“Livvy.”
The softly uttered endearment undid her. Popped the pin in her balloon of righteous indignation and deflated her. She was trembling and drunk, mad and…lost. Like she thought she’d been following the right map on her way to a place where she wanted to be, only to find out that she didn’t just have the wrong map, she was traipsing around the wrong goddamned continent. And now she had no idea where the hell she was or where she was supposed to go.
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to break down. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t feel like crying. She didn’t know what she felt like. There were too many options to pick from, and that made it hard to breathe.
But then big, warm hands landed on her shoulders, a gentle hold, a simple I’ve got you, and she couldn’t fight against it. Her muscles surrendered to the touch and her body moved on instinct, her brain shutting off. She stepped into his space, didn’t ask permission, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He stiffened in her hold, his entire body going as rigid as the boards under her feet. But when she didn’t back off, he released a breath and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her fully into an embrace. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and breathed in the earthy scent of him, the familiarity of the minty shampoo he’d always used. Her guards fell away for a minute as he simply held her.
“I’m tired and pissed off, too,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t say anything to the filmmaker. Just know that if there’s anything I could ever do to make things up to you, anything you need, you just have to tell me.”
She squeezed him a little tighter, not wanting to get dragged back into the memor
ies, the apologies, the regrets. “You can stop talking about that night. That’s what you can do. At least for now,” she said against his shoulder. “I didn’t come out here for that. I wanted to come out here and prove that the killers don’t get a say in this. We haven’t talked because of them. They’re winning. I don’t want them to win. So maybe we can just pretend for a little while that we’re old friends from high school reminiscing about the good times.”
“The good times,” he said, his breath ruffling her hair.
“Yes.”
He set his chin on her head. “Like when all I was worried about was if our landscaper’s daughter was going to be outside helping him that day.”
Liv smiled, the words digging beneath the layers of all those bad memories, unearthing some of those simple, sweet ones. Ones she hadn’t let herself think about in a very long time. She leaned back to look up at him. “Yes. Like that. Like how you were such a perv, watching me from your window. You weren’t even sneaky about it. Just standing there and staring.”
Some of the tension left his expression, and a droll look replaced it. “You wore a tank top, short shorts, and combat boots. I was sixteen and not that noble.”
“It was a hot day.”
“Oh, it was hot, all right,” he teased. “And don’t pretend you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”
She stepped back from his hold with an innocent Who, me? smile.
Liv had only tutored Finn once before the day she’d helped her dad put in an herb garden at Finn’s house, but she’d already developed a mad crush. He’d been nothing like she’d expected from all those years of catching glimpses of him from a different social circle. He’d been funny and friendly. Much smarter than people gave him credit for. And way, way too good-looking.
“My dad couldn’t for the life of him figure out why I was volunteering to help out. I hated yard work. But free labor was free labor, so he didn’t question me. If he’d realized I was trying to shamelessly flirt with the son of his customers, he wouldn’t have been so accommodating.”
Finn chuckled. “Best surprise ever when you showed up. And confession: the dog didn’t dig up half the garden a few days later when my dad had to call y’all back out.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So that’s why the next time I helped him, you brought out lemonade and cookies. You knew I was coming and were trying to butter me up. I thought it was very Martha Stewart of you.”
He smirked. “Until you broke out in hives because I didn’t know there was peanut butter in the cookies.”
“God, I still remember your face when you realized what had happened. You were so horrified. It was kind of adorable.” She leaned against the railing behind her, happy to be talking about something else, something good. “And the hives were no fun, but at least Dad let me go into the house to let the meds kick in and take a break from the heat. We watched some random movie that sucked.”
“And then I made an ass of myself and tried to kiss you.”
“Yeah, with my swollen lips and tingling tongue. Very suave.”
His mouth curved, revealing the dimple hiding beneath the scruff.
Damn. Still unfairly good-looking.
“I remember you saying something like, Now? You’re going to try to kiss me now? Like I had broken every rule in the How to Impress a Girl handbook. Any game I thought I had was effectively squashed.”
“Well, your ego could withstand a few dings,” she said, poking him in the chest. “Luckily, you were very pretty and I forgave you. Multiple times. In the library. In the back of your SUV. Wherever we could find.”
He ran a hand over his hair, chagrined and boyish. Memories assailed her. Eager lips and whispered words. All that building need. They’d never gone all the way because she’d still been a virgin. But Lord, she’d wanted him to be her first. She’d told him that on prom night in the closet before everything had happened. If he had asked her to be his date, she would’ve given him everything.
But just kissing him, being touched by those capable hands, still held a spot as some of the hottest encounters of her life. “Our make-out game was strong.”