Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1)

by Jennifer Millikin

  Aubrey holds out a hand. “Let’s go, little one. Peanut butter and apples await you.” They walk inside, and I hear Aubrey tell Claire to wash up before she eats.

  John stands and I follow suit. He extends a hand.

  As I’m shaking it, he says “Don't forget to clean out the lint trap in the dryer, Isaac, or she'll come after you too.” He laughs to himself and walks inside.

  For me, the funny part is that I'm seriously considering forgetting, just so Aubrey will come after me. Because I want her to.

  And that gives me an idea.

  I keep trying not to think of last night, I keep telling myself it would’ve been just another hour. Meant nothing. But the problem is that I'm spending so much more than one hour thinking about it. I can still feel his five o’clock shadow scraping across my stomach, my body catching a fire of desire and urgency.

  That's one of the reasons I felt relieved when we walked into my dad's house and I saw how messy it was. Putting myself to work helped me separate from my thoughts. The other reason was that it made me feel needed. It was nice to walk in and see the effect of us living apart.

  Now we're back at Isaac's place. Our place. And I'm still cleaning because I have no idea what else to do. Why can’t there be some kind of instruction manual for awkward situations like these?

  I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, folding Claire's laundry, when Isaac taps on my door. I know it's him because Claire's taking a nap. And because she hasn't yet mastered the fine art of knocking.

  “Hey," I call out.

  The door opens, and Isaac steps in. Immediately my neck feels hot. I don't know if he knows how incredibly good-looking he is. Is it the eyebrows? The chocolate eyes? Those full lips, the lower one in a perpetual pout. Or is it his smile?

  It may be a mix of everything, but that smile has them all beat. I really, really like when he smiles.

  “Are you running a covert operation in here?" he asks, his tone teasing. The door closes behind him, and he leans against it.

  I lay a pair of shorts on the stack, ignoring the heat starting up in other places. “No, why?"

  “Because you closed the door to fold laundry."

  “I thought maybe you'd like some alone time. We spent the day at my dad's, so I just thought..." Doesn't everybody like alone time? The way Isaac's looking at me now, I'm guessing he doesn’t.

  “I'm good, Aubrey. I mean, I do like alone time." He comes forward, stopping when his knees are flush with the bed. He reaches over, one finger tracing my collarbone, which is exposed thanks to my tank top. “I like alone time that I spend with you."

  I freeze, one of Claire’s shirts in my clutch. My breath is shallow, desire slamming through me like a freight train. Swallowing hard, I force myself to knock it off. “Isaac, last night was—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  I take a deep breath and unfold my legs, rising so I'm on my knees on the bed. My movement knocks Isaac's magical finger off my skin, giving me the break I need. Distanced from his touch, I can think more clearly.

  “A mistake.” I finish my sentence anyway. “Our situation is messy enough without bringing sex into it.” I have to focus to keep my thoughts from straying onto memories of how close it came to that. “And definitely no more tequila for me." I smile as I say it, trying to lighten my message.

  Isaac nods slowly, his lips pushed out. “Right, the tequila. I thought you'd mention that part of it."

  “It's kind of hard not to. We’ve slept together once, it almost happened last night, and both times there was alcohol involved." I look at him pointedly.

  “Is that what you think this is? Beer goggles?"

  “Beer goggles implies something else. Misguided level of attractiveness. This..." I gesture from me to him, and back again, realizing I have no idea how to categorize us. “That first hour we used like a Band-Aid. Last night… It was an itch. One we almost scratched. You wanted to see the body that housed your daughter. I wanted to recapture the feeling of being with a man."

  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.”

  “I know,” I say quickly.

  “You’re still used to doing everything yourself.” She hugs around my shoulders. “You don’t have to anymore.”

  I nod and thank her, leaving the room as fast as I can go while still looking like I’m not rushing. I have to get away from the motherly affection. Because I love it, but I love it too much, and the force of it is too great.

  When I get to my room I go straight for the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I’m almost done getting ready when my phone chirps with a text message.

  Isaac- Someone’s at the front door. Can you answer it?

  What?

  I slip on my shoes and go to the front door, tossing a glance at Lucia and Claire on my way. Lucia glances up at me from the coloring book she and Claire are sharing. She's filling in Strawberry Shortcake’s legs while Claire tackles her hair.

  Why didn’t Lucia get the door?

  I pull it open. Isaac stands there, beaming. He extends a tub of ice cream with a note on the top.

  Not flowers.

  A tiny laugh escapes me, like a breath, then it's followed by more. I take the ice cream from him, it's chill giving me shivers, and turn it in my hands. How is it that he remembers his curbside declaration? It was so long ago.

  “No death wrapped in tissue paper for Aubrey,” he says, taking the ice cream from me and walking to the kitchen. Grabbing utensils from the drawer, he spoons out a bite for me. I reach for the handle of the spoon but he pulls back and raises his eyebrows. I roll my eyes and open my mouth, allowing him to feed me.

  Claire and Lucia giggle, and Claire asks for her own bowl. “Big,” she tells Isaac, her eyes serious.

  He gives her twice the amount I would, but I don’t say anything. Lucia’s the one who will have to deal with her sugar-high and inevitable meltdown.

  After ice cream kisses from Claire, we leave. Isaac locks the front door behind us, then pauses. He lifts a piece of hair and tucks it behind my ear. “That’s how our first date would have started.”

  “It would have been a good first date.”

  He puts a curled finger beneath my chin and lifts it. “It is going to be a great first date.” And then he gently presses his lips to mine.

  Like a gentlemen, Isaac opens the car door for me. Though I don’t need it, he offers a hand. My first instinct is to ignore it and climb in without help. I could pretend not to see the gesture, and then it would be attributed to typical Aubrey behavior. But I don’t.

  I slip my hand in his. His other hand lands on the small of my back, guiding me into his truck. It’s so proper. So… first date. Considering he had the milk before he purchased the cow, I’m surprised he’s being so gallant.

  Maybe the milk is different now. Maybe the cow has changed.

  The slam of the passenger door brings me back to the moment.

  Isaac slides into his seat and smiles at me across the space. He looks so happy, so present. So certain life will always be good to him. He turns on the truck, and I wince. The music blares through the speakers.

  “Sorry,” he yells, pushing a button on the steering wheel. The volume decreases until it’s only background noise.

  I stare at him. “Seriously?”

  “About which part? The volume or…” His lips twist. “The selection?”

  I keep the stare going a few more seconds. It won’t hurt him to sweat a little. When his eyes widen, I break my silence. “My dog died,” I croon, trying not to laugh. “My six-pack is warm,” I sing off-key on purpose. “My lady just left me, but I’m country down to my roots and my boots.”

  Isaac throws me a disgusted look and puts it into reverse. I purse my lips, my muted laughter shaking my shoulders. We pass through the residential area and move into the commercial part of town.

  “So…” I say, drawing out the word.

  “Not all country music is about dogs, beer, and women.” Isaac’s voice is defensive. Not a lot, but just enough to tell me that he really likes it.

  Still, I can’t help myself. “What about boots?” I laugh when I say the last word. “Boots and roots?” This time I can’t keep it in. I’m laughing so hard I might as well slap my knee.

  “Oh, so now Aubrey is funny?”

  I sober a little. “No, not usually. But that music… it really struck a chord with me.” I bite my lower lip, my shoulders shaking again with contained laughter.

  Now Isaac laughs too. “Fine.” He takes one hand off the wheel and holds it in the air. “I have a thing for country music. There, I said it.”

  I tap his knee. “Admitting is the first step.”

  “What’s the next step?” He stops at a red light and turns to meet my eyes. He’s backlit by the lights of the cars driving the opposite direction.

  Suddenly the cab of his truck feels full, the air thick. I drag in a breath, my chest expanding with the thickened air. How quickly we’ve gone from lighthearted teasing to whatever this is.

  I don’t have words for him. I don’t have next steps. I have only me, and the jagged scars that tell the stories on my heart.

  I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know who leaned in first. All I know are Isaac’s lips on mine, his softness yielding, melting, until we’re breathing the same air. So different from the chaste peck at the front door.

  A car horn slams through the comfort our lips create. Isaac jerks back, regains control, and moves the car forward. I do not.

  The seat back catches my slouched position, cradles my lower back, as I try to understand what happened.

  “You OK over there?” Isaac asks. He flicks a wary look at me.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. I’m letting the tail lights of the car in front of us mesmerize me.

  I am definitely not OK. I can blame last night on tequila. Haha, remember that time you introduced me to tequila and we almost hooked up?

  Even the short kiss when we left tonight could be labeled friendly.

  But not this. That kiss was us. Isaac and Aubrey.

  And the hardest part, the part I can’t stand to think of but won’t stop racing through my mind, is how good, how very right it felt just now.

  Whatever I felt for Isaac on the drive here, it’s gone now. It’s just me, him, and this battle. He brought me to this place with games, and now he’s paying the price.

  I’m competitive. And not in your average, winning is fun, light-hearted way.

  I play to win. Always. It’s why Britt won’t play games with me. She claims I suck all the fun out of it.

  “All right, Cordova. Are you ready to be dealt the death-blow?” I’m also a shit-talker when I play games.

  Truthfully, my hubris is a bit bloated right now. I’m blaming it on the kiss. My insides are still shaking. His lips were only on mine for a few seconds, but the effect of them lingers. My heart feels too soft r
ight now, and it’s making my outside more prickly than usual.

  Isaac cocks an eyebrow from his place on the other side of the Cornhole game. His final bean bag just landed short of the hole, and all I have to do to clinch my victory is make this last shot.

  Which I do. It sails through the air in a perfect arc and slips in the hole with almost no sound.

  The cheering sounds coming from my cupped mouth are loud and probably annoying, but I don’t care. “Aubrey for the win.” I say in my best sportscaster voice.

  Isaac’s laughing and shaking his head. He reaches back to our table and hands me my drink. “To the victor go the spoils.” The tinkling sound of our glasses sends a shiver down my spine.

  “And what are the spoils?” I keep my eyes on him as I drink.

  Isaac watches me, his eyes evaluating. He doesn’t speak, so I ask my question again.

  He steps closer, and the heat in my core starts up. It’s a little annoying that my body does that every time. It would be a lot easier to keep him at arms’ distance if my body would behave.

  But with his chest so close to mine…. well, how much harder do I have to work? How much harder do I need to fight?

  “To give you the spoils, I think I’ll need about an hour of your time.” His cheek rests against my temple, his words float down to my ear.

  “One hour?” My voice squeaks.

  I feel his nod. “Are you ready to go home?”

  I want to tell him yes, that when his deep voice reverberates against me like that, I’m ready to go almost anywhere with him.

  “Um-hmm,” is all I manage to say. He pulls back, looks down at me, and I see what I saw that night in the country bar. A man in need of a woman. But this time, Isaac isn’t in pain.

  Am I? Certainly not like I was that night.

  The pain is different now. A dull, unrelenting sort. Always there, never dealt with. My shadowy ghost. It beats a steady rhythm, much like my heartbeat.

  Maybe I deserve a break from that. Just a brief respite where I can pretend to be whole.

  I find my voice. “One hour.” I don’t squeak this time. I sound confident. “And Isaac?” I lift an eyebrow.