Page 70 of The Difference Between

“Gavin probably has . . .”

I look at him, wondering what I’m supposed to do here and hoping he’ll say he already has a plan because mine is to fully avoid him. And this. I might be here to have a kid, but I don’t know how to be around one yet.

“. . . something.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. To Addie: “We’d love Miss Reese’s help, wouldn’t we, Ads?”

She nods eagerly.

“Excuse us,” I say to Addie and Mom. I grab Gavin’s elbow and turn our backs to them. “What are you doing?”

“Agreeing with your mom,” he says. “If you want to help, I think it would be good for her.”

“Why?” The angle of his mouth when he’s starting to speak lets me know he’s about to tell a stupid joke. “No jokes. I’m serious.”

“You’re funny.”

I scoff. “That’s not a reason to invite me to help your niece chase her dreams. I don’t have kids. I don’t know how to help.”

He laughs. “Sure you do. You helped me when I was a kid. And seven-year-old Gavin would never forgive thirty-year-old Gavin for not taking advantage of you living next door.”

“I’m not living there,” I snap. “I’m visiting.”

He shrugs. “Living there today.”

I ignore the urge to lecture him on his today mindset.

“This is different,” I insist. “You were a kid who couldn’t read, she’s—” I cut myself off, unsure how to explain why this feels different. “I don’t know how.”

“Sure you do.”

“We aren’t dating,” I tell him, because I need us both to hear it. “If I say yes, you can’t keep doing”—I gesture to the length of him—“this.”

He laughs. “What’s this?”

“Being charming and young and all confusing in your muscly arms in your T-shirts and jeans and long looks. Just . . .” I huff out a frustrated breath. “We aren’t right for each other, and I decided last night I never wanted to see you again.”

“That why you asked me to keep helping at the vineyard?”

“That’s a business strategy, and I’m serious. I’m here to help my mom and for work.” And a baby. I swallow. “And now the vineyard.” I glance back at Addie, my toes tapping in my sandals. I have no idea how to do any of this. Why I’m feeling so many things. Why an eight-year-old girl is making me nervous, and her uncle is making me sweat. “And I don’t want to make things more complicated.”

“Here’s the problem,” he whispers, leaning in close. “I don’t know how to stop being charming.”

I slap his chest with the back of my hand, and he grunts. “I’m serious, Gavin. We can’t be whatever you’re thinking we can be. I’m going back to Chicago and you’re . . .” I let my thoughts jump around to all the words I’d use to describe him before shaking myself out of them. “No.”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll shorten the looks.”

“Good.”

My gaze once again flicks to Addie—she’s so damn cute, yet I’m stricken with terror. She and him and the whole potential mess of it. How much I like being around them but how little control I have when I am. This is exactly why I like keeping my idiotic feelings smothered—they’re disastrous. And unpredictable.

But also, she’s Amanda’s kid—what if I can’t help her? Other than being around my nieces and nephew when I visit, I don’t know much about kids even though I’ll have one of my own less than a year from now. A year. I rub my sternum. That’s a short timeline. The Fizz Co deal might not even be done. I need kid practice.

This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard of. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Gavin echoes with a hitch of his lips. “But I can’t do anything about my muscles or clothes or age.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”