The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

of the carnal abyss. “I wanted to apologize for being so abrupt in my office earlier this week. I...” I was an asshole who couldn’t handle my emotions and took it out on you. “I’m sorry about that,” he finished quietly.

“That’s fine.” She nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on the cone. He jerked his gaze away when she went in for another lick. There was only so much a man could be expected to handle. “It was my fault for intruding on your time without an appointment. I should apologize.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” he replied. “Sydney, look at me.” He couldn’t explain what compelled him to issue that order. Something in her voice. In the choice of words. Whatever drove it, he waited until she complied, the thick fringe of her lashes lifting, her chocolate eyes locking onto his. “I don’t know if it’s a habit to accept the blame for other people’s bad behavior. If so, it’s one you need to break. It’s not your fault or your responsibility how others act. You need to start letting people own their shit.”

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze shifted, flicking to their right. He followed the direction of that glance, settling on the two women standing across the street in front of the Second Time Around consignment shop. The two women obviously pretending hard not to be studying them.

“Jenna Landon. She the reason for the ice cream binge?” Though she was a few years younger than him, he knew the woman. Hell, in a town the size of Rose Bend, he couldn’t help but be familiar with her. Not to mention, the statuesque, striking redhead was the ex-mayor’s daughter.

“It’s nothing.” He narrowed his eyes on Sydney and she chuckled, shaking her head. “No, really. She’s just...being herself.”

“You mean spoiled, catty and arrogant?” he asked, sliding his hands in the front pockets of his slacks. Either that or pinch one of those pretty corkscrew curls and rub it between his thumb and finger to determine for himself if that beautiful hair was soft as satin or if it possessed a coarser texture that would lightly abrade bare skin.

“Oh, so you’re familiar with her.” Sydney shrugged a shoulder. “It is what it is, though. Some things and people change. But most don’t.”

“That’s true, but for the most part, Rose Bend has progressed and grown. And so have the people. I hope you don’t allow one person to color how you see the whole town. Even Mayberry had its Nellie.”

She tilted her head to the side. Blinked. “Um, I think you’re mixing up your classic TV show metaphors.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, I couldn’t think of a mean character on Andy Griffith.”

“There’s Ben Weaver.”

Cole considered it. “Nah. He was actually more crotchety than mean.”

She scrunched up her nose in an adorable moue. “Good point.”

They stared at each other, grinning.

“C’mon,” he said, jerking his chin up. “If you don’t have any plans, come with me. Let me show you how much we’ve changed.”

Without conscious thought, he stretched out his hand toward her, and as his hand hovered between them, his brain yelled, “What the hell are you doing?” Caution argued that he not touch her, that even the simplest and most innocent of touches was a slippery slope.

But he didn’t lower his arm.

Sydney studied his hand for several moments, and just when he thought she would reject him, turn away from him, she slowly slid her soft palm against his. Wrapped her fingers around his.

And Cole exhaled, his chest falling on a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Friends. Friends held hands. Friends shared affectionate, yet platonic touches. Friends controlled their baser, inappropriate desires to enjoy a real relationship without sex muddying the waters. All he had to do was convince his dick that she was off-limits.

Because she was.

She might not be married as he’d first thought, but she was still pregnant, fresh out of a divorce, starting over in a town she had to relearn. And there were shadows in her beautiful eyes. Shadows of old hurts and bruises that needed healing. With his own wounds that had barely scabbed over, he would only inflict more harm. Besides, even if none of those obstacles existed, he wasn’t free. Yes, his body might be awakening with a vengeance, but his heart... It’d shattered into so many pieces, he would never be whole again. The man who’d boldly, fearlessly dove headfirst into the euphoric bliss of love without care of risk, pain or uncertainty no longer existed.

“How’re you doing?” he belatedly asked, shooting a glance toward her stomach. He curled and straightened his fingers, still feeling that beautiful, terrifying flutter over his palm even days later. “Everything okay with the baby?”

Miraculous how he could ask that without flinching, without his throat tightening up.

“We’re good.” She smiled. “I’m feeling more movement, too. And I’m still knocked on my ass by each one.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “So, are we just meandering along or are we headed someplace special so you can regale me with the power of hearth and home?” she asked, giving their joined hands a small swing.

“Regale? Hearth and home?” He smirked. “You certainly have a way with words. What are you, a writer?”

He’d been teasing and had expected a smile or laugh. Mission half accomplished. She emitted a short, muted chuckle that fell flat. “Sort of. I’m a grant writer.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” He nudged her arm with his. “I’ve worked with a couple while on the town council, and it requires discipline, communication and writing skills, a talent for research and an exacting eye for detail. You should be proud of that.”

“I am,” she said with a nod. “Especially since when I first went to college, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I changed my mind about my major so many times, I confused myself.” This time her burst of laughter emanated warmth, if not a little self-deprecation. “But about junior year, I ended up