Page 41 of The Difference Between

“Full circle, my ass.” I don’t even know what that means. “I literally slammed the door in his face, what do you think I said?”

In the kitchen, Rue and Mom are fawning over him. Remy leaves my side to give him a brief half hug. “Good to see you, Gav. Had Addie in the library this week.”

“Can’t keep her out of there.” He grins. “How’s the new job?” He’s annoyingly genuine. “You settling in?”

Remy’s head bobbles. “As much as I can for a temporary position.”

Rue and I exchange a look behind her back; if Darren’s banging a yoga teacher, this position isn’t temporary.

To Rue, he says, “See Nash’s bus rolling out by Mom’s.”

Nash is a tour guide and opened a location in Fontain over the summer. From what I’ve heard, it’s been well received. He tells the history of the town while shuttling buzzed tourists to the wineries of the area.

“Busy,” Rue tells him. “He loves it though. Wants to get another bus next summer.”

“Good to hear.” Gavin leans a comfortable hip against Mom’s counter like this is the sort of thing he does. Like he and my sisters and my mother and these paint-chipped cabinets are thick as thieves. His bright eyes meet mine in what I’d dare call a taunt. He’s like a gnat. A rugged gnat. A young, rugged, annoying gnat.

The four of them make small talk. Meanwhile: I stew.

He keeps looking at me. Raising his brows. Provoking me with his eyes and little slants of his mouth hidden beneath his mangy beard. Silently saying You might not want me here but look at all these people who do.

When I can’t take it anymore, I cut him off midsentence. “Why the hell are you here?” Everyone fights smiles, making me that much more pissed. “And what is so funny?”

“Gavin,” Mom says with a sigh, “I’m sure you remember⁠—”

“Of course I remember,” Gavin interrupts, sending an amused look my way. “My parents—and brother—never let me forget.”

What? I’ve never seen this man until a few weeks ago, and I sure as shit don’t know his parents. Or brother.

“Parents?” I wave my hands through the air. “What does that mean?”

Remy giggles. Giggles.

Gavin wets his lips. “Means I remember you even though you clearly don’t remember me.”

“Gavin Nickels.” Rue says his name like he’s a celebrity and not some neighbor with a foil-covered lasagna who mows the city of Fontain between telling bad jokes. “Are you kidding, Reese?”

I look at him; I’m not. But everyone’s silence makes me think I should.

So I think.

I think and I think.

I think until Rue disappears for two seconds and returns with a framed photo of a stick-figured drawing with the words I lava you, and it strikes me like lightning to a metal rod.

I didn’t recognize him because the last time I saw him, he was a kid—we both were. And he definitely didn’t have that body or beard. He didn’t ride a mower in old boots or carry in pans of lasagna.

He was adorable and little and hung on my every word as I taught him to read from a book about glass.

“Davy Crockett?” I ask, stunned. And I see it. I see it. It’s him—little Gavin—twenty-some years older and looking at me in a way I can’t quite put a finger on.

He winks. “Only to you, Miss Reese.”

And right in the middle of my mother’s kitchen, I’m speechless. More speechless than when Trish told me I needed to take a three-month break or than I’ve been in my entire life. My mouth can’t make a single word. Yet he’s unfazed, smooth even.

All I can think: Gavin Nickels?

“As you can see,” Rue says, amused, “Reese still doesn’t play well with others.”