He just wanted things the way theyâd been.
When theyâd been as comfortable and familiar as a pair of old, beloved boots.
He dropped his hand and looked at Tabby from the corner of his eye. âIf I let you punch me in the nose, would you finally get over your anger?â
She stabbed her fork into her pie, seeming to focus fiercely on it. âWeâre not five.â
âWe were nine.â He rubbed the bridge of his nose. âI remember it vividly, since you managed to break it.â
âI never intended to break your nose,â she muttered.
âI know.â He waited a beat. âWe survived that. So canât we survive another kiss, even oneâI hate to admitâas badly executed as the last one was?â It had been a helluva lot more than a kiss, but he didnât figure she wanted to get into that territory any more than he did.
âIt doesnât matter. It was years ago.â
He leaned over the arm of his chair toward her. His gaze caught on the wedge of creamy skin showing between the unbuttoned edges of her shirt. Stupid, because there wasnât anything like that between him and Tabby.
Except that one time they were both trying not to think about.
Prologue
Nineteen years ago
âCome on, Tabbers.â The boy holding the chains of the swing leaned closer to her and grinned. His weird bluish-purple eyes were full of mischief. And goading.
But that was something Justin Clay had always been good at.
Goading. And a whole lot of it.
Usually, it led to her getting her rear end in trouble with her mom and daddy.
âI told you. I go by Tabitha now,â she said firmly. Sheâd just turned nine. Tabitha seemed more fitting than Tabby, much less Tabbers.
Justinâs eyebrows skyrocketed, and he hooted with laughter, giving the swingâs chains a shove so that she shot backward then forward again so unevenly that her bare toes dug into the sand beneath the schoolâs swing set.
âThatâs bat-crap crazy. Youâre Tabbers,â he said with the annoying superiority heâd developed lately. Catching her chains again, he stopped her forward progress with such a jolt that her chin snapped against her chest. âAnd you might as well just kiss me. Itâs gonna happen, one way or another.â
She glared at him. âYou made me bite my tongue.â
If anything, he looked even more devilish. âYou going to cry about it?â
She curled her lip. âNot âcause of you, thatâs for sure. And Iâm not gonna kiss you just so you can make Sierra Rasmussen jealous!â
His eyebrows drew together. âYouâre my best friend,â he complained. âWeâre supposed to help each other out.â
Now it was her turn to snort. âGood thing your best friend isnât a boy, then. And Iâm still not kissing you!â
âOne day youâre gonna wanna kiss me,â he warned.
Annoyed at the absurdity, she shoved her hand against his chest and pushed him away far enough that she could jump off the swing. Even though his daddy was the tallest person Tabby had ever met, for now, she and Justin were exactly the same height. She looked him straight in the face. âTry it and Iâll punch you in the nose,â she warned. âIâd sooner kiss a toad than you.â
His skinny chest puffed out. âLotsa toads down at the swimminâ hole, Tabbers.â
She puffed out her own chest. It was just as skinny as his. And as flat. Which was fine with her, since boys seemed to have more fun than girls did. At least all the ones she knew around Weaver, anyway. Who wanted to be all prissy and perfect when there were baseball games to play and cow chips to throw and worms to be threaded onto fish hooks? Summer was short enough in Weaver without spending half your time playing indoors with dolls and dress-up. And Justinâs granddaddy had the best swimming hole around, out on his Double-C Ranch. She and Justin, along with his cousin Caleb, spent half their summer vacation out there. âI can make you kiss a toad just as easy, Justin Clay, and you know it.â She scuffed her bare toes through the sand. The sun was hot as Hades, and now that heâd brought up the topic of swimming, thatâs all she wanted to do. âI dunno why yâall are so gaga over Sierra, anyway,â she groused. The other girl was a year ahead of them in school and the biggest snot around.