Page 43 of Resisting You
“Well technically the food truck is owned by Neil’s brother. I’m not sure that counts.”
“Oh and let’s not forget this one… Shortcakes?—”
“Again, that’s not a bakery. It’s a bar. And also owned by Neil’s sister?—”
Defeated, she threw her hands in the air. “Well that family needs to learn some new skills other than baking!” she shrieked.
My eyes went wide at her ultrasonic tone.
“What?” she snapped.
“Nothing. I just had no idea you were so passionate about the bakery to square mileage ratio of New England.”
She crossed her arms and exhaled, causing a dark curl that fell across her forehead to lift and blow to the side of her temple. “I’m just frustrated.”
“Because of the kiss?”
She was quiet for a moment, her jaw twitching while I let her work out her thoughts. “Because of how the kiss wasinterrupted,” she finally whispered. “I thought we were off the PR clock and then blam. Flashes in our face. It was like high school all over for me again.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could say it gets better or easier, but it doesn’t.” Almost on cue, a photographer across the park caught my eye with a long lens pointed directly at us. Goddammit.
“Come here.” I slide my arm around her waist and turn us back in the direction of my mom’s house.
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a trail along the lake that goes to my mom’s house. I can guarantee there’s tons of privacy and it’s one of my favorite places in the world.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I’ve been to your mom’s house already for the wedding, Noah.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t see this particular spot there.” I guided her out of the town square behind the buildings to where the sidewalks disappeared and a dirt path took its place. It was peaceful, serene. And leaves were beginning to shift to yellows and oranges, forgoing their usual greenery. Even the lake looked orange as we finished the walk on the path and came to my mom’s dock.
“It’s beautiful back here,” she said, pausing to admire the water.
“If you think this is beautiful, just wait.” I took her hand and pulled her to our family’s second secluded dock hidden within a canopy of a massive tree with the steps carved into it and a ladder wedged against the trunk. I held her hand as she climbed up to the treehouse my dad had built for me and Callie years ago.
It was beyond peaceful. The only sounds were of birds chirping in a nearby tree and water gently lapping against the shoreline.
“Is this your treehouse?”
I nodded. “My dad built it for us just before he died,” I said. “I don’t really remember him. Callie does. Or she claims she does. But I don’t know, it’s like I’ve blocked almost everything about him from my memory.”
Rosa peeked out of the window of the dirty treehouse. “I can see why this is one of your favorite places in the world.”
“I come up here every time I visit. A lot of times I’ll sleep out here instead of at the Inn or inside my old bedroom.”
Rosa chuckled and ran her hand along a built in bookshelf. “I would probably do the same thing. I’d spend all my time here if it was mine. I’d read my favorite psychology books curled up in a cozy chair. Drink tea. Hell, I’d make this my office if I lived in town.”
I laughed at that. “Your office? Well, at least the rent would be cheap. Though you would need to get the McGinty’s permission, too.” I pointed out the window to the house next door to ours. “Technically this tree is half on their property, too.”
“Shared treehouse custody?”
I shrugged. “Their grandkids are only here for two weeks every summer. We were happy to share. Besides, they always head to Florida after Labor Day every year. In high school, I usedto come up here to practice my lines. Sometimes I’d find Mrs. McGinty up here secretly smoking.”
Rosa gaped at me. “Your older neighbor used to use the kid’s treehouse tosmokehercigarettes? Who was this Mrs. Robinson?”
My face soured. “Can we not turn this memory into something weird? It wasn’t like that. I promised to keep her secret if she ran my lines with me.”
Rosa’s brows lifted. “You read lines with an old lady?”
