Page 48 of Small Towns, Wild Hearts

“You want to play cards?” Easton asked.

I smiled at the memory of us playing in the screened-in porch while it rained. We’d sit on the porch until the rain got on the cards, then we’d move to his room.

I tried not to think about playing on his bed now. That would lead to nothing but trouble. The good kind of trouble. A tingle traveled down my spine. The one-night stand you indulged in and thought about for the rest of your life.

Looking at Easton, I said, “I’d love to.”

He threw some blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the hearth, making it cozy and inviting.

I settled in front of the fire while Easton opened a low cupboard, revealing games, and pulled out a deck of cards. I waited while he sat cross-legged in front of me and shuffled the deck. I was mesmerized by how his fingers moved. Sure and confident.

My cheeks heated, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the fire.

Easton looked up. “War?”

“Let’s do it.” It was our go-to game when we were kids. We could play for hours without declaring a winner. Sometimes, we’d save our cards and continue the game the next day. It wasn’t the conclusion that mattered; it was the time spent slapping cards down until there was the inevitable tie.

“I haven’t played War in years,” Easton said, dividing the deck in half.

“Not since playing with you.” It felt intimate to share that detail. Growing up, my older brother, Logan, wasn’t interested in playing cards or games. He was more interested in school and having a social life.

Easton merely arched a brow as he offered his first card.

I flipped mine over next to his.

Easton smiled when his jack beat my three of hearts.

We got into an easy rhythm of flipping over cards and teasing each other. I forgot about what was waiting for me at my grandfather’s house.

I got lost in the mindless activity. Just like when we were kids, we lived for the ties, hoping to best each other and take the other’s ace or joker. Just like when we were kids, there was a lot of trash-talking and accusations of cheating.

After a while, I stretched my back, stiff from sitting on the floor for so long.

Easton stood and went over to the windows. “It’s eased up.”

I hoped he wouldn’t insist on escorting me home. I wanted to stay. I wanted to spend more time with the boy who’d very clearly become a man.

He moved to the wall of windows behind the couch. “The backyard is flooded.”

I stood next to him.

His property had a retaining wall along the water, so the grass was usually higher than the water level. When the tide was low, you could walk under his pier and play on the beach. Now, the water was even with the grass, and a small current of water flowed through the yard.

I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.

“Cold?” Easton asked.

“A little bit.” It was more a sense that I didn’t want to be alone in that house. Not only because it held memories but because the storm made me feel unsettled.

He wrapped an arm around me, tucking me into his side. It was natural to rest a palm on his chest and my cheek on his shoulder. It felt good. Too good.

Every inch of my skin tingled at the contact with his as we watched the current go by. “I could stare at the water forever.”

“Me, too. I can’t live anywhere that’s not on the water.”

I eased back to look at his face. “It’s in your soul.”

He nodded before returning my gaze. “I think it is.”

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