Page 7 of Studfinder

Ian.

I can’t say it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of my former fiancé because I think of him nearly every day. But the ache of his loss isn’t as strong as it once was or as fierce as when he first passed.

Fire.

I wasn’t sensitive to flame, but that snap and pop along with the lingering hiss triggered something inside my mind. Forgotten nightmares, I suppose. The ones I used to wash away with alcohol.

While other people might head to a bar after a moment like this to settle their nerves or numb their senses, I typically call my sponsor or go to a meeting to right myself. Tonight, I know where I need to go, as coffee has become my new drug of choice. Sitting on that damn couch might instill more wayward ideas about Jake, but I need my happy place.

He almost kissed me.

Those cinnamon-red lips were right here, so close I could almost taste the spicy hotness. Recalling the ruggedness of his cheek against mine sends another shiver down my spine. The toughness of his hand at my throat causes me to swallow, and his phantom caress lingers.

I would have let him take me against these beams if he had wanted me.

Which he clearly does not.

I gotta go.

With a shaky hand, I squeeze my forehead dismissing both my momentary panic attack and my overwrought imagination. Pushing off the studs behind me, I take another glance at the darkened lamp. My mind further represses memories of Ian. A refreshing gin and tonic could heal the tremor in my knees, but I know what I need is more than something to numb my thoughts. A dark roast and a baby fix are better than alcohol.

My best friend, Scarlett Russell, now Scarlett Eaton, became a momma at forty-two, and I couldn’t be happier, especially as I get to reap the benefits of playing Aunt Rita.

“Give him to me,” I coo when Scarlett meets me at the Busy Bean. I called her after the incident with Jake. The incident will henceforth be called the non-kiss incident. Some baby cuddles and nonsense murmurings will be a good distraction, and Scarlett was more than willing to get out of her house in the late afternoon.

My oldest friend had a rough go of things about a year ago. Her no-good cheating husband had gotten himself in a pickle when he dipped his dill into one of his med students who ended up pregnant. Scarlett left him and came to Vermont for a visit and decided to stay for a bit. Then she stuck permanently when she found herself pregnant from a one-night stand with her hunky cowboy, now husband, Bull. The Eaton clan is one fine man after another, but Bull’s younger brothers are just trouble waiting to happen.

The newest Eaton addition, however—baby Harley—he’s a heartbreaker like the rest of them with his drooling kisses and sweet giggles.

“Aunt Rita has missed you. Yes, she has,” I simper to the babe in my lap while Scarlett chuckles beside me. We’ve taken up residence on our favorite couch sans Jake.

“He’s not a dog,” she teases at the tone I’ve taken to speak to the five-month-old.

“But he’s as cute as a puppy, and he has eyes just like one, too. He’s looking at me like ‘give me everything I ask for, Aunt Rita,’ and he knows I’ll never say no to him.”

Scarlett laughs at my ridiculousness. As college roommates, we immediately hit it off upon arriving at Boston University, but our lives took us in separate directions once we graduated. I’d intended to remain in Boston for law school. I was going to fight against true crimes and defend complex cases. Instead, my dad had his first heart attack, and I came home to join Kaplan and Associates. I was the associate. I worked days as a legal assistant while attending law school at Vermont Law. Once I was a full-fledged attorney, we remained Kaplan and Associates although my father became a judge. For some reason, Dad never promoted me to partner.

“So, what’s new?” Scarlett asks, staring at me over the rim of her coffee mug.

“Ugh. Jake Drummond is what’s new.” I groan while I wiggle Harley on my lap.

“Jake Drummond,” Scarlett elongates his name. “Interesting. I didn’t know you’d found a stud.”

Scarlett was an entertainment news reporter in her life before motherhood, and despite her gossip-loving days being over, she still loves a good story.

“How do you know he’s a stud?” I wonder, sticking out my tongue at Harley and making faces at him.

“He must be a stud,” Scarlett confidently states.

I laugh, giving away my opinion.

“No man would have you riled if he wasn’t.”

“All men have me riled. I’m sexually repressed,” I mock myself. I might have a pink plastic boyfriend named Bobby, but it’s not the same as physical sex. And I can’t have nameless, faceless sex. I’ve already gone that route and crashed. I don’t like to recall that moment—and have trouble doing so as I blacked out during it—but I must never forget it as a pinnacle point in deciding to get my shit back together.

“So, he’s hot?” Scarlett questions.

“Maybe.” I shrug.