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Heat floods my cheeks. “We can’t have it be on us that he’s late then.” I beeline for the truck, not giving Ansel the opportunity to open my door for me this time.
The drive to Hollis’s place is filled with deafening silence, and this time it’s not the comfortable kind.
When we pull into Elliott and Emelia’s driveway, I’m still thinking about what the hell that was between Ansel and me at the church drop-off. Am I really so starved for affection, for physical touch, that I’m looking to my dead husband’s best friend for it? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m disgusting.
Ansel’s being a good friend to Caleb and me, trying to get me out of this rut I ignored for too long, and I go and put him in an uncomfortable position like that. He’s probably regretting this whole agreement of ours.
It’s not as if I’ll never be in another relationship again or that I won’t remarry at some point. I’m only thirty, and I still do want kids someday. But Ansel is not that man. He never could be.
Maybe all this time we’re spending together, coupled with how supportive and understanding he is, messes with my head. Or maybe it’s because he knew Caleb as well as I did, and we share this connection of missing the one we both loved. I don’t know. But whatever it is, I need to get my shit together and not put him in an uncomfortable position like that ever again.
Ansel lets himself into the house, Hollis and me following. The three of us remove our coats and winter boots before heading in farther.
Elliott and Emelia are in the kitchen, along with Roy and the Thermos Crew—Clyde, Sam, and Jimmy. The guys are all sitting around the table, but Emelia nibbles on a carrot, leaning on the counter. Everyone says their hellos, and I’m appreciative that none of them makes a huge deal about me joining.
“I’m not playing tonight.” Emelia turns to me. “Don’t feel like you have to play if you don’t want to, Collins. We can just watch and silently judge. It’s just as much fun, but you still have money in your pocket at the end of the night.”
I chuckle and glance at Ansel, who appears unbothered, seemingly happy to ignore whatever happened, or didn’t, by the donation bins.
“I’ll watch with you.”
Emelia pushes off the counter. “Perfect. I’m glad you’re here to save me from all this testosterone.”
Ansel sits at the table across from Hollis while Emelia sets up two chairs at the opposite end of the table from where Roy sits. He deals while Elliott gets his brothers a beer.
“You sure you don’t want anything?” Emelia asks.
“I’m good for now, thanks.” Better to keep my wits about me tonight. I don’t need anything lowering my inhibitions.
SIXTEEN
Ansel
We’re a few hands deep, and the conversation flows as it always does. It’s hard to get a word in between the Thermos Crew, honestly.
Collins has been chatting with Emelia at the opposite end of the table, which is nice to see. Maybe the two of them can become friends and not just acquaintances. Emelia can relate to someone who isn’t a born-and-bred Echo Laker.
Collins’s eyes lift to mine, and I glance at the cards in my hand, my mind going back to that almost kiss.
It was nothing. I’m probably imagining it. Neither of us said or did anything inappropriate. It was more about the energy surrounding us, the connection. Or just two grieving people consoling one another.
I’m brave enough to admit my view of Collins is changing. Every time we’re together, she drifts a little further from being my best friend’s widow. I’ve become protective of her. But also attracted to her, which makes me feel guilty as hell about both.
What kind of douchebag am I, thinking of her that way?
There’s a good chance it’s one-sided anyway. Why would Collins ever think of me in that way? The fact is she was married to an amazing man, the best guy really. I could never hope to come close to being the kind of man she needs.
I need to do what I’ve always done when something threatens to complicate my life—I need to shove it into the back of my mind and pretend it doesn’t exist.
“Ansel,” Elliott snaps.
I blink, coming out of my thoughts. “What?”
He nods toward the center of the table. “You in or what?”
“Shit, sorry.” I purposely divert my eyes from Collins.
We play through another round that Hollis wins. I hate his cocky grin, but I have more important shit going on in my head. I roll my eyes and lift the beer I’ve been nursing to my mouth.
