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But if I knew anything, I knew Reese needed to help herself too. She’d been destroyed after Simon left. I’d had to scrape her off the ground to get her back on her feet.

She’s the sensitive one,Mom said. She was, she had the biggest feelings. But she didn’t have to let men be at the center of them. It was distracting her from what she really wanted.

I should know—I was letting the same thing happen.

I cleared my throat and put on the big sister voice she used on me in situations like this. “Reese, Eli did you wrong. But maybe you should take a break from dating. Find out who you are and what you want. You said yourself you want to do other things. That Gastronomique is going to be your last restaurant job.”

I didn’t mention the singing. I didn’t want to set her off. But by the way she was looking at me, I think she knew.

“It’s time to stop letting men interfere with your dreams.”

Fresh tears glistened in my big sister’s eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “But I’m supposed to be the older, wiser one.”

“You are,” I said. “Except this time.”

But as we hugged, I knew I was only really the wiser one if I took my own advice. I needed to back away from Will Archer. Stick to Reese, to family. Focus on me and my dreams—whittled down as they were now.

It was better this way.

13

Will

Istared down at my phone, willing myself not to open my internet browser.

I won’t be a stalker. I won’t.

My thumb hovered over the keypad. Then I clapped the phone facedown on my desk, leaning back in my chair with my fingers over my eyes.

It had been weeks since I’d last seen Michelle. An eternity since I told her, in desperation, that I just wanted to be friends. It was a lie—the biggest lie I’d ever told, but it was a necessary one. I was sure of that. For her, but also for me.

The truth was, I knew, in that moment in my kitchen, with my hand in Michelle’s hair, that I was doing the thing I’d promised myself I’d never do again.

I was falling for her. And it scared the shit out of me.

It was Friday night, and Sheila and I were the only ones left in the office as far as I could tell. The only reason I was still here was to meet an artisan who needed to measure her booth space in the room where the Christmas Fair was happening. I’d agreed to meet the artist personally as they were a friend of Casey’s. Also because nobody else wanted to stay late on a Friday. There was no reason for my assistant to have to stay too.

“Sheila!” I barked. I could hear her voice through my door—she must be talking to someone on the phone.

I sat up straight, opening my email.

My eyes immediately glazed over.

Despite my inability to concentrate at the moment, I was grateful for my job this week. With Remy at her mom’s until today, I’d stayed late every night this week, keeping myself busy so I wouldn’t think about Michelle. Nights were the worst. I could read or watch a show, but once I crawled into bed, I was fucked.

In the dark, all I could see was Michelle’s face. All I could feel was her body under my hands. Or at least, how I imagined it feeling. And God knew I’d imagined it enough over the past few weeks.

Last night, I’d imagined fucking her in the tow truck. Pulling over to the side of the road and pulling her down onto the bench seat next to me. Freeing those gorgeous, full tits; bending down and taking them in my mouth.

Another night I pictured us in the presidential suite at the resort the mayor wanted me to visit, just like I’d done in Fred’s office. Only this time my imagination had no barriers. Given free rein, I pictured lifting her up onto the edge of the jacuzzi tub, her skin slick with water and soap, my tongue exploring every part of her.

But sometimes it was more innocent—or at least subtle. The sound of her voice, low in my ear. The scent of her, like my face was buried in her neck or hair. Even though it had been weeks ago, my brain kept taking me exactly where I worked so hard not to go.

This was ridiculous. I should just look at the blog.

Checking Michelle’s blog was one line I hadn’t crossed. I hadn’t read it since that night at the coffee shop. After seeing how personal it was, like a microscope on her life, I’d vowed to myself I wouldn’t. I told myself it was because it was none of my business. But the truth was, I knew the line between me keeping my distance and driving right up to her goddamn door was paper-thin. Reading her blog, the most personal, candid stories about her life, would light a flame to that divide.

I picked up my phone again.