4. Adrian

4

ADRIAN

S he finally turns around, and the look on her face almost breaks me.

It's not the raw, naked, open look she gave me when I first walked in, before she remembered who I am and the reasons I shouldn't be here. Her forehead crinkles, her lips press together, and her eyes squint.

Oh, fuck me, is she about to cry?

I should leave her alone. She doesn't want me here. Britt stepped away from me six months ago and I don't think anything has changed for her. She doesn't want to pursue me. Hell, she probably managed to completely kill whatever feelings she had for me.

But Jesus, it's good to see her face and look into her dark-blue eyes. Mine trace the curve of her jaw and the slope of her long neck. She's wearing a wide-necked white sweater that's falling off one shoulder, exposing a white lace bra strap. Her thick, light-blond braid rests in the crook of her neck. I picture myself burying my face in that space, and the vision ignites inside of me like a lit match thrown at a dry pile of leaves.

Damn. That's something I should not be thinking about.

"You should go." Her voice is unsteady, hands clasped together, door still open and letting cold air spill in. "The meeting's over."

I breathe in to respond, but what do I say? I don't want to leave yet?

"I want to help," I say instead. "I'm, uh, trying to get more involved in things since the divorce."

She flinches at the word and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Reese handled everything with Chelsea and the school. It's kind of overwhelming."

Her eyebrows lift, but she stays silent.

"Do you know what it's like to try to get in with all those moms?" I nod my head toward the empty driveway. "They are so judgmental. I could use some tips on how to break in. And that online homework system? For fuck's sake, that's impossible to understand."

The words pour out of me. I am trying hard for Chelsea, but it never feels like enough.

The corner of her mouth quirks, but she doesn't let the smile form.

"I don't know how to break into the PTO mom circle either," she says. "So I'm not sure I can help you."

"Britt." I sigh. "I want to be a good dad." My voice cracks at the end.

"You are," she murmurs, her face softening. "Just worrying about that stuff means you are."

I shake my head, stand, and approach her. She takes a visible breath, her shoulders raising up. I stop right in front of her and reach past to push the door gently shut, leaving my hand pressed against the door just above her shoulder. We're so close now. I should move away.

"I've missed you," I say instead. "As a friend, of course."

She moves her head back and forth with firm motion, breaking our gaze and shutting her eyes, as if to push an unwelcome thought out of her mind. I take that as a cue to give her more space, so I step back and let my hand drop to my side.

"I don't think we can be friends. I respect you wanting to get more involved. But here? With me? It's not a good idea."

Her words are a stab in my chest.

"I want to help. I want to make things right. Between us."

Britt's eyes fly open.

I wait for her to ask what I mean by that, but she doesn't. Thank fuck, because I don't know.

This isn't fair of me, and I know it.

"What I mean is, we're going to see each other all the time. You know, at school stuff. I think we can be friends."

She flinches. "Friends?"

"Acquaintances?" This time I flinch. "For Chelsea and Jackson's sake."

But it's more than that.

I have a lot to make up for, because I messed up so many times.

With Chelsea.

With Reese.

With Britt.

That feeling I had at the airport? Everything changed when I realized the meaning behind her words. I still don't understand the chaos that sprung up then and hasn't left me alone since. I think I just miss her friendship. But that feeling hasn't faded.

I can't get Britt out of my head.

But I'm not my mother, or my father. I didn't cheat on my wife, and I'm only here to be friends. I told Reese I had no feelings for Britt.

I take Britt's hands in mine. She lets me, her eyes shining, and the connection sends little tingles through my fingers up my arms.

"Please. And honestly? You need to find a hundred boxes of lights."

"Two weeks before Christmas." She bites her bottom lip and I resist the urge to reach out and run my thumb along that same spot where her tooth is making an indentation in her skin.

"Exactly. You may need the help, both physically and mentally. You'll need a strong constitution to visit that many stores."

"Alright," Britt says with a groan and half smile. "But I have to start in the morning. It's a Wednesday. Don't you have to work?"

I do, but I won't. Not if I have a chance to spend the day with Britt. Suddenly, it's the most important thing to me. Her hands are warm and I don't move. I don't want to scare her away.

"Nope. Took the day off."

A soft smile crosses her face, a breathtaking improvement from her pained expression five minutes ago.

"Heard you've been at CrossFit."

"Mmm-hmm. I started back a few weeks ago. You should too. Not sure how motivated I'll be to keep going without you."

She grins, then pulls her hands from mine, turning her palms up. "My lifting callouses are gone. I need to start working out again before I turn to mush."

"Never." The woman is far from mush, and I wish I could wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me to prove my point. My eyes drift down over her body, and when I lift them back up, her cheeks are flushed.

She takes a step back, checking herself from what's going on between us.

Oh, fuck.

Friends. Friends. Friends.

I chant it in my head, hoping that'll help me keep myself in line. Friends don't head-to-toe check each other out. Neither do acquaintances. My face grows warm.

"Tomorrow." She swallows. "Pick me up at nine?"

"Absolutely."

Britt opens the door, letting the winter air rush back over me, like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

"Good night, Adrian."

With that, I leave, a slight spring to my step.

In the end, that turned out better than I'd imagined. It's the perfect plan, to be friends with Britt again, to make sure there's no awkwardness or hiding from each other at school events.

Nothing could possibly go wrong.