Page 12 of Falling for Cocky Cole (Shared by the Carter Brothers #2)

IVY

E mily's coloring book is spread across Grant's coffee table, her small fingers clutching a blue crayon as she scribbles outside the lines of what I think is supposed to be a unicorn.

I watch her from the kitchen, my mind drifting miles away to my parents' orchard and what happened three nights ago with Cole.

The memory makes my cheeks burn even now.

"Look, Ivy! I made her blue because blue unicorns are rare," Emily announces, holding up her masterpiece with pride.

"That's beautiful, sweetie. Very rare indeed." I force a smile, but my thoughts are stuck in a continuous loop of Friday night replays.

Cole's hands on my waist. The sweet, tangy smell of crushed apples. His mouth against my neck as I straddled him on that wooden bench. The creaking wood beneath us. The heat. The rush. The?—

The look on Caleb's face when he walked in.

Shit.

Three days later and I still want to melt into the floorboards every time I think about it.

His eyes had gone wide, mouth slightly open, and for a single, frozen moment, all three of us existed in this bizarre tableau—me, topless, on Cole's lap, Cole’s head on my chest, Caleb framed in the barn doorway like some unwitting audience member who'd stumbled into the wrong theater.

And what did I do? What any mature, confident, twenty-five-year-old woman would do: I grabbed my shirt and ran. Fled. Disappeared like smoke.

"Can we have cookies?" Emily asks, breaking my mortifying replay.

I pull my thoughts together. “No sweetie. You’ll ruin your appetite. You’re going to have dinner at the diner, remember?

She grins. “Of course I do,” she says and goes back to her coloring book.

My mind returns to that night. I wonder what happened after I left.

Caleb had looked astonished, yes, but there was something else there.

Anger? Disappointment? His jaw had that tight set to it, the same one I've seen directed at high school boys who used to call me "Poison Ivy" when I was fifteen.

That fierce, protective look that made my teenage heart flutter wildly in my chest.

God, I hope they didn't fight. Cole didn't do anything wrong. We're both consenting adults. But something in Caleb's eyes told me he wouldn't let his brother off easily. I know that look too well—I've been cataloging Caleb's expressions since I was twelve.

My phone chimes from the counter. I don't have to look to know it's Cole. He's been texting consistently since that night, messages I've read but haven't answered:

Had fun tonight. When can I see you again?

Hey Ivy, busy week?

Thinking about you.

At least tell me you're alive?

Each one makes my stomach flip in a not entirely unpleasant way, but I still haven't figured out what to say. What are we doing exactly? Friends with benefits? It feels more than that. And it’s not supposed to.

If I keep seeing Cole, everyone will know. That's how Silvercreek works—news travels faster than the seasonal flu. And in this town, there's no such thing as "friends with benefits." You're either with someone or you're not. Complicated relationship statuses don't exist here.

People will say I'm Cole Carter's newest conquest. Another notch on his bedpost.

The thing is, I thought I was okay with that.

I'm only here temporarily, helping my parents with the orchard before heading back to Portland.

What's wrong with having a little fun? That's what I told myself when I ended up going home with him at the Antler. And then on his lap, at my parents’ barn.

I almost thought this casual arrangement would work.

Until I saw Caleb's face.

Shit. Caleb.

I force my attention back to Emily, watching her color for a minute.

Only for a minute before I see Caleb again in my mind’s eye.

Caleb's face from years ago—laughing as he taught me to skip stones at the creek behind our house, ruffling my hair when I beat him at Mario Kart, his expression softening when I cried after Brandon Miller chickened out on our first date.

Caleb is my first and only real crush. The boy next door who never saw me that way. My brother's best friend who's known me since I wore braces and collected horse figurines. The feelings I have for him are stubborn, enduring, immune to distance and time and reason.

Every time I come home, they resurface. Every time I see him, I pretend to be cool, unbothered, mature—but underneath, I'm still that girl who practiced kissing her pillow while whispering his name.

I'll never be over him. That's the pathetic truth.

"Ivy, can you braid my hair like yours?" Emily has abandoned her coloring book and stands before me, her honey-blonde wisps already falling from her pigtails. “I want to look pretty when daddy takes me to the diner.”

"Sure, come here." I pat my lap and she climbs up. Her small weight grounds me in the present as I gently untangle her hair.

My phone chimes again. Cole, surely. I should answer him. I should be honest and tell him I'm confused, that what happened was great but complicated. That I'm worried about what Caleb thinks.

That I'm still hung up on his brother, and have been for most of my life. Yup. I will do that later. After I’m done with Emily’s hair.

My fingers separate Emily's fine hair into three strands as I wonder what Cole and Caleb said to each other after I ran. Did they argue? Did Cole defend me? Did Caleb warn him to stay away?

And why do I care so much what Caleb thinks anyway? He's never looked at me the way I've always wanted him to.

Yet the ghost of his expression in the doorway haunts me. There was something in his eyes I'd never seen before, something beyond protectiveness, beyond brotherly concern.

Or maybe that's just what I want to believe.

"You're squeezing too tight," Emily complains, squirming on my lap.

"Sorry, sweetie." I loosen my grip on her hair, wishing I could as easily loosen the knot of confusion in my chest.

The light streaming through Grant's windows turns golden as the afternoon gives way to evening. Emily's hair forms a neat braid beneath my fingers. She beams when I help her check the back of her head in the mirror. “I can’t wait to show Daddy,” she says. “And why is he still not home? It’s already five ten. The special milkshake will be over at six.”

Just then, my phone rings. It’s Grant. I answer it right away. “Hi Grant, are you almost home? Emily is getting impatient.”

“Actually, I’m going to be late. A potential investor is staying at the retreat and insists I have dinner with him. Can you stay for another hour or so?”

“Sure. But you’d better talk to Emily. She’s been looking forward to the Friday dinner thing.”

“Yes, I’ll take care of that. Put me on speakerphone, please.”

I give Emily the phone. Her smile is already fading, sensing what’s coming.