Page 53 of Grown-Up Second Chance

The days of choice were what allowed us to live together. All three of us had lived separately for a long time, although Kathleen had had her family, and I’d had Larry. Liz was used to her space and grew snappish if she didn’t get it.

Joe and I spent more time together. Many evenings we went fishing, and took trips into the park to see things my sisters and I had missed, or revisited places we’d already seen. I was still frustrated by my lack of a good camera, but I hadn’t made any move to change the situation, and Joe let it be. I refused his offer to go to church again, not finding the solace he obviously did. He told me I was bound and determined to be a heathen, and I agreed.

We didn’t discuss the kiss.

Instead, we reverted to the safe spot of friendship. I, for one, tried to ignore the desire that had been awakened.

Impossible. Every time Joe was around, there was a need to get closer. Weirdly, I had the strangest desire to sniff his skin, like animals do when they meet and greet … although the urge didn’t extend to the intimacy animals seemed to need.

Thank god for small favors.

It was crazy-making. Trying to pretend everything was normal, when all I wanted to do was touch him, hug him close, and taste him.

He seemed perfectly relaxed most of the time, but every once in a while I’d catch him staring at me with an intense look on his face. Almost always, he’d catch me looking and make a goofy face.

But I’d known what I’d seen.

He was as affected as I was.

And neither of us knew what to do about it, so we reverted to old ways and ignored the sands of time slipping through the hour glass.

I put on my make-up and costume and acted like none of it mattered.

My sisters and I intended to indulge in everything the small town of West Yellowstone had to offer for the nation’s birthday, beginning with the Firefighter’s BBQ. Joe said he’d meet us there.

“A hamburger and homemade root beer,” Liz sighed. “It doesn’t get much better than this.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

“Especially when it’s made by a good-looking man,” Kathleen said, eyeing the young man at the grill.

“Kathleen!” I exclaimed. “Michael is rolling in his grave.”

“What?” she asked. “I’m supposed to give up living because he’s dead?”

I felt my eyes widen as Kathleen studied the grill man. Then she turned back to me. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump his bones. He’s a little too young. But a girl has a right to look.”

Who was this woman? I’d never known Kathleen—practical, down-to-earth Kathleen—to do or say anything remotely sexy.

And now she was mentally undressing the fireman flipping burgers.

I shook my head.

“Besides,” Liz piped in. “Aren’t you and Joe joined at the hip? You and he are off alone all the time. Kathleen and I wonder what’s going on. You can’t be spending all that time fishing.”

“We’re just friends. We aren’t interested in each other that way,” I said.

“Why the hell not?” Kathleen asked. “Besides, you’re lying through your teeth. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“The way she looks at who?” a masculine voice asked.

“Joe!” I said, blood rushing to my ears. Had he heard our discussion?

“We were just discussing whether your intentions toward my sister are honorable,” Kathleen said.

“There is nothing going on between us,” I protested. “You’ve been reading too many of Mom’s old romances.”

The others may have missed it, but I noticed the flash of disappointment that flitted across Joe’s features.

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