View With Your Heart: a small town romance (Heart Collection Book 5)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Of course, I remember her,” Mum practically says at the same time, a hesitant smile crossing her lips.

  “Sarah is one of my best customers,” Britton says proudly, still looking at Mum. She offers Mum a soft smile and the moment almost breaks me.

  I’m stumped once more that my parents not only remember Britton but know her business, and they never mentioned it. No one has told me anything about Britton McKay.

  But why would they? Britton’s question haunted me last night. As I sat on the couch in my rented condo, I stared out the window at a partial moon, recalling memory after memory of a girl and a boat on the water, and continued to wonder why no one has told me she was here and why it’s bothering me so much.

  Three years. She’s been here almost three years, roughly the same amount of time since my injury. How could I not know she’s been here this whole time?

  Britton’s eyes shift from Mum to me before her hand slips from Mum’s back.

  “I should get going,” Britton says, but I reach out for her wrist. It’s not aggressive, but it is quick as I don’t want her to slip away from me yet.

  “Have a drink with me?” I blurt, and Britton’s mouth falls open. Mum’s naked brows lift in surprise, but Dad’s eyes pinch.

  “We need to catch up,” I say, defending my invitation and my actions.

  “Is that what they call it?” Dad mutters as his first words to me. He didn’t dislike Britton, but he didn’t like her either. He thought she was a distraction I didn’t need before I left for college, and he had a few choice words about her during that summer. Words that almost brought us to blows.

  Feeling the need to protect her even now from the harshness of my father, I step closer to her, still loosely holding her wrist.

  “I’ll see you guys Saturday.” Elk Lake City hosts their annual Harbor Days this time of year. Why it overlaps the film festival, I’ll never understand, as the two compete for attention. Then again, they are both successful in their own right, and the hotels and restaurants in the area thrive during this extended weekend. I promised my family I’d spend some beach time in town with them. I’m a little old for the carnival rides and fireworks and have a dinner to attend as Saturday is the closing night for the film festival, but I’m looking forward to some downtime. My head turns to Britton, wondering if she’ll be hanging out in town. As a local business owner, it could be a busy day for her as the population will triple in size.

  Mum leans forward, patting my cheek. “It was wonderful, lovie. We’re so proud of you.”

  Dad holds out a hand to be polite and tips his chin without any additional words. Shaking my head, I dismiss the fact I can’t get a read on him.

  Britton and I stand still, watching them exit through the main doors before I turn on her. “So, a drink?”

  “I really shouldn’t.” Her head tips forward, and her hair falls around her face. She strokes back one side and holds her hand on the side of her neck in a signature move I’d seen a million times that summer.

  “It’s only a drink,” I say, but I don’t want to pressure her. Zoey drank too much, and it was one thing I grew to dislike about her long before she decided she wanted to be done with me.

  “How do you know my parents?” Besides the obvious history, she seems all too familiar with Mum now. I chuckle, still stunned at the fact.

  “As I said, your mom is a regular in the tea shop. We have a special blend she claims settles her stomach after her chemotherapy.”

  Crap. Right. Shit.

  “I-I should know that.” I scratch at the back of my neck, upset with myself that I don’t know these things about Mum and her condition. “Well, hopefully, she doesn’t give away all my secrets when she comes to TeasMe!”

  Britton’s head snaps up at the mention of secrets, and then her gaze falls toward the doors. Her forehead furrows. “No, she doesn’t tell me anything about you.”

  That’s puzzling. Mum loves to brag, so it’s strange she wouldn’t mention me to Britton any more than she’s mentioned a favorite tea and one particular tea shop owner who was once important to me. Has Mum mentioned Britton? Could Karyn have been correct, and I didn’t ever pay attention? Surely, Britton’s name would have stood out to me. She’s still important to me, and I sense it as she stands before me.

  “It’s Adams, by the way,” she says, turning her attention back to me.

  “Excuse me?” I don’t understand what she means.

  “My last name. It’s no longer McKay but Adams. Mrs. Patrick Adams.” Her tone turns harsher as her eyes flit up and down my body.

  “Okay.” The word lingers between us. What am I missing here? She told me her husband passed away years ago. Why the defensive tone? Is this about the mysterious man in her life?

  “How about ice cream?”

  “What?” She chuckles softer.

  “Let’s get ice cream instead, unless you’re full from the Twizzlers, candy girl.”

  Britton shakes her head, her blond hair swaying like curtains in the breeze. “No, I didn’t eat all the candy.” I hold my breath waiting on her to call me sport, but she doesn’t.

  “So? Ice cream?” It’s safer than a drink but also less intimate, and I realize I need to use kid gloves here if I want to get close to her again. And I want to get close to her in more ways than I thought.

  + + +

  We step out into the warm late summer evening and stroll through Traverse City until we find a newer ice cream shop than the one I remember.

  “Lick It? That isn’t seriously its name,” I tease.

  “It is, as in I licked it, and it’s mine.” Britton giggles after speaking, and two things turn my head quickly in her direction as I open the door for her. One thing is how much her laughter goes straight down my chest to another place on me, and the second thing is how that place has a mind of its own regarding licking and calling her mine. Her face heats, turning a sweet shade of light pink as she avoids my stare once we’ve stepped inside. I’d like to lick her, tracing the spreading color to see how far it spreads, and instantly, I recall doing something similar, using my tongue to outline various parts of her body.

  God, she was so sweet, so responsive then.

  “They even have an ice cream called Blue Balls,” she adds, digging her embarrassment deeper, and the pink color brushing her skin turns brighter. “It’s two scoops of blueberry ice cream.”

  “No shit.” I laugh.

  “Thankfully, that’s not the name of their chocolate ice cream,” she jokes.

  “Ew.” I laugh harder, and her face turns even darker red.

  “Sorry. I spend too much time with a twelve-year-old boy and now a seventeen-year-old teen.” She swipes at her hair, and my fingers twitch to follow the path, touch her skin just under her ear, and nip at her neck like I often did after she made this signature move.

  “Yeah, how did you end up with him?”

  “Which one?” Her head sharply turns toward me, eyes narrowing.

  “Either. Both. You said Gee is twelve. That’s pretty close to a year after I saw you.” Britton’s eyes widen, but it’s our turn to order, and her head swivels toward the kid asking to take our order.

  “Ah, just mint chocolate chip in a sugar cone, please.” Her standby order brings more reminders of ice cream dates at a local place in Elk Lake City and nights of making out in my dad’s truck afterward.

  Jesus. I need to settle down on the memories, especially the ones of her spread over my thighs, grinding into my zipper, causing us both to lose our minds as we kissed like we needed the other to breathe.

  Britton is quiet once I order. I go for the Michigan favorite Superman, which is really vanilla-tinged fluorescent colors of yellow, blue, and pink. Once we each have a cone, we step outside and walk down the street a bit, giving ourselves space from the busyness outside the ice cream shop.

  “So, Gee? He loves baseball, obviously, which I think is cool. What else can you share? Tell me something else that makes him great
besides being your son?”

  “Why?” Britton asks. Lowering her cone, she stares up at me, and I shrug.

  “I don’t know. Isn’t that what moms do? Talk about their kids?”

  “Is that really what you want to talk about?” The question throws me off. I want to know more about her, and I’m assuming he’s a central element to her life. I want to know about her marriage, her business, ballet, and why she decided to settle here. I want to know everything.

  “Don’t you?”

  She shakes her head, looking off in the distance. “It isn’t that I don’t want to speak about Gee. He’s wonderful. He’s the love of my life. He’s my son, but I was hoping to go out tonight and not be a mom for a few minutes.” When her bright blue eyes turn back to me, I freeze. Is she wanting something from me? I’d give her anything at this moment to have her looking at me like she did that weekend. The weekend those innocent eyes lowered in sultry acceptance of my proposition. The weekend where sex-satisfied eyes looked up at me when she was under me.

  Then again, it wasn’t all about sex. Her eyes sparkle when she laughs and hold something special when she talks about Gee. As we stand here eating ice cream, I realize what I’ve missed most about Britton is her. I miss hanging out with her, doing casual things, and laughing. These are things I haven’t done in years.

  “Fine. No mom questions.” I wink at her as I take another lick of my ice cream, letting the coolness linger on my tongue. Britton’s sapphire eyes heat at the motion, turning a brighter blue, and I stroke my tongue over the cold scoop once more just to witness those eyes sizzling.

  “I have a question.” Her eyes drop, and she licks at her ice cream before asking, “What about you? Married? Children?”

  I scoff. “Not married. No children.”

  Britton takes a long lick of her ice cream, circling the scoop with the flat of her tongue, and my dick tightens, imagination running wild with thoughts of her tongue stroking over me like that cold treat.

  “Against marriage, huh? And children?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head to rid the thoughts of that mouth, those lips now sucking up some mint chocolate chip. “Just hasn’t happened. Either one.” Strangely, I hadn’t had the desire to marry Zoey. We’ve been together for years. First, as someone who reached out to me and became my agent, and then as lovers living together, but I can confidently say marriage never crossed my mind with her. There was a lack of commitment always hovering in our relationship, and the proof came when I was injured and Zoey moved on. As for children, Zoey was firmly against having any, and I’d agreed for the same reason as that lingering doubt of loyalty. I couldn’t see her being a mother even if I did want children.

  I don’t say these things to Britton, though. I don’t want to talk about Zoey any more than she mentions her late husband.

  “Gavin, I need to tell you—”

  “You have something here,” I interrupt her, swirling my finger around her mouth as a drip of ice cream sticks in the corner of her lips. She quickly swipes at her lip with the tip of her tongue, tipping her cone in the other hand and a drip of ice cream dribbles down her fingers.

  “Now you have something here.” My fingers circle her wrist, lifting the hand holding her cone, and I lick at the melty mint chocolate coating her knuckles. Britton’s eyes widen at the bold move, and I realize we’re standing closer to one another than a moment ago.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice drops, suggesting the opposite in her husky tone.

  “I licked it. Does that mean it’s mine?” I have no idea where the flirting tone comes from, but I mean every word.

  If I lick her in other places, will she be mine again?

  “Gavin.” My name whispered from her reminds me of a hundred times she’d say my name just like that, exhaling it as she rocked over me, desperate between kisses when she needed to catch her breath. I step closer to her, still holding her wrist.

  “You have something here, too.” With a quick snap, pressure on her wrist forces the cone toward her face, coating her lips in mint chocolate chip.

  “Gavin,” she shrieks in shock at the cool sensation on her mouth, but I lower to claim there as well. When my lips hit hers, she stills, freezing under me while I suck her lips between mine and swipe the tip of my tongue over the curl of them to clean them. Jesus, she tastes like summer, memories, and mint. I pull back no more than a centimeter before returning to her lips, eagerly taking more of her.

  I want that summer back. I want those memories restored. I want so much more than I can define from her.

  Still not responding to me, I try again. “Kiss me, Brit.”

  Her mouth opens, and my tongue rushes forward, combining the heat of mine with the coolness of hers. Instantly, I’m hungry for her in ways I haven’t hungered in years. Tipping her head to the side, I take her mouth deeper, my tongue demanding. Aware that I still hold an ice cream cone in one hand, I use the other to dip my fingers into her hair, holding her head, keeping her against me.

  Too soon, I feel her shutting down, pulling back from me, and I chase her, not wanting to let her go. Not yet.

  Just one more kiss, Brit. I’d said that to her on the morning I came to say goodbye as a teen. We promised we wouldn’t make a production of things. We wouldn’t drag out our farewell, but I wasn’t ready. She was only sixteen and had years of high school to finish. I was off to college. It wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t ideal. We agreed to let the summer be what it was. And it was over too fast.

  A firm hand nudges my shoulder, and once I lean away, I feel a cold sensation against my bicep.

  “Gavin, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes are trained on the large swipe of mint ice cream against the sleeve of my dress shirt, but when those blue orbs lift to mine, it’s more than the shirt she’s apologizing for.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Shit.

  “Because you have a man?” I question, worried I’ve forced her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Britton would be loyal, unlike Zoey. She’d never cheat on someone, and I’m not asking her to. I’ve fucked this up.

  “I need to go,” she mutters and brushes past me. As her feet carry her away, she dumps the remainder of her cone in a garbage bin. I rush after her, afraid if she walks away, I’ll never see her again. I’ll lose her as I did all those years ago.

  “Don’t go. I’m sorry. I got carried away.” My voice pleads, but I’m not truly sorry. I kissed her, and I want more. However, her pace increases until she begins to run away from me, and I falter to a halt. I can’t chase her down the sidewalk, but my heart tells me otherwise. I have this strange sense Britton holds the key to the thing I’ve felt missing in my life. The thing which seems just out of my grasp, waiting for me to catch it. Like that ball coming down the first baseline, ready to change my life forever.

  Only this time, nothing inside me will break.

  Take 10

  Scene: The Lake Boat Ride

  [Gavin]

  My headspace is out of whack the next day when I meet the guys at Tom’s house. I’m tempted to continue down the road to Britton’s, but I hold back and turn into my brother-in-law’s driveway instead. He has a dock on his property, as many homes here do, where his boat sits. It’s a pontoon made for comfort and partying, and I’m looking forward to a lazy day on the water, reminiscent of days long ago.

  Tom Carter is tall, lean, and lanky, still sporting dark hair with speckles of gray at his temple as he turned forty last year. He was always the jokester among us, and despite being older than his brother Jess by four years, they are tight as friends and shared business owners.

  Jess is already present.

  Leon Ramirez arrives on a motorcycle. His Hispanic descent and dark features give him a hard-edged appearance. His face is cut sharp, and he’d make a decent male model. Thank goodness Zoey isn’t here, or she’d try to recruit him. I didn’t officially meet him the other night as I disappeared from the party to find Britton in the road, but I remem
ber Tricia’s face when she pointed him out. For her sake, I hope he’s a better man than her previous husband.

  Ethan shows up with Jacob Vincent, someone I only met during the film showing. He’s Pam Carter’s man and looks like a scrapper. Only an inch or two shorter than me, he’s a cross between a college professor and a wannabe fighter. It’s like Clark Kent. If he took off the glasses, a hidden superhero exists underneath the spectacles. It’s obvious his nose was broken once, and he has a scar on his forehead. Jacob’s vibe is more pissed off at the world while Leon’s got the look of a man who did time. However, both men are cordial enough.

  Throughout our day, I learn more about them while catching up with Tom and Jess. It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with just guys. I always had my teammates, and then I had the film crew. Joe Scanlon, my future business partner, is awesome, but this is different. These guys are family, and the new members feel like old friends.

  “So, the movie industry,” Jacob says. “I know a few people in the business.”

  “Oh yeah, like who?”

  Jacob looks at Ethan as if questioning if he can trust me. Seeing something in my brother’s eyes, he answers. “My father is Nicholas Vincentia. He’s a supporter of film.”

  Holy shit, I know the name and vaguely remember Ethan asking me about him almost a year ago.

  “That’s awesome,” I say.

  “Yeah, too bad, he’s not.”

  Ah. Point made.

  “Well, Joe and I aren’t looking for favors. He has a lot of connections where I don’t. I’m just the money man.” I laugh, but it isn’t totally true. Our new venture will be a partnership. “Besides, Zeke Steinmann is the father of my former girlfriend, Zoey. He runs Steinmann Studios.”

  Jacob chuckles. “I know Zoey.”

  “No shit,” I tease.

  “No shit.” He offers no further explanation, and I don’t ask. If he fucked my ex when they were teens, I don’t need to know.

  “You aren’t with Zoey anymore? When did that happen?” Ethan asks.