Page 18 of Living at 40

“It’s a big change,” I admit, still uncertain why my friend is making this move. He’s only forty. Not old enough to retire, too young to sit idle, although he’ll be anything but still if he works his dad’s business.

Autumn only nods, gazing down at her wineglass held to her chest like a shield. When I don’t move or add to the conversation, Mason takes the hint.

“I’m heading up to the house. Want another glass?” he offers to Autumn, who holds her wine up to show she still has a full goblet.

As Mason heads up the steps, taking them two at a time, I turn back to Autumn.

“Did I interrupt something?” I ask again, wondering if she wants him as her baby-maker. It would make sense. Women always wanted Mason, but for just once, I’d love a woman to pick me over him.

“No.” She softly chuckles, twisting to face the lowering sun.

“Is Mason making the list?” The question tumbles out before I can stop myself, and Autumn sighs.

“I should kill Anna for opening her mouth.”

Reaching out for her, I can’t help but stroke up her back and under her hair as I did earlier, wrapping my fingers around the back of her neck.

“She always means well,” I say, defending Ben’s wife. Anna doesn’t mean to meddle but just wants to help. She was the same way in college, always nudging people together, wanting them to find what she and Ben have.

Autumn chuckles softly and takes a sip of her wine. “I suppose everyone was pretty shocked by their announcement to move.”

“I know I am, and I feel like I’m missing something.” Autumn lowers her head as she sets the glass of wine on the railing. The unsaid weighs between us. However, I don’t expect her to betray her brother’s reasons if they run deeper than wanting a change of scenery. “But let’s talk about us.”

Her head swings upward, and she glances at me over her shoulder.

“I want you to know I would never call you fat. Not now, not then, so I’m sorry if that’s what you heard—”

“Because that’s what you said.” Placing two fingers over her lips, I stop her from interrupting me further. Only, touching her lips scatters my thoughts, and I can only concentrate on the tender swell of her bottom lip and the curvy bow of the top one. Taking a moment to stroke over those lips, I stare at them, swallowing hard as I want a taste.

“Anyway.” I finally recover, tracing over her mouth one final time before dropping my hand to hers. “I didn’t think you were fat.”

“I was solid, my mother would say,” she mocks.

“I wouldn’t have said that either. You were just younger than us. You were Ben’s little sister.”

“Yes, but I’m not little anymore.”

“No.” I pause, staring at those lush lips again. “You’re definitely not.” My fingers toy with hers while my other hand still cups the back of her neck.

“But I’m still Ben’s sister.” Said with hesitant sarcasm, a question lingers.

“Should that matter?”

“Does it?” she asks, and I bite my lower lip.

“I don’t want it to,” I admit, and we stare at one another. Those rich coffee eyes swirl with specks of cream, and I drink her in. When she doesn’t respond, I confess even more. “I’d like to make that moment up to you.”

“The moment when you called me fat or the moment you pushed me away?” she asks, her voice still tight.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” I say, and her eyes widen. “It doesn’t matter what you looked like as a teen. We aren’t teenagers anymore.” I allow that to sink in because if we were still young, she’d never be attracted to me.

Then my head tilts, and I squeeze the back of her neck. “Why did you try to kiss me?”

She tries to look away from me, but my hold on her neck tightens, and I release her hand to cup her chin forcing her attention back to me. Her eyes close, and she licks her lips.

“I had a crush on you.”

My own eyes widen in surprise, and I stare at her mouth, her pert nose, her closed lids. “What?” The word is a struggle.