Page 7 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
Did I harbor a secret crush on him? Of course. I was a teenager and it was harmless. He lived half a world away, was eight years older than me, and was never an option. Not that I wanted him to be an option. He was a fantasy… again, a crush. It’s always been there though.
Now he’s here, and if I’m completely honest with myself, he’s even more crush-worthy than ever. The past thirteen years have done nothing but increase his appeal. The rugged, thirty-five-year-old Breck beats out the boyish twenty-two-year-old one by miles…
I shake my head. Even if he wasn’t here to escape what sounds like a shitty situation, I’d never, ever date Wes’s best friend. I wouldn’t chance our relationship, and Lord knows he never liked his Navy buddies sniffing around when I would visit him in Lemoore, where he spent most of his career.
Why am I even thinking about this?I look back at my phone with a sigh and finally type out a message… No more overthinking. This is Wes’s friend; I can help him get settled without thinking about his sharp jawline and deep-cut dimples, or the way his lips look when they…Nope.Rein it in.
Me
Hey Breck, it’s Rory. What are you and Willow up to this afternoon? I could show you around, maybe grab lunch?
The three dot bubble pops up almost instantly and I watch it dance with anticipation.
Breck
That would be great actually. We spent the whole morning unpacking. Could probably use a break. What time?
Me
I can walk over now.
Breck
Great, see you soon.
See, was that so hard?
I pull on my heavy puffer jacket and a mint green beanie low over my ears. The walk between my condo and theirs is short, but it’s in the low thirties outside. My fleece-lined jeans keep my legs toasty as I walk out my door and down the steps to the sidewalk, my breath puffing out in white clouds around me.
I stomp up the stairs to their porch, knocking the snow off my boots as I go. I reach a gloved hand for the doorbell but before I can press it, the door swings open and I falter back a step. Willow’s sweet smiling face is a welcome sight, settling the surprise of the moment before.
“Rory!” she squeals and launches herself at me, and I smile ruefully.Like father, like daughter.
I’ll never forget when I walked into Wes’s hospital room and Breck enveloped me in a hug that could only be described aslife-changing. If I couldn’t have a hug from Wes—who was laid up and unable to move from his bed—Breck’s was the next best thing. It was different from yesterday’s, which had an edge to it, something under the surface, almost like he was touch-starved.
You’re reading too much into it, Rory. It was just a hug.
I squeeze Willow a little tighter, just in case I’mnotall that far off the mark and she could use one too. I gently shuffle us into the entryway so I can close the door behind me. It’s cold and she’s in nothing but little sleep shorts and a T-shirt. This girl needs flannel pjs or she’s going to freeze.
“Hey, sweetie. How’d you sleep?” I ask, then let my eyes travel over her head to Breck standing just inside the kitchen. He’s leaning against the island, a grin spread across his face like it was carved there. He seemsalmostnormal, so close to being the over-the-top golden retriever type guy I remember. Then I remind myself he’s likely not that guy right now and that appearances can be deceiving during a crisis.
“Probably would have been better ifsomeone,”Breck says, shooting a pointed glance at Willow,“hadn’t slept with her feet in my face half the night.”
Willow’s bright giggle escapes her, and she releases me to run over to her dad.
“At least they’re not as smelly as yours.” She sticks her tongue out at him and bolts.
“I’ll get you for that, little ankle-biter.” He lurches forward but she’s already out of reach, running past me for the stairs to her room. Her laugh cascades through the house as she goes.
“Ankle-biter?” I inquire with a raised brow. He lets loose a laugh, settling against the counter again. He’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a thermal Henley that hugs his chest and arms. His hair is damp and a little disheveled, like he ran his hands through it just before I walked in the door.
“I guess they don’t call kids that here? It’s a term of endearment in Australia… at least, it is when they’re being little pests.” He sayspestswith affection and humor. “Anyway, come on in. She’s going to get changed but wanted to wait to see you.”
His Australian accent wraps around me, a hug in itself. Damn, I love the way it sounds.
“She’s a really sweet kid, Breck.”
His face softens at my words, and my heart melts a little with it. I might’ve only gotten the Cliffs Notes version of what happened from Wes, but I couldn’t imagine putting on a brave face and trudging on like he is.
