by Mia Sheridan
“Preston,” I breathed, swallowing nervously. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry about your father.”
His eyes met mine, blank for a moment, as if I’d reminded him of something he’d momentarily forgotten. Then he nodded, his expression becoming solemn, that same serious expression he’d worn since he was just a kid.
Preston . . . Preston.
Despite what I’d just experienced with his mother, I couldn’t help smiling. I’d missed him so much, more than I’d admitted to myself. It was a sudden swelling inside of me as if a balloon had been inflated in my chest.
I let out a shaky laugh. And before I could blink, he’d scooped me into his arms, holding me tightly against his body. I let out a startled squeak and then hugged him back tightly. He was so solid against me, and I melted into him, needing the comfort, the affection, to help me let go of the feeling of being seen as dirty and unwanted. Preston had never seen me that way. I had wanted so much from him that he couldn’t give, but he’d always been generous with his acceptance, his praise.
He seemed to need the physical contact, too, because we held each other for several long moments. I finally pulled back, realizing I had to feel just as soggy to him as I felt to myself. I shook my head slightly, giving him an embarrassed smile. “I’m a sweaty mess.”
He chuckled softly. “Hard to help in this weather.” He gestured down to his own button-down shirt and I saw the dampness despite the T-shirt I could see outlined beneath. “Do you want to go inside and cool down? I’m sure Cole would like to know you’re here.”
I glanced nervously at his house and he followed my gaze, frowning. “Have you already been inside?”
I shook my head, my eyes sliding away from his. I wasn’t going to tell on his mom, especially today of all days. “I just dropped off a pie. I hadn’t planned to stay.”
He studied me for a moment as if he didn’t quite believe me, but he nodded to the barn and said, “I’ve been hiding out there. I’d like to hide for a little while longer if you’ll join me?”
I let out a breath. I had wanted to get as far away from his mother as quickly as possible, but I couldn’t imagine her coming out to the barn in her heels and lipstick, and I desperately wanted to spend a few more minutes with Preston. I nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”
It didn’t escape me that I was a woman now and yet I was still sneaking around with Camille Sawyer’s boys behind her back. And it still felt worth it.
I followed Preston across the road and through the side yard of his house. A wall of lilac bushes obstructed the view of the house so I didn’t think his mother, or anyone else, could see us as we walked. I remembered the smell of the lilacs and that long-ago day I’d waited beside them as Preston had run inside to get the money to fix the disaster of my orange-dyed hair. The memory brought both a warm feeling and a sad melancholy.
Inside the barn wasn’t much cooler than outside, but it was dim and open and there was a very slight cross breeze between the open front doors and the back windows. Preston closed one of the doors, but kept one open presumably not to lose the little bit of airflow.
There were several large wooden storage boxes sitting against the wall and Preston took a seat on one. I sat on another one beside him, glancing around. We’d played in this barn once when we were little kids. It still looked the same. High-beamed ceiling, dusty wooden floor, farm equipment and machinery stored in the back, and tools hanging from hooks on the walls.
When I looked back at Preston, he was gazing at me with an unreadable expression. “How have you been, Lia?”
I shrugged dismissively, smiling slightly. “I’ve been good. How about you? Cole told me you were enjoying college.”
His jaw ticked slightly and he glanced away, staring out the back window. “I was never the one who wanted to go away. That was always you and Cole.” He looked back at me, his lips tipped up. “I liked it fine though. I stayed busy. But I guess I found out what I always suspected—my heart is here.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “In the fields and the hills and even in this unholy heat.” His eyes squinted slightly with a crooked smile and my heart flipped over.
“You never came home . . . even during the summers.”
He shrugged a shoulder, one side of his full lips turning up so very slightly. He was silent for a second and then he let out a sigh, appearing almost pained. “I couldn’t leave twice, Lia. If I’d have come back—even for a short visit—I wouldn’t have been able to leave again. Pitiful, right?”
I shook my head. “No, Preston. You love it here. I always admired that about you. Your deep love of home. The way you’ve always been committed to this farm the same way your own father . . . was.” I flinched slightly, not wanting to hurt Preston with my use of past tense when speaking of his father, whether it was accurate or not. I could only imagine that was something that would have to be accepted slowly.
He gave me a small, sad smile before his eyes shifted upward for a moment as if in thought. “My dad wasn’t much for technology, at least not when it came to computers and such. But he wrote letters while we were gone and I wrote him back. He told a few stories, imparted farming wisdom.” He gave a small shake of his head. “They were usually short and sweet, but I’ll always have them, you know?” His voice filled with emotion and he cleared his throat. “I’ll always be grateful for those letters.”
“A gift,” I said softly.
He nodded, our gazes locked. “Yeah.”
I allowed myself to stare at him for a moment, drinking in the details of his face. His expressions and the intensity in his gaze made him completely unique even though he had an identical twin. His eyes were moving over my face in the same way I imagined mine were moving over his. And oh, I’d been starved for him all these years. How had I not realized? It felt like I’d been starved for him for practically my whole life—always somewhere close but so very, very far away.
Even now, sitting here, it felt like Preston was removed from me in so many ways. Not just because of the obvious differences that had always been there, but in some deeper way I couldn’t understand. And I wanted to but I didn’t know where to begin. So much time had passed, and in some ways he was a stranger; in some ways he was so familiar. He’d been my friend—one of my only friends. I hadn’t fully realized before this moment that I’d been living with a hole in my heart. A Preston-sized hole.
With some effort, I shifted my gaze away, toward the doors that led outside. “You’re going to run the farm now?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“And Cole?” I knew he had majored in business like Preston, knew he wanted to work in some big city somewhere, but I didn’t know how their father’s death might have changed those plans.
Preston shook his head. “I don’t know if he’ll want to stay or not. We haven’t even started working through any of that. It’s all been such a shock.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, sadness moving over his expression.
I reached out and laid my hand on top of his where it rested on the box he was sitting on. He looked down quickly and watched as I took his hand in mine, holding it gently. His skin was slightly rough and I felt the shivers that had always moved through me when I touched Preston. In a flash of thought, I wondered what it would feel like if our bare skin touched everywhere—not just our hands but our thighs and our bellies and my breasts pressed to his naked chest. The vision jolted through me and I sucked in a breath, letting go of his hand and rubbing my palm on my skirt as if by doing so I could rub the erotic thought from my mind.
He was looking at me curiously. “Are you all right?” His voice sounded oddly scratchy and he cleared his throat, waving his hand through the dust motes that floated lazily in a shaft of sunlight in front of him. They dispersed momentarily, dancing madly in disarray, but then drifted back together exactly as they’d been, proving that some things could be interrupted but never forced to change in any permanent way, no matter how much effort you put forth.
I
swallowed and looked away on a small nod. When I looked back at Preston, he was gazing at me with an amused smile that lit his face. “What?” I asked.
“You still do that.”
“Do what?”
His smile grew. “Go away into your own head for a minute or two. I used to wonder so hard what you were thinking.”
I tilted my head, surprised. “Why didn’t you ever ask?”
He ran his hand through his hair, looking slightly confused. “I guess I didn’t think you’d tell me. Thoughts can be so . . . personal.”
I considered him for a minute. Yes, that was true and perhaps I wouldn’t have shared many of my thoughts with Preston—but mostly because they were so often about him.
We sat in silence for a moment and things felt suddenly awkward between us. It was because of me. Preston affected me so much that I hardly knew how to control my own reactions to him. The mixture of the deep attraction that had always been there on my part and the shyness I felt after not having seen him for so long was wreaking havoc on my system.
“Tell me about your life now, Lia,” he said quietly after a moment.
I played with the hem of my skirt for a second, feeling insecure. He’d done so much in four years, and though my life was improved, the improvements were basic and wouldn’t sound very impressive. “I . . . well, I graduated last year, and since then I’ve been waitressing at IHOP.” I shrugged, a flush of embarrassment filling my face. I hoped my skin was already red enough from the sweltering heat that he didn’t notice. “We moved into an apartment in town.” I cringed internally, remembering when he’d come out to our house and seen the shack we’d lived in. “I don’t have much more of an update than that.” The words faded away, the last one coming out more breath than sound.
He studied me for a moment, his face unreadable, before he said, “Have you been happy?”
I tilted my head, taking a moment to consider that. “Well, I won’t say slinging pancakes is my life’s dream, but . . . yeah, I’ve been happy.” I didn’t know if that was precisely accurate, not about slinging pancakes not being my life’s dream—it wasn’t—but about being happy. I’d never asked myself that question. At least not in such a direct way.
“What is your life’s dream? Is it still to get out of Linmoor?”
Is that what he thought my life’s dream was? I guessed Cole and I had always joked about that. Truthfully, though, my life’s dream had just been to get out of the tiny spaces I’d always occupied—not just where I lived, but the stifling nature of my life in general. I just wanted things around me to . . . open up. I didn’t know any other way to describe that than in terms of locations—long stretches of white sand beaches in Greece, or high mountains with winding ski trails in Austria. Or endless rows of strawberries under a wide-open sky right up the road. But somehow that dream seemed more impossible than those of far-off lands I had no earthly way to get to. I laughed softly. “I suppose.”
He was staring at me again in that intense way Preston did and though it was hot in the barn, a small shiver moved through me. It was dim and still, and we were both sweating. I could see the steady beat of his pulse under the tan skin of his neck and a bead of sweat moved slowly over it, my eyes following as it settled in the hollow at the base of his throat. And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever witnessed. My nipples tightened and a trickle of wet warmth pooled between my legs. This is how it would be on a hot night in a dim room if we were in bed together—both dewy from the exertions of lovemaking. Our combined scents filling the air. God, Lia, stop it! Stop this line of thought.
The last time I’d seen Preston, I’d been fifteen and I hadn’t understood all the reactions of my body. But I did now and I realized that it wasn’t only my heart that had always wanted him; it was my body, too.
Voices outside the barn jerked me from my thoughts and I stood quickly, looking toward the door. The low murmur of conversation moved past but whoever it’d been had helped me remember myself, where I was, and why I needed to leave. Even if Preston’s mother wasn’t likely to come out to the barn, someone else could and they might mention I was here. Not only that, but I couldn’t seem to keep my thoughts from straying to places that would only cause me hurt. “I’d better go.”
Preston stood, too. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then seemed to think better of it, pressing his lips together and simply nodding. “Okay. Let me walk you back to your car.”
I shook my head. “No, really, this gathering is for you and your family. Go back inside. I can walk myself. I’m so glad we got to visit for a few minutes. It’s really . . . well, it’s really good to see you, Preston.” My voice sounded breathy and too high and by the way he was looking at me with a small frown of confusion, I knew he heard it, too.
“It was good to see you, too. Maybe the next time I get a craving for pancakes, I’ll come see you.”
I laughed, a small sound of both humor and breath. “You know where to find me. Will you, uh, give Cole my condolences as well?”
“He’s right inside . . .”
“I know. But I really have to go.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
I nodded, we paused awkwardly, and then both stepped forward at the same time, hugging quickly again before I turned and walked out of the barn. I didn’t look back to see if he was behind me or not, I couldn’t. The hug had been too brief, and if I looked back I would want to run back into his arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Preston
The gathering was still crowded with people. I moved through them, giving small smiles to those who patted my arm, offering condolences as I passed. I was still moving through a sort of fog, in disbelief that any of this was real, that my dad was gone, and Cole and I were without him to run the farm. And seeing Annalia on top of everything else, I was desperate to find a place where I could just be alone for a few minutes.
I’d almost stayed hidden in the barn, but Annalia’s scent lingered, the sweetness of her skin mixed with the womanly musk of her sweat. It overwhelmed me and caused a boiling need inside that made the sweltering barn suddenly completely unbearable.
Our one-hundred-year-old farmhouse had never been wired for central air, but we had window units in the bedrooms. I just needed to make my way through the house and up the stairs. I heard my mother’s voice rising and falling in the kitchen, sympathetic murmurs all around her—a captive audience to her misery—and I knew she was right where she wanted to be.
She’d been an actress when my father met her on a weekend trip to Los Angeles. After a whirlwind courtship, she’d married him and moved to Linmoor. Though, I often thought she’d never really given up her day job. Or maybe she’d become an actress in the first place because she was naturally suited for it. Did she miss him? Had she ever really loved him? Or did she hate him as much as she hated being here, hated the farm life that had once probably appealed to her as romantic and instead had proven to be a way of life where nothing came easy?
I breathed a sigh of relief when my feet hit the back stairs that were out of view of the guests and I took them quickly, closing the door to the room Cole and I had always shared behind me. I turned the window air conditioning unit to high and sank down onto my bed. The whir of the fan was loud enough that the din from downstairs became muted background noise.
My body felt shaky and overheated, and I knew it was only partially from the temperature outside. Annalia. Christ. Seeing her again had been simultaneously torturous and joyful. I gripped the hair at my forehead, a sound of frustration coming up my throat. Hadn’t that always been the case? Only this time . . . this time the shock of seeing her as a woman had nearly stopped my heart. I’d felt . . . breathless. Struck mute. Consumed.
She’d always been beautiful to me, from the very first moment I’d seen her, her feet bare and her lips wrapped around a strawberry. But now her beauty was a punch to my gut, almost shocking in its impact. The sweep of her lashes over those exquisite eyes, that tiny beauty m
ark, and the way her tongue darted out to wet her full lips. Ah, God.
I’d been away for four years, and the first fucking moment I laid eyes on her again, all my pent-up longing came slamming back as if I’d never been away at all—and worse, as if the distance had only increased my desire.
I’d known she and Cole got together over the years, but I’d resisted the urge to ask him for any details about her. He would have mentioned it if she wasn’t doing well in some way or another, and since he didn’t, I let that be my only solace that she was okay.
I didn’t want to picture them together, didn’t want to know what they’d done physically, whether or not she was still a virgin. More than that, I, needed to get over my feelings for her. I needed to pull away. Nothing lasted forever and surely my feelings for Lia were something attached to my hometown. As much as I’d never had any real desire to see a different part of the country, much less the world, what I did want was to remove myself from her, to pull up the roots of my yearning, the ones that had been planted when I was nothing more than a boy.
I’d needed a new perspective, some distance. Some sanity. Maybe even the experience of relationships I enjoyed, women I could date peacefully without feeling like I was tumbling head first over a cliff each time they looked at me. The way I felt with Lia.
And I’d thought I’d been successful at gaining some clarity, some peace of mind where she was concerned, but apparently, I hadn’t. Being away had only put things on hold. And maybe I’d even suspected as much and hadn’t admitted it to myself until I saw her sitting across the road from my house in an old, beat-up car. I’d pulled her to me and felt almost drunk with the soft feel of her in my arms, the dewy look of her flushed skin. I hardened in my suit pants at the memory of it now, resisting the urge to take myself in my hand and relieve the terrible, aching pressure.
I’d been with plenty of women in college. I had a healthy appetite for sex, and I liked the soft feel of a woman beneath me, but somehow, I’d always felt slightly removed and strangely guilty as if what I was doing was wrong in some way. I didn’t let myself look at that too closely because I suspected it had to do with Annalia, and she was out of reach. She was waiting for my brother, and even if she wasn’t, we’d never been more than friends, some years not even that. Even when we’d been in the same town, some years, I’d gone months and months without laying eyes on her at all. And yet still, that damn one-sided craving lingered, and I was scared to death it always would.