Page 41 of Ocotillo Kisses
But this time, he’d be prepared. Could he let himself open up to her just that much? Would she be willing?
Would the town accept that? Because he was pretty sure his friends would not.
Not sure Britt would, either.
Now he had to sit with her awkwardly at the table with his mom.
“You want some coffee?” his mom offered, bracing her hands on the table to push herself to her feet.
“I’ve got it, Mom.” He held out a hand to stop her, even though Austin had told him to let her get up, move around the house. He knew it was hard for her, and painful. Why let her, when he was already standing? “Anyone want anything?”
Both Britt and his mom shook their heads. When he went into the kitchen, he heard his mom ask Britt about her parents. He wanted to hear the answer. He hadn’t even thought to ask. She’d told him about her sisters and her nieces on the ride, but he hadn’t thought to ask about her parents.
He looked out the back window to see the sky clearing in the distance. At least the storm wasn’t going to linger. If they’d only waited to ride until this evening...
But no, he couldn’t regret getting caught out in it, now that they were safe and warm. When he turned to collect his coffee, he noted her phone in the rice. If it was ruined, he’d take her to San Angelo to get it replaced.
It was the least he could do.
“Good that Dove made it back to your barn,” Con said as he returned to the dining room. “I wonder if she jumped the fence to get home.”
“I’m not sure, but Richard said she didn’t appear any worse for wear. So again, a relief.”
He sat across from Britt.
“And your dogs are dry and stretched out by the fire,” his mother said. “At least as dry as I could get them. Daisy conked out almost right away, but you know how Polka is about storms.”
She didn’t like them. Daisy had been a baby the last time one this bad had rolled through, and of course she hadn’t been out in it.
“Listen, Britt, I don’t know if you’re doing anything tomorrow,” he said, leaning forward, wondering what the hell he was doing. “We meet up at The Wheel House every Sunday to play washers. You’re welcome to join us. I can...come and get you if you want.” What was he doing?
He didn’t look at his mother, didn’t want to see her judgement.
Britt rose to shake the bag with her phone and the rice. “Um, I’m not sure if I should leave my grandmother alone for two days in a row, especially since I won’t have my phone.”
“Your grandmother is meeting up with me and some other ladies after church tomorrow to discuss the bake sale booth we want to have at the festival,” his mother chimed in.
Con glanced over to see her give him a small, dimpled smile. She was helping him out, that look said. Did he want his mother helping him out when he didn’t even know what he was doing?
Until he figured out his own emotions, he wanted to keep his mistakes to himself.
––––––––
BRITTresisted the urge to wipe her hands down the hips of her shorts as she walked through the gates of The Wheel House and saw Con sitting at a picnic table with his friends, leaning forward and grinning at something Sofia said. He was so handsome. The effect he had on her hadn’t changed.
She wasn’t accustomed to feeling nervous, now that she was an adult, but here she was, anxious about visiting with people she’d known her whole life.
Anxious because Con had invited her.
Anxious because she knew the others still didn’t care for her.
Britt had to admit she was a little jealous of the camaraderie of the group. She would have been a part of this, had she stayed. She was a survivor, like most of them were. She knew that had brought them together.
She was surprised, though, that none of the survivors had left town. She was the only one who had fled to avoid the grief. Did that make her weak? She didn’t feel weak, but maybe she was, in their eyes. The one who’d escaped so she didn’t have to wallow in sorrow. But they’d turned to each other and built an amazing bond. She felt like an intruder.
She was just about to turn into the bar to get a drink before she joined them when Con saw her. His smile changed a bit—she couldn’t define the change, but it was different—and lifted a hand as if to call her over.
She started toward the table, just as everyone turned to look.
