When I pulled up to the cabin, I saw Brett standing on the front porch facing away from me. The fall weather had a chill blowing through the air as I stepped out of my car and grabbed the tote bag I’d brought from home. The thick line of trees along the edge of the property had started to lose their foliage, lining the path I walked on with dried leaves that crunched beneath my feet. I tucked my arm through the strap of the bag before wrapping my arms around my body to try to keep warm.

The howl of the wind must have been enough to cover the rumble of my car when I drove up the gravel drive because Brett had yet to notice I was there. I saw him take a long slow drag off of a cigarette. I had seen him smoke once before. It was a while back when we were at a bar in town, but I didn’t know it was a habit of his.

I was suddenly acutely aware of what the media had deemed “sensationalizing smoking.” As his full, firm lips wrapped around that cigarette and his chest slowly inhaled, I got it. I wanted to smoke that cigarette. I wanted to be that cigarette. I wanted to feel him take a long, slow drag off of me. I felt a grin spread across my face as I approached the steps of the porch.

“That’s a terrible habit, you know,” I told him as I climbed the steps. “Smoking slows the body’s ability to heal. You’re only adding to your recovery time.” The nurse in me just couldn’t stop from giving him the facts, despite how sexy he made it look. “And not to mention…cancer.”

“I didn’t hear you pull up,” he said, quickly discarding the cigarette in an old soda can he had sitting on the ledge. It appeared that this wasn’t the first time he’d taken a smoke break on the front porch. “Sorry.” He seemed more than apologetic. “Sometimes when I’m nervous or overwhelmed it seems to help. Or if I have too much to drink. I know I shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” I told him. “We all have our little secrets,” I said with a smile as he took the bag I was carrying from my shoulder.

“Is that right? And what’s yours?” he asked as he led me into the house. “You sneak cigarettes between midterms? No wait, shots of whiskey after a long shift?”

“Not exactly.” I laughed, not knowing if I was ready to tell him my method of unwinding. I decided to pull the band-aid off quickly. “Coke.”

“Coke? Well, shit. That escalated quickly,” he said with disbelief. “That’s a terrible habit, Georgia. It’s addictive and dangerous. Not to mention expensive and illegal.” I could see him mentally preparing an intervention. He was probably already plotting out his call to Nora and my parents.

“Not that kind of Coke.” I laughed. “Coca-Cola, silly.”

“Whew,” he said with exaggeration, wiping the back of his hand over his brow. “Had me worried for a second,” he said before joining in with my laughter. “Having a soda is not a vice.”

“You can clean toilet bowls with Coke. It takes rust off of bumpers. It is so bad for you.”

“Come on. It’s soda. Kids drink it.”

“I’m serious. It’s full of nonsense. Chemicals most people can’t even pronounce.” I paused. “But every now and then I just have to pop open a cold one and let it wreak havoc on my insides.”

“Such a rebel,” he said as he leaned in and placed his lips on my forehead. It was nice, but not exactly what I had been hoping for. I could smell the cigarette smoke on him, but I didn’t care. I wanted to taste it on his lips. “I’ll be right back,” he said, excusing himself to the bathroom. He apparently cared. I heard the sounds of him brushing his teeth along with the running faucet.

When he returned, I already had everything we’d bought at the store laid out on the counter and was preheating the oven. “Fresh and clean,” he said as he walked over to me and kissed my lips. Firmly, he held his lips to mine and let his hands find my hips. The bite of his fingertips into my body let me know that he was holding back just as much as I was.

I wished for one moment that he would just let go, but we’d agreed to take it slow. His kiss deepened and he let his tongue slip between my lips. I nearly dropped the potato I was trying to wrap with foil. Before my legs could wobble out from underneath me, he ended what he had started. By the time he pulled away—leaving a minty taste in my mouth—I’d forgotten what I was doing.

“That was…nice,” I barely managed to string a sentence together as I watched him strut over to the barstool across the island from me and take a seat.

“That was the greeting I was planning on giving you until you busted me smoking,” he confessed. “This time it was to celebrate you not having a cocaine addiction.”

“I’ll take it,” I said with a stunned nod.

I would take it all. I thought, trying not to smile too enthusiastically. This whole playing it cool thing was hard. I really wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to say to hell with dinner and make out with him, but the calm, collected adult in me wouldn’t allow it. At least not yet. The anxious feeling that was bubbling in the pit of my stomach had me almost giddy.

“So, what had you stressed out?” I asked as I continued preparing our dinner. I needed to focus on something other than my hormones.

“Huh?”

“You said you smoke when you’re overwhelmed,” I reminded him.

“It’s nothing,” he assured, but there was something in his eyes that said otherwise. Concern?

“Really? I thought maybe it had something to do with what happened at the grocery store.”

“Maybe a little,” he confessed.

“It was awkward. I’m sorry if I made it uncomfortable for you.”

“You didn’t,” he hesitated. “It just…it was awkward for you and that made me mad at myself for putting you in the situation. I know I’m not going to be here in Halstead forever, but you are. This is your home and I don’t want to be that guy that comes in and stirs up a bunch of shit for you and then bails. Does that make any sense?”

It did and it was really sweet that he was concerned about me. “It does, but I don’t want you to think for one minute that I’m not completely aware of the situation I’m putting myself in. I loved Jamie, yes, but he’s been gone for three years. I need to move on with my life. Iris has to know that.”

“She should in theory.” He paused. “But I saw the way she looked at me. The way she looked at us. She was far from okay with it.”

“She’s just going to have to be,” I told him, leaning over the counter. When he didn’t meet me, I grabbed a handful of the soft, worn t-shirt he was wearing and pulled him toward me. “I don’t want to think about the past anymore,” I said, touching my nose to his. “I want to be here…with you.”

After dinner, which was delicious, we sat down on the sofa and continued the conversation we’d started at the kitchen table. She tucked her legs up underneath her and faced me as she fired off a round of questions about freestyle motocross.

“What do you mean you let go of the bike?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

“That’s part of thrill,” I explained. “You have to let go of the bike in the air, perform a twist or flip or something awesome, and then grab back onto it before you land.” I could practically hear the roar of the stadium crowd as I explained the tricks to Georgia. Man, I wanted to get back on my bike. “The adrenaline rush is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“I would imagine,” she said. The concern in her voice was evident. “What’s the simplest trick? The easiest, safest one? The one where you keep a firm hold on the bike at all times?” Her nervous question was kind of cute.

“Well none of them are particularly safe,” I told her with a laugh. “There’s a risk just jumping the bike, let alone tossing it and your body in different directions mid-flight.”