That was Dex’s advice, and the man is a master strategist.

Leave Chess alone. Go back to being alone.

I watch a surfer paddle out, calling to his buddy. Their voices are thin on the air, the surf crashing to the shore. Sun glitters off the curve of a wave, turning it murky, turquoise blue.

I feel old. Not yet thirty, not yet in the full groove of my career, and suddenly I feel so fucking old. Apart from everything. I could have been a dad.

Would she have had my eyes? Would she have hated green peas like I do?

My fingers dig into the sand. It’s cold and rough just below the surface.

The sound of my phone ringing has me dusting off my hands.

I reach for it, expecting Chess. “Hey, I’m down at the beach.”

“Ah, okay.”

It isn’t Chess.

“Britt?” I actually look around as if expecting her to pop out of the sand.

“Yes, it’s me.” She pauses. “You thought I was someone else?”

Well, obviously. But I don’t say that. “What’s up?”

I have no idea why she’s calling, but I don’t like it. It feels like one of those woman traps that end with her crying and me generally feeling like a heel.

“I…ah…” She clears her throat. “Look, I don’t like how we left things.”

This is why I’m terrible with women. Because I have no fucking clue what she means. She asked me if my mom had invited to spend the holidays with us. I told her no. What else is there?

My silence must be too long because she makes that sound again, as if she’s trying to push her words past some blockage in her throat. “There were things I wanted to say, Finn. But I got distracted, upset.” A soft, half laugh escapes her. “It was difficult seeing you again.”

Again, I feel like a shit for rushing her out. I pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache is coming on. I need to get back to my parent’s house. I’ve been gone too long, under the guise of making a wine run.

“I know it’s hard,” I tell Britt as gently as I can. “I was… I was just thinking of her.”

A lump rises swift and painful in my throat, and I swallow convulsively.

“You do it too,” she whispers thickly.

“Sometimes.” My fingertips press against the hot skin of my eyelids. “At random moments.”

“The other day, it hit me that she would be old enough to eat baby food now.” Britt’s voice trembles. “And I had to pull over my car and cry.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

The beach is cold now. I get to my feet. I don’t want to be here anymore. I need to get home.

Chess had gone off to take a nap, jet lag catching up to her. But she’ll be awake now.

“Could we meet for lunch or something when you come back?” Britt asks, pulling me back to the conversation.

Fishing my keys out of my pockets, I rest the phone on my shoulder, holding it in place with my cheek. “You’re still in New Orleans?”

“Yes. I’ll be here for a while.”

It makes no sense. Britt’s home is in London.

“I’m out for the week.”

“I’ll be here next week,” she says.

When I don’t say anything, she presses again. “I want to see you. And I…I’d rather not talk about it over the phone.”

I don’t point out that she called me. This feels off. No, it feels like she’s working her way up to asking me out. “Britt, I don’t…”

“We share something, Finn. There is no one else in our lives who understands it the way we do. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

The desperate pain in her voice is too much for me. With a sigh, I turn on the jeep and pull out of my spot. “All right. Text me next week and we’ll set something up.”

As soon as I hang up with Britt, I toss the phone on the car seat. I’m not looking forward to that meeting at all. Sharing with her doesn’t make me feel better. There’s only one person who does that. I turn onto the main road and head for Chess.

I can’t let her go. It’s too late for that now. But I can give her space.

Either she takes that distance and pulls away. Or she’ll find it as unnatural as I do now. Instinct tells me it will be the latter. I fucking hope so.

Chapter Fourteen

Chess

 

* * *

 

It is fairly horrifying to realize how well Finn Mannus can play me. For the rest of the day, and into dinner, he keeps his distance. He isn’t cold or anything. Hardly that. He’s a great host. Solicitous, including me in conversations, making sure I have enough to eat.

And that’s the problem. He’s treating me like a guest. Gone are the light touches, as if he can’t keep his hands off me. Gone is the way he somehow always manages to be standing close enough that our arms brush. And gone are the teasing glances that dare me to reach for more.

I hadn’t noticed he’d been doing these things until he stops.

The result being, I seek him out. I’m the one finding ways to stand closer, to touch his wrist or the curve of his biceps. And though he doesn’t say a word about it, I know he’d predicted with unnerving clarity how I would react.

I don’t know if I should admire his skills or be annoyed.

Both, is the answer.

My annoyance grows when he gives me space and heads out to get wine for dinner without inviting me to come along. He’s gone for over an hour.

I realize I’m pissed at myself. For being a coward where he is concerned. For pretending that what we are to each other isn’t evolving. I know he cares about me. He makes certain I feel his care every day. He won’t hurt me. Not intentionally.

And I need to apologize because how I acted was hurtful and unfair. But I don’t get the chance. Between Finn distancing himself and his family intent on being good hosts as well, we are never alone.

Before dinner, Finn and his dad settle down in the den for a game of chess.

“I didn’t know you played,” I say to Finn as I sit next to him on the couch to watch.

“We never really got to the ‘hey, by the way, I love playing chess’ stage of our relationship,” Finn says with a sly wink.

I nudge his shoulder. “Smart ass.” God, I’m doing everything I can to be close to him. It’s ridiculous.