Feeling the need to protect her even now from the harshness of my father, I step closer to her, still loosely holding her wrist.
“I’ll see you guys Saturday.” Elk Lake City hosts their annual Harbor Days this time of year. Why it overlaps the film festival, I’ll never understand, as the two compete for attention. Then again, they are both successful in their own right, and the hotels and restaurants in the area thrive during this extended weekend. I promised my family I’d spend some beach time in town with them. I’m a little old for the carnival rides and fireworks and have a dinner to attend as Saturday is the closing night for the film festival, but I’m looking forward to some downtime. My head turns to Britton, wondering if she’ll be hanging out in town. As a local business owner, it could be a busy day for her as the population will triple in size.
Mum leans forward, patting my cheek. “It was wonderful, lovie. We’re so proud of you.”
Dad holds out a hand to be polite and tips his chin without any additional words. Shaking my head, I dismiss the fact I can’t get a read on him.
Britton and I stand still, watching them exit through the main doors before I turn on her. “So, a drink?”
“I really shouldn’t.” Her head tips forward, and her hair falls around her face. She strokes back one side and holds her hand on the side of her neck in a signature move I’d seen a million times that summer.
“It’s only a drink,” I say, but I don’t want to pressure her. Zoey drank too much, and it was one thing I grew to dislike about her long before she decided she wanted to be done with me.
“How do you know my parents?” Besides the obvious history, she seems all too familiar with Mum now. I chuckle, still stunned at the fact.
“As I said, your mom is a regular in the tea shop. We have a special blend she claims settles her stomach after her chemotherapy.”
Crap. Right. Shit.
“I-I should know that.” I scratch at the back of my neck, upset with myself that I don’t know these things about Mum and her condition. “Well, hopefully, she doesn’t give away all my secrets when she comes to TeasMe!”
Britton’s head snaps up at the mention of secrets, and then her gaze falls toward the doors. Her forehead furrows. “No, she doesn’t tell me anything about you.”
That’s puzzling. Mum loves to brag, so it’s strange she wouldn’t mention me to Britton any more than she’s mentioned a favorite tea and one particular tea shop owner who was once important to me. Has Mum mentioned Britton? Could Karyn have been correct, and I didn’t ever pay attention? Surely, Britton’s name would have stood out to me. She’s still important to me, and I sense it as she stands before me.
“It’s Adams, by the way,” she says, turning her attention back to me.
“Excuse me?” I don’t understand what she means.
“My last name. It’s no longer McKay but Adams. Mrs. Patrick Adams.” Her tone turns harsher as her eyes flit up and down my body.
“Okay.” The word lingers between us. What am I missing here? She told me her husband passed away years ago. Why the defensive tone? Is this about the mysterious man in her life?
“How about ice cream?”
“What?” She chuckles softer.
“Let’s get ice cream instead, unless you’re full from the Twizzlers, candy girl.”
Britton shakes her head, her blond hair swaying like curtains in the breeze. “No, I didn’t eat all the candy.” I hold my breath waiting on her to call me sport, but she doesn’t.
“So? Ice cream?” It’s safer than a drink but also less intimate, and I realize I need to use kid gloves here if I want to get close to her again. And I want to get close to her in more ways than I thought.
+ + +
We step out into the warm late summer evening and stroll through Traverse City until we find a newer ice cream shop than the one I remember.
“Lick It? That isn’t seriously its name,” I tease.
“It is, as in I licked it, and it’s mine.” Britton giggles after speaking, and two things turn my head quickly in her direction as I open the door for her. One thing is how much her laughter goes straight down my chest to another place on me, and the second thing is how that place has a mind of its own regarding licking and calling her mine. Her face heats, turning a sweet shade of light pink as she avoids my stare once we’ve stepped inside. I’d like to lick her, tracing the spreading color to see how far it spreads, and instantly, I recall doing something similar, using my tongue to outline various parts of her body.
God, she was so sweet, so responsive then.
“They even have an ice cream called Blue Balls,” she adds, digging her embarrassment deeper, and the pink color brushing her skin turns brighter. “It’s two scoops of blueberry ice cream.”
“No shit.” I laugh.
“Thankfully, that’s not the name of their chocolate ice cream,” she jokes.
“Ew.” I laugh harder, and her face turns even darker red.
“Sorry. I spend too much time with a twelve-year-old boy and now a seventeen-year-old teen.” She swipes at her hair, and my fingers twitch to follow the path, touch her skin just under her ear, and nip at her neck like I often did after she made this signature move.
“Yeah, how did you end up with him?”
“Which one?” Her head sharply turns toward me, eyes narrowing.
“Either. Both. You said Gee is twelve. That’s pretty close to a year after I saw you.” Britton’s eyes widen, but it’s our turn to order, and her head swivels toward the kid asking to take our order.
“Ah, just mint chocolate chip in a sugar cone, please.” Her standby order brings more reminders of ice cream dates at a local place in Elk Lake City and nights of making out in my dad’s truck afterward.
Jesus. I need to settle down on the memories, especially the ones of her spread over my thighs, grinding into my zipper, causing us both to lose our minds as we kissed like we needed the other to breathe.
Britton is quiet once I order. I go for the Michigan favorite Superman, which is really vanilla-tinged fluorescent colors of yellow, blue, and pink. Once we each have a cone, we step outside and walk down the street a bit, giving ourselves space from the busyness outside the ice cream shop.
“So, Gee? He loves baseball, obviously, which I think is cool. What else can you share? Tell me something else that makes him great besides being your son?”
“Why?” Britton asks. Lowering her cone, she stares up at me, and I shrug.
“I don’t know. Isn’t that what moms do? Talk about their kids?”
“Is that really what you want to talk about?” The question throws me off. I want to know more about her, and I’m assuming he’s a central element to her life. I want to know about her marriage, her business, ballet, and why she decided to settle here. I want to know everything.
“Don’t you?”
She shakes her head, looking off in the distance. “It isn’t that I don’t want to speak about Gee. He’s wonderful. He’s the love of my life. He’s my son, but I was hoping to go out tonight and not be a mom for a few minutes.” When her bright blue eyes turn back to me, I freeze. Is she wanting something from me? I’d give her anything at this moment to have her looking at me like she did that weekend. The weekend those innocent eyes lowered in sultry acceptance of my proposition. The weekend where sex-satisfied eyes looked up at me when she was under me.