This was a mistake.

My own words slice through my brain. I stagger back to lean against the kitchen counter.

It was a mistake. Josie dated my nephew for years, and this is his home, so how could I be with her, really? How could I have them both here at the same time, rubbing it in his face that I won her? What kind of man would I be?

“You’re an idiot,” Harry says flatly, marching past me to the bedroom, the full duffel clutched in one hand. “You’re going to lose her, and then I’ll be the only one keeping your grumpy ass company when you’re old and gray. No one else is gonna look at you like you hung the damn moon, Everett. You can’t grow another Josie Martin in your patch.”

I’m…

What?

He’s okay with it?

I trail him to the bedroom and grip the doorway, squeezing so hard the wood creaks.

“You’d be okay with it.” Doubt is thick in my voice. “With me being with her.”

But Harry rolls his eyes, yanking another bag from the closet and filling it with Josie’s clothes. T-shirts and sun dresses and strappy tops rain down in a fabric waterfall. “Eventually. Once I’ve had my full tantrum, thanks.”

…Shit.

I swallow hard, but my stomach’s churning. Did I fuck this up? Was there something really here, something possible, before I threw it away?

“She’s at her car,” Harry mutters, tugging a drawer open. “Go and get her, old man. I’ll stay inside so I don’t see any more shit that’ll make my eyes bleed.”

* * *

Was it really only yesterday that I kissed Josie Martin for the first time? That I touched her hair and felt her bare skin; that I slid inside her tight heat?

It’s been less than twenty four hours, but it feels like decades have passed. Josie’s car is where she left it: partway along the track back to town, tucked away behind a copse of bushes. The paintwork is dusty, the windshield splattered with bird mess, and I should’ve moved it for her days ago, but I didn’t think.

I don’t think when it comes to her. I’m too busy feeling. Too busy craving.

It’s no excuse, but there it is.

“Harry?” Her head’s buried in the open trunk, her hands shifting through the tangle of belongings. “Did you find my phone charger?”

A toffee-colored head pops up, and then her mouth drops open in dismay.

“Oh,” Josie says. “It’s you.”

Not what any man wants to hear when he goes to declare his love. But I deserve her cool tone and the tense way she holds her body; the lack of trust in her moss green eyes.

For one shining moment last night, I had her. Josie Martin was all mine. Then I wrecked it, and now my girl’s loading up her car, fixing to drive away from me forever.

“Please don’t go.” The words tumble out of me in a rush. I haven’t slept, haven’t even changed my clothes, and my brain is fuzzy with exhaustion. I’m sitting a test I’ve never studied for, and my whole life hangs in the balance. “I messed up, Josie. I know I did. But please don’t go.”