm seriously considering forgetting, just so Aubrey will come after me. Because I want her to.

And that gives me an idea.





I keep trying not to think of last night, I keep telling myself it would’ve been just another hour. Meant nothing. But the problem is that I'm spending so much more than one hour thinking about it. I can still feel his five o’clock shadow scraping across my stomach, my body catching a fire of desire and urgency.

That's one of the reasons I felt relieved when we walked into my dad's house and I saw how messy it was. Putting myself to work helped me separate from my thoughts. The other reason was that it made me feel needed. It was nice to walk in and see the effect of us living apart.

Now we're back at Isaac's place. Our place. And I'm still cleaning because I have no idea what else to do. Why can’t there be some kind of instruction manual for awkward situations like these?

I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, folding Claire's laundry, when Isaac taps on my door. I know it's him because Claire's taking a nap. And because she hasn't yet mastered the fine art of knocking.

“Hey," I call out.

The door opens, and Isaac steps in. Immediately my neck feels hot. I don't know if he knows how incredibly good-looking he is. Is it the eyebrows? The chocolate eyes? Those full lips, the lower one in a perpetual pout. Or is it his smile?

It may be a mix of everything, but that smile has them all beat. I really, really like when he smiles.

“Are you running a covert operation in here?" he asks, his tone teasing. The door closes behind him, and he leans against it.

I lay a pair of shorts on the stack, ignoring the heat starting up in other places. “No, why?"

“Because you closed the door to fold laundry."

“I thought maybe you'd like some alone time. We spent the day at my dad's, so I just thought..." Doesn't everybody like alone time? The way Isaac's looking at me now, I'm guessing he doesn’t.

“I'm good, Aubrey. I mean, I do like alone time." He comes forward, stopping when his knees are flush with the bed. He reaches over, one finger tracing my collarbone, which is exposed thanks to my tank top. “I like alone time that I spend with you."

I freeze, one of Claire’s shirts in my clutch. My breath is shallow, desire slamming through me like a freight train. Swallowing hard, I force myself to knock it off. “Isaac, last night was—”

“Don’t say it.”

I take a deep breath and unfold my legs, rising so I'm on my knees on the bed. My movement knocks Isaac's magical finger off my skin, giving me the break I need. Distanced from his touch, I can think more clearly.

“A mistake.” I finish my sentence anyway. “Our situation is messy enough without bringing sex into it.” I have to focus to keep my thoughts from straying onto memories of how close it came to that. “And definitely no more tequila for me." I smile as I say it, trying to lighten my message.

Isaac nods slowly, his lips pushed out. “Right, the tequila. I thought you'd mention that part of it."

“It's kind of hard not to. We’ve slept together once, it almost happened last night, and both times there was alcohol involved." I look at him pointedly.

“Is that what you think this is? Beer goggles?"

“Beer goggles implies something else. Misguided level of attractiveness. This..." I gesture from me to him, and back again, realizing I have no idea how to categorize us. “That first hour we used like a Band-Aid. Last night… It was an itch. One we almost scratched. You wanted to see the body that housed your daughter. I wanted to recapture the feeling of being with a man."