10. Mia

CHAPTER 10

Mia

S omehow, standing here in this old garage, peaking at Jones while he's bent over the front of his truck, his muscled forearms covered in engine oil, it's like déjà vu. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come. I don't have the right.

Yet, when I lay in my bed restless and then decided to put my sandals on and go for a walk, my feet brought me here. As if from memory.

"What are you doing here, Mia?" Jones's scratchy voice growls in the quiet of the night.

I shrug, my heart rate picking up speed as regret slices through me. "Couldn't sleep."

My feet guide me further into the garage without an invitation from him. I didn't expect one. Not after I told him I couldn't even stand to look at him. Not after the cruel words we exchanged on the hiking trail.

But then there was that kiss. That fucking kiss.

He eyes me skeptically, his expression scrunched in a scowl that makes him appear sexier rather than less.

"Yeah?" he says with a sigh. "Guess that makes two of us." He wipes his hand on a towel before grabbing two beers from the small fridge and handing me one.

I don't really want a beer. Not after what happened the other night. But I take it. I accept it like it's an olive branch. Even if it's not. I expected him to yell at me or tell me to go home.

But once again, I'm reminded that this is Jones. And he's never been mean or harsh toward me. Even though he's got every right.

I lean my back against the long wood counter that stretches along the width of the garage and crack open the beer. My stomach flip-flops after the first sip, but by the second, it's already settled.

Jones leans against his truck, crosses his ankles, and stares at me while he chugs his beer. It sends an electric current flowing through me. All those intense feelings I had for Jones re-surface so powerfully, that it causes my knees to buckle and my heart to race faster.

A smile pulls at my lips, and I finally open it and take a sip. My heart beats faster the longer we sit in this weird space. It's territory we've never experienced before. Things were never awkward between us.

I figure I better say something before I act on impulse and regret it. I clear my throat. "Tell me about the bar. How'd you end up with it?"

He swipes a greasy hand over the back of his neck as he glances down at his feet, finally breaking the tension. "At first, Ben was looking to sell. He was in the hole financially and it seemed like his only option. I'd been working here for fun for about six years, but not really giving two craps about it." He takes a pull from his beer. The sight of his Adam's apple bobbing distracts me and sends a humming through my core. "Okay, maybe that's a lie."

"Which part?" I ask.

"Most of it." He gives me an impish grin that's got me intrigued. "I wasn't just working here for fun. I was hiding out here. After barely graduating college, my dad was pressuring me to take over the hardware store. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I didn't want that. And once I got my head out of my ass, I realized I actually cared about this place. A whole hell of a lot. Last year, Ben told me he wanted to sell. I talked to my dad and got my finances in order and offered Ben part ownership."

"And you've been living here ever since?"

"Uh no," he hesitates, "I've actually been crashing here longer." He gestures to a couch in the corner of the garage."

"Why? Your dad kick you out or something?"

He chuckles and it sets fire to my insides. The sound is so pure, so familiar, and relaxed.

"No, but he should've long before I left. I chose to stay here. I was hiding from him. From everyone. From my life."

Suddenly the realization that this is my doing, it's my fault, causes guilt to twist in my gut.

"I'm sorry," I mutter without planning to.

"Are you kidding? This bar has been my saving grace. It's been the best thing for me. Once I told my dad I didn't want to take over Martin's Hardware, a huge weight lifted off me.

"And that's how Cammie got stuck there?"

"Yes and no." He shrugs. "She hasn't told you?"

Another wave of regret washes over me. At one point, Cammie was one of my closest friends. And since I've been back, I've hardly talked to her.

I just shake my head.

"She wanted it. No one had any clue she had an interest in taking over the store. And thank God she did because she's way better at it than I'd ever be."

I nod along while he speaks, somewhat fascinated by how everyone's lives continued moving while I was away. It's not that mine didn't, it's just mine moved along separately from theirs. I don't like the feeling it creates in the pit of my stomach.

"This bar saved me," he says so matter-of-factly. "I only wish my mom had still been here to see me clean up my life. All I wanted was for her not to worry and be proud of me."

Sadness aches in my throat. And regret too. I wanted to come back to Maple Ridge for his and Cammie's mom's funeral. But by then, I'd been away so long. I just didn't want to complicate things more for Jones. I thought it would be easier on him without me.

"Aw, Jones, she was always proud of you."

He glances up at me through watering eyes and my gut pinches. Are the accusations going to come? Will he ever forgive me for not being here for him?

But he shrugs and breaks our eye contact, as he goes to the mini-fridge and takes out two more beers. I'm not even done with my first but decide to chug it down. He's not asking me if I want another, he's expecting me to take it. So I do. Our fingers graze slightly, and it sends a shock zinging through my body.

I knew returning to Maple Ridge and being around Jones again might make my feelings for him resurface. But considering last time I was here I could hardly stand to look at him, I assumed they wouldn't.

Being here with Jones, at this time in our lives, I can feel the shift in both of us from the people we used to be. And being in his presence does the opposite of what I had been expecting. Instead of reminding me of the pain and grief, he puts my heart and body at peace.

Jones leans against his truck again as he cracks open a beer. I watch as he tips it back and takes a satisfying pull from the can. He lifts the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe at the thick sheen of sweat across his forehead, revealing his stomach to me. Tan skin and defined abs cause desire to swoop low in my belly.

My head swishes with confusion. How can I be attracted to him, still, after all these years?

"Hey, Peaches? My eyes are up here," he growls.

My gaze flies up to meet his, finding amusement reflected in his eyes. Heat flicks across my cheeks. The use of my nickname sends a craving aching deep inside of me.

"Can't blame a girl for looking," I quip, trying to play off my nerves. I think I surprise him with my response because his lip twitches.

We stay quiet for a few beats, the hooting sounds of an owl outside echo against the clear night. I fiddle with the tab on the closed beer can. The longing to be near Jones reverberates throughout my entire body. It's a dangerous want. But that doesn't stop me from wanting it.

Wanting him .

"You gonna open that beer or drive me crazy with that annoying popping sound all night?"

A smile twitches at my lips, and I finally open it and take a sip. My heart beats faster the longer we sit in this weird space. It's territory we've never experienced. Things were never awkward between us.

"I gotta say," Jones begins, running a hand down the front of his dirty jeans to wipe the condensation off. "I'm surprised you're even looking."

A lump slides into my throat. The conversation we had in his truck two days ago springs to my mind. I swallow. "I can't help it if you're still fucking attractive as hell," I blurt out in all honesty. Because I can't be anything but, with him.

His eyes darken on me and his mouth pops open. "Gotta say, that is not the response I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?"

"You to bring up…" he hesitates for a moment; the strain is obvious in his expression. "Her. Aster."

My stomach twists at her name. But I don't want to think about her right now. Not tonight. For once in eight years, I want to separate the two and only think about Jones.

"We're gonna have to find a way to disassociate her and you…and me," I say. "At least this summer since we have to work together."

"And after?" His brows lift.

I give a slight shake of my head. "I don't know. But what I do know is…being back in Maple Ridge but not being with you is impossible."

He uncrosses his ankles and pushes off the side of the truck. "Fuck, Mia. Being without you the last eight years has been fucking impossible."

My eyes water without warning and my heart races. My craving for Jones is so intense at this moment I feel like I can't breathe.

Jones chugs his beer before shuffling toward me cautiously. He sets his can down as he grips the counter on either side of me. He leans in closer, and I swallow all the words I want to say. The combination of the sweet scent of his familiar sweat, the engine oil, and the beer on his breath is so intoxicating, it makes my head spin and my entire body ache for him.

"Why'd you have to come back here?" he growls.

A tear slips from my eye, and it catches his attention. He swipes his thumb across my cheek, catching it, and brings it up to his mouth, sucking it off.

And holy fuck, why is that so hot?

His thumb is probably dirty and full of oil and who knows what else but still, my lady parts are panting for him.

"I had a good thing going. I was doing fine without you."

"Yeah? So was I," I say defiantly.

His jaw clenches as his gaze sweeps over my face. "Liar," he mutters.

I glare. "It takes one to know one."

"Why do you have to be even cuter when you're being feisty?"

I open my mouth to fire back, but his response takes me off-guard, and I clamp it shut again.

He leans into me. "And why…after eight years…do you still have to be so damn beautiful?"

The firmness of his body presses into me and I nearly sigh in reply upon the physical contact. Except I'm not consoled, because I want more.

I need more.

"And why after eight years do I still want you?"

His grayish-blue eyes narrow in answer but he takes me by surprise when he grips his hands around my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifts me up and sets me down on the counter behind me. I suck in a breath and gaze into his eyes which must reflect the same desire he finds in mine.

Jones places his hands on my thighs and squeezes them while he shoves them open and steps in between, pressing into me until our chests are flush. I reach my arms around his back to brace myself from falling backward. At least, that's what I tell myself. But then I clutch the hem of his shirt, and my fingertips explore his warm skin.

Jones takes my chin in between his fingers, and he tilts it up until we're gazing into one another's eyes.

"You want me, Peaches?" His voice rumbles in my core.

"Yes," the word comes out in a whispered whoosh.

"You sure?"

I nod, probably too enthusiastically because I'm so turned on, I feel like I'm going to combust if he doesn't make a move. But suddenly, my body stills as unease creeps in. Maybe he doesn't want me? Maybe these feelings are one-sided? Maybe he's teasing me?

It would be cruel.

But after the way I treated him—I wouldn't blame him.

"I mean…unless you don't want me. If you don't want?—"

Jones rests his finger on my lips, interrupting me. "Have you honestly ever had to worry about that? Have you ever questioned if I want you?"

I hunch a shoulder, suddenly not really sure about anything.

"Peaches, I have wanted you every day since I was sixteen."

And that is the tipping point.

No questioning, no being unsure. My heart swells in my chest and all that was ever between me, and Jones returns tenfold. All the feelings, intensity, lust, love, and everything in between rushes at me all at once. He is it for me. There is no one else.

Jones lifts my chin and lowers his lips, and he doesn't even need to guide me, I draw nearer willingly and eagerly. When his mouth finally crashes against mine, all the feelings in my body splinter, giving me a sense of deliverance and solace in one single kiss. As he deepens it, parting my lips with his tongue, I moan in response.

Kissing Jones is like waking me up from a deep sleep I had no idea I was even in. The realization sets in and sends all kinds of emotions whirling throughout my body. All along I'd assumed Aster was my missing half, but at this moment, I know that isn't true. It was Jones.

Jones is comfort.

Jones is home.

Jones is life.

He pushes my shirt off my shoulder and presses a kiss on my exposed skin. "Fuck, I missed you," he mumbles in admittance.

My hands go into his hair, and he pants harder.

He grips my ass and tugs me to the edge of the counter and peers down at me. "Are we sure this is a good idea?"

"Yes," I answer quickly, because so help me, we are doing this. I'm too turned on to quit now.

"What about Bikes and Beers?"

I try to put my craving on hold and clear my head to think about how having sex could affect us working together this summer and planning Bikes and Beers. "We'll have to figure out how to separate the two."

"Gotta be honest here, separating you from anything feels impossible." He exhales a light chuckle.

It sounds a little like a confession and it feels true.

But I can't risk letting anything get in the way of one of the main reasons I came home for the summer.

"Well, we have to. This event means a lot to my dad."

"It means a lot to me, too," he responds, a slight edge in his tone, and rearing his head back.

"I know."

"No, you don't know," he bites out, pushing off the counter and putting distance between us that causes an instant chill to run down my back. "Because you haven't been here."

And there it is. The reminder again that I left.

"You're right," I mutter, owning it.

He's not wrong. I haven't been here since he and Dad have been planning Bikes and Beers together.

Jones spins around, putting his back to me, and pushes his hand through his hair.

I hop off the counter, my heart hammering in my chest. His rejection is worse than painful. It's torturous. It's suffocating. And I realize in this moment, I've never felt this before.

Stepping up behind him, I take the risk and wrap my arms around him. At first, I can feel him stiffen. My throat tightens. But I don't let him go. I hold my palms against his firm chest which does nothing to ease the desire that's been building since he set me on that counter.

"I'm here now," I say quietly.

Finally, he leans into me, his weight pressing into my chest. He sets his hand on top of mine and holds it against his heart. It thumps wildly into my palm, and it ignites the fire inside of me. He turns around in my arms and gazes at me with eyes so dark, so frantic, it nearly takes my breath away.

"I'm scared," he mumbles.

If he didn't look so serious, if this moment wasn't so fragile, I could almost laugh. Big, strong, doesn't-give-a-fuck-Jones , is scared?

"Of what?" I whisper.

"If we do this, I'm afraid I'll never be able to let you go again."

My heart settles in my chest. And then I say something that surprises even me.

"Then don't."

Because in this moment; I mean it. I don't ever want to be away from him. Being with him makes me feel whole again. I feel like me . And I haven't been me in a long time.

I pull myself away from him and take his hand in mine. Shuffling backward toward the door, I tug him with me, and he comes willingly. He pushes the button to close the big garage door and flips off the light on our way inside.

With my heart racing and warnings firing off in my brain, I don't back down. I don't change my mind. My body wants him. And I'm too weak to fight it.