Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(59)

Isaac’s eyebrows lift. “That's it?"

“Yes." I say it with confidence I don't feel. A nagging feeling sits in my core, gnawing at me. It's best to ignore it. Caring for someone other than my dad, Britt, and Claire has only brought me sorrow.

“So, is that what you want us to be to one another? A collection of hours?" His lips twist as he reaches for me again, this time to brush my hair back from my face.

“One hour is not a collection." My argument is weakened by my voice. It's shaky, soft.

“I'm inclined to agree." He leans all the way over, wraps his arms around my waist, and drags me until I'm at the edge of the bed and pressed up against him. “But we can change that.”

My heartbeats sound loud in my ears. The moisture in my mouth has dried up.

“I was hoping we could add more hours, and then more hours, until they make a collection." His eyes shine with intensity. They're so close to mine that I could turn my head up just a little and stop him from saying more words I don't want to hear. “Aubrey, can I take you on a date tonight?"

I lean back, startled, and his fingers flex around my waist to hold me in place. "What?"

“Me. You. Date. You know, that thing we talked about doing years ago and then you walked out?"

I was supposed to walk out. That was our agreement. Technically, I mean. There was that second option. That thing he'd said about waiting until one hour was up to see if I wanted more from him. But he was headed out of the country and I was nursing a broken heart. What he’d said that night… Those were just empty words, weren't they?

What if they weren't?

Isaac deserves an explanation. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t like you.” No, that wasn’t the problem at all. “I left because… because…” How do I put the feeling into words? How can I explain how badly I needed to protect my heart?

“Shhh.” Isaac leans his forehead to rest against mine. “You don’t have to say anything more,” he whispers. “I understand.”

But how could he? How can this man with a flawless, intact family understand?

“OK,” I whisper into the inches separating our lips.

“OK what?”

“OK I’ll go on a date with you tonight.”

Isaac pulls back, beaming. I wince, but only on the inside. I don’t want him to think it’s about him.

“You’re going to have a good time. I promise.” He squeezes his arms, still wrapped around my waist.

I don’t doubt I’ll have a good time. Not one bit.

And that’s part of the problem.



Lucia’s trying to keep her excitement from leaking out, but she’s failing miserably. While she talks, she holds onto my arm.

“I was supposed to go to dinner with some women I know, but I cancelled. This is more important.” Her eyes glimmer. “Do you know where he’s taking you?”

“I didn’t ask.” My stomach has been tied up in knots since I agreed to go, and I think knowing our destination would only make me more nervous.

Lucia releases me and reaches for Claire. She pats her knee and Claire asks, “What are we going to do tonight while mommy and daddy are gone?”

“I’m going to keep you busier than a one-armed paper hanger.”

I laugh, and Lucia looks proud of her joke. I don't tell her I'm not just laughing at her joke, I'm also laughing because my dad said the same thing soon after we arrived home from the hospital following Claire's accident.

Claire asks Lucia what’s a one-armed paper hanger, a question I saw coming a mile away. While they talk, I go to the kitchen and start a pot of boiling water for Claire’s dinner.

Isaac walks in and pulls open the fridge. “Got any plans tonight?” He pulls away with a water bottle and drinks it with his eyes on me.

I tap my chin and pretend to think. “This guy asked me on a date, but… I don’t know.”

“Not excited, huh?” He’s smiling.

“I’m just kind of”—I shrug—“meh about it.”

Isaac reaches past me to toss his bottle in the trash. His torso brushes my arm.

“Let’s just see if we can get you the opposite of ‘meh.’” His deep voice reaches into me, stirring something deep inside. I like the feeling—it’s uncomfortable in a good way, but automatically I want to fight it. How can I stop that?

Isaac pulls back, and the lid on the metal trash can slams shut.

“I have to run out for something.” He says. “Will you be ready soon?”

“I can be. I need to finish Claire’s pasta.” The water is just starting to boil. “What should I wear?”

Isaac’s already on his way to the front door. “Casual.” He winks and walks out.

Dropping in the pasta, I mentally sift through my clothes.

While I stir, I pair one thing with another and then dismiss it until, finally, I think I’ve got it.

“Lucia,” I call out. She and Claire are playing in the living room. I’m spooning food into a pink plastic bowl when they walk in. “Claire’s dinner is ready. Do you need me to do anything else?”

Lucia waves me away. “I could’ve made pasta, you know.”