14. Locke

"Why would you put it that way?" Elise asks over my shoulder.

"Because it's the truth," I say, putting my phone down next to me on the couch and covering it with my hand. "And stop reading my texts. I'm a grown man."

She pinches my cheeks in a way only she could get away with before hugging me from behind. "She is all alone over there, Locke. It's the nice thing to do. And sure, you've never brought a girl home in your life and now one is living here, so excuse me if I want to meet her."

My phone buzzes underneath my hand. Maybe it's a little too quickly how fast I go to read it.

Maren

I would love to. Should I get ready and come now?

Me

Any time is good.

I can feel Elise's smile against my head.

"We're not dating," I clarify for the millionth time.

"I know," she says, patting my chest once for each word I've repeatedly told her. "She's just a colleague living in your guest house. You said it yourself you haven't talked to her since she moved in. I only want to make her feel welcome."

"Conrad," I say, "tell your mother to behave."

He looks up at us from where he's playing with Emmie on the floor. "It's your own fault for telling her Maren was even living back there."

I scoff under my breath. What was I supposed to say when the first thing Elise asks me when she walks in the door is whose car is parked in front of the guest house and why are there lights on?

Conrad already thinks I'm insane for letting Maren stay, but he doesn't really know how it happened. I think he sympathizes with my irrational need to protect her—though I've never fully understood it myself. He knows I've been staying away from her and that I'm trying my best to keep her out of my head. She's been here for three weeks, but I haven't gotten a chance to speak to her. She won't come out of the house when she suspects I'm here, and the one time she thought I was gone, I had to remove myself from the window because I felt like a stalker watching her sit on my dock taking photographs of passing boats.

Leaving Maren alone is best.

When she knocks, everyone quiets down to annoyingly watch me walk out of the room.

I can see her through the window standing on my front porch in a dark blue dress with skinny straps and her wavy hair curling over her shoulders. It would help if she'd stop wearing so many goddamn dresses that are short and show off how long her legs are.

She smiles brightly when I open the door.

"You didn't have to come around to the front," I tell her.

"I felt weird," she says, smoothing out the front of her dress. There's nothing there except nerves.

I quirk an eyebrow. "Didn't you read your lease? "

She springs her head up, green eyes bright. "You have a sense of humor under there, don't you?"

"Und—"

"Maren!" Elise cuts me off and brushes past my shoulder. She gathers Maren into a hug, and I'm suddenly acutely aware that Maren is still standing on the porch because I didn't invite her inside. "I'm Elise, Locke's aunt. We're so glad you could come."

"I'm so glad one of you is a hugger," Maren says, swaying back and forth with her eyes on me over Elise's shoulder.

Elise breaks away and ushers her into the living room. I follow like the odd person out.

Elise introduces her to my uncle, who stands and bear hugs her in his booming and overpowering-but-silent way when she sticks out her hand to shake.

Maren doesn't seem to mind when she's practically picked up off her feet and giggles. "Locke was raised by two huggers."

"I'm Phillip," he laughs. "And of course, we're going to hug you. We've been waiting to meet you all evening."

I refrain from rolling my eyes. They didn't even know she existed hours ago, but they're already all in on their delusion.

When she's back on the ground, she turns to Conrad. "Conrad, right?"

"It's nice to officially meet you." He waves a hand toward Blake and Emmie lying on the rug. "This is my wife, Blake, and our daughter, Emmie."

I wonder how she feels in a room with my family, all eyes on her, but Maren doesn't miss a beat as she plops herself on her stomach next to Blake and side hugs her.

"It's so nice to meet you, Blake," she gushes. Then she turns on a cooing baby voice for Emmie. "Look how cute you are."

Emmie lifts her head in the direction of Maren's voice and babbles, her pink cheeks shiny and blue eyes bright .

"She's getting so good at tummy time," I say without thinking. Everyone slowly turns to stare at me as I sit on the couch, including Maren, who is smirking over her shoulder like she can't believe that just came out of my mouth. I clear my throat and stand before my ass has barely grazed the seat. "Yeah, I can't believe I just said that. Do you want a drink?"

"Just water, please," Maren replies.

I can hear Blake and Maren cooing at Emmie as I grab a glass in the kitchen.

While I'm filling up the water from the refrigerator, Maren walks through the wide entryway that separates the open kitchen from the living room.

"I didn't get to thank you," she says, leaning her elbows down on the island. My willpower is shot instantly as her breasts swell and form a deep groove that I swear I only glance at for a millisecond, but I can't be sure.

"For what?"

"For the lease and my car. I wanted to tell you in person, but then I didn't see you and it felt like too many days had passed to call or text without it being awkward. I'm trying not to feel awkward. So, thank you. But you haven't cashed my check."

"I'm beginning to think you're not taking your lease seriously." I slide the water across the counter. "Also, you're avoiding me."

"You're avoiding me," she counters and brings her water up to her lips in a futile attempt to hide her smile. "What happened to mature adults?"

I watch her throat as she swallows. I watch her lips as she licks them. My mind is only in one place—a stairwell in a hospital.

When our eyes meet, her body skips like there is a blip in the matrix. Then the oven timer beeps just as Elise walks into the kitchen like it's resetting the universe.

Of course, she'll be the first to pounce. "Maren," she says, putting on oven mitts, "where are you from? "

"Outside of Orlando," Maren replies as she pulls out a bar stool and slides onto it.

The smell of the roast that's been cooking for hours fills the kitchen when Elise opens the oven door.

"A fellow Florida girl." Elise smiles. "I lived in Tampa my entire life, but we moved near here to help with Emmie when she was born."

Maren matches her smile. "I love that. I'm sure Locke is happy to have his family close too." She motions to the bowl of lemons, bag of sugar, and black juicer. "Can I help make the lemonade?"

Elise considers it and nods, only so she can trap Maren in the kitchen to pepper her with questions. "Did you go to the University of Florida?"

"Nope," Maren says. "Florida State for photography. Well, no, that's not true. Technically, I majored in business, then I'd take all these photography electives that didn't count toward my degree at all, but I like to joke that I minored in it. My mom was thrilled, and I racked up some nice student loans."

Her eyes fall on me briefly as I walk out, but this conversation is not one I want to be a part of. Nothing good can come from getting to know more about Maren.

My skin has been buzzing for weeks, like I'm having a withdrawal from the contact of her body against me everywhere, and it's finally somewhat bearable.

I've never had such a strong reaction to a woman before. The others were like downers, dulling my brain, but Maren, she's an upper, speeding up my nervous system. I don't know if it has to do with my irrational protection of her or her praise kink or what, but I do know she makes me feel like I'm high.

One minute later, my plan doesn't work when Conrad and Blake decide to go sit on the porch swing with their drinks while I sit on the floor and flip through a picture book for Emmie's viewing pleasure (I also happen to know that a baby's eyesight gets better at four months).

Phillip stays in the recliner, invested in the college basketball game.

And fuck the modern, open kitchen—why don't people want privacy anymore?—because I can hear them clear as day now.

"—was never my passion. I actually want to be a lifestyle photographer. Capturing the little moments is what makes me happy."

Elise cracks up. "You hate golf?! But you take pictures of golfers for a living!"

"I know," Maren giggles. "My brother-in-law got me the job. He's a personal doctor for a few of the players on the tour. Do you play?"

"I dabble. I picked it up when I suggested Locke should try it. It seemed like the perfect sport for him to channel himself into, so it became our family thing. Of course, within a few months, Locke made it not so fun for everyone else when he was pulling ahead by ten-plus strokes, but he still appeases us and waits only a tiny bit impatiently to finish each hole."

I roll my eyes to myself as I point out the pink pig on the page and make a low oink sound. Emmie stares, her little blue eyes full of baby disparagement.

"Don't judge me," I whisper. "I'll teach you how to play golf, and I'd never be impatient. You're the only person I'd ever consider teaching, so you should feel lucky. Plus, you'll be better than all of us."

Emmie bats the book out of my hand, and after I pick it up, I have to orient myself back in their conversation.

"—honored to take photographs of you and Emmie. I could never charge you."

"Does this weekend work?" Elise asks. "We could swing back by here. Take them outside in the backyard."

"I would love that," Maren replies. I can hear the huge smile that she must have plastered across her face in her voice, and she can't hide how happy she sounds.

"You have to charge people if you want it to be your job," Elise teases.

Maren drops her voice to an exaggerated whisper. "Locke won't cash my checks so we're even."

"Fine, then I will recommend you to all of my friends," Elise says.

"Thank you! I'd love that. I've been wanting to do some family portraits in my spare time. It's not practical and will never happen, but I do wish it could be a full-time job for me one day. My sister is having a little boy in a few months, and I took some maternity photos of her if you'd like to see them."

I steal a glance.

Maren is leaned over the island, her dress riding up a few inches and the bottom of her ass just hidden from view. Elise is hunched over looking at the phone between them and admiring the pictures with ohs and ahs and beautifuls.

"She looks just like you," Elise says.

I already know Maren is more beautiful. Her sister doesn't have the same freckle pattern or the same shade of brown hair.

Maren turns her head so quickly that she catches me staring at her.

Alarm bells ring in my head. I shouldn't touch her, and I shouldn't look at her.

My mind and body are rewiring themselves. I know I shouldn't, but I can't exactly make myself stop.