“Yes.”
“I’ve never even told Will or Flynn.”
Christine scrunched up her nose. “But you lived with them. You mean they never saw your—”
“I wore a shirt and tie all the time.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” She stroked the brown silk. “Isn’t it time to let these go?”
He put a hand over hers, holding it motionless. “No.”
“At least think about it.”
He stared out the window for far too long. And then he sighed. “Thank you. I’ve interrupted your work.” His tender touch contradicted his dismissal.
“Don’t thank me.” Christine didn’t want his thanks. She wanted his love. She should have expected the boundaries to return. She stood and walked toward the stairs to the office. Disappointment dragged her feet.
“Christine?”
She turned back to him.
“I lied.” His mouth worked, as if trying to stop him from saying anything else. Before she could ask what he lied about, he blurted, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you showed up for work. I think about kissing you all the time. Even now, when I can’t seem to lock the bad memories away where they belong, I want to kiss you. I want my arms around you and my lips on yours.” His breath came in ragged gasps. His gaze pinned her, so full of wanting she couldn’t move.
And yet, he did nothing about it.
* * *
FLYNN ROUNDED THE corner of his house. “I thought I saw someone out here.”
Slade stopped watching the river drift past Flynn’s back porch. He’d been there for hours. He couldn’t stop thinking of Christine and how his heart ached to think he had to let her go. She deserved someone whole and unblemished. “Becca took the kids into Cloverdale for a pizza run. And I like the view from your porch better than the view from mine.”
“It’s not like you can’t buy some property on the river. There’s plenty of riverfront available.” Flynn sat in a wicker chair next to his.
“I know it’s weird,” Slade said. “But that house is the last thing I have of my parents.”
Flynn cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly true. That room is filled with their things. And the twins showed me your family photo albums.”
“Where’d they find those? You didn’t let them in the bedroom, did you?” Unease clenched deep in his belly.
Flynn shook his head. “They said they found them in the hall closet. Baby pictures. Pictures of you as a basketball star, newspaper clippings, things like that.”
“Everybody has memorabilia.”
“Not me.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Well, I had none until I came to live here with my grandfather when I was eight. But baby pictures? Nada.”
“Your grandfather was a good man,” Slade said.
They both looked out toward the river, remembering the man who’d raised Flynn and passed away less than two months earlier.