And it’s not like I hate vegetables. I like corn on the cob and like…potatoes and stuff. Those are technically vegetables, right?

“So, what are you watching?” she asks.

I look up at the TV and realize the volume is too low. I reach for the remote and turn it up. “Fight Club,” I tell her.

“Oh, hey. I was born the year this was made.”

I arch an eyebrow but keep my mouth shut.

But I do the math in my head, remembering I saw this my senior year in high school. So yeah, that would be about right.

Shit, I’m getting old. To think of everything that’s gone on in my lifetime that she wasn’t around for or old enough to remember. I glance over at her, taking in her young skin and hopeful eyes.

She was just in high school a year ago.

We eat in silence for the next couple of hours, engrossed in one of my favorite movies. I have no idea if she’s already seen it, but she after a while, her plate sits half-eaten and forgotten on the coffee table, and she’s sitting at the other end of the couch, hugging her legs and watching intently.

“They make smoking look so appetizing,” she finally says, watching Marla Singer on the screen.

“Appetizing?”

She clears her throat and sits up. “Well, it’s like Bruce Willis,” she explains. “I could watch him smoke for days. It’s like he’s eating. Eating a nice, succulent…”

“Steak,” I finish for her, understanding.

“Exactly.” She flashes me a soft smile. “They totally own it. It’s part of their wardrobe.”

“Well,” I sigh, gathering up our plates and rising. “Don’t start smoking.”

“You do.”

I pause, looking down at her. I’ve only smoked once since they moved in, and I never smoke in the house. I don’t even think Cole knows I smoke.

She clarifies, probably seeing the confusion on my face. “I noticed the cigar butt in the ashtray outside,” she says.

Ah. I continue toward the kitchen, carrying the dishes around the coffee table. “On rare occasions, yes. I like the smell.”

“Why?” She gets up off the couch, grabbing the empty soda cans and napkins and following me.

“I just do.” I clear off the plates and put them in the dishwasher. “My grandfather, he smoked, so…”

It seemed natural to start sharing, but all of a sudden it feels stupid.

“So…?” she presses.

But I just shake my head, closing the dishwasher door and starting the machine. “I just like the smell, is all,” I finish curtly.

I’m not sure why I’m having trouble talking to her. There was no mystery here. My grandpa was awesome, and I had a great childhood, but the more I grew up, the further away I felt from that feeling when I was eight. The feeling of being somewhere I loved and feeling what I felt.

Happiness.

I smoke cigars once in a while to take me back there.

It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable sharing with just anyone, though.

But it’s funny how close I came to doing just that with her a minute ago.

I can feel her eyes on me, and the awkwardness crawls my skin.

“You want a beer?” I ask, swinging open the fridge and grabbing two out. Anything to change the subject.

“Um…sure.”

I pop the tops and hand her a Corona, finally meeting her eyes. Her very young, very blue, and very nineteen-year-old eyes. Shit. I forgot she’s underage again.

Whatever. I take a drink and head out of the kitchen. She works in a bar, doesn’t she? I’m sure customers have bought her shots before.

I plant my ass back on the couch, hanging my arm around the back of the seat and taking another drink. The movie still has a few minutes left, and she sits down at the other end to finish watching, but I can’t seem to concentrate anymore.

And I don’t think she’s watching, either.

Something’s changed. The conversation was easy, and then it wasn’t. And it’s my fault. I’m cold. Somewhere after Lindsay and the chaos, I stopped being able to open up. I got too used to being alone.

I frown. I don’t want her to avoid me, because I can’t carry on a fucking conversation. She’s Cole’s girlfriend, and I don’t want walls between him and me anymore. She could help with that.

“Are you planning to stay in town after you finish school?” I ask.

She glances over and shrugs a little. “I’m not sure. It’s still a few years off,” she says. “I don’t really mind it here as long as I can afford vacations from time to time.” She laughs a little. “I just don’t want to be working a dead-end job forever, you know? If I can find work in the area, then it might be nice to stick around for my sister and my nephew for a while.”

There’s lots of construction going on here and in surrounding towns and suburbs. Which is why I found it easy to stay all these years. If she’s getting into landscape design, it’s very possible she’ll have good prospects if she stays in the area.

“Have you ever traveled?” I ask, glancing over at her.

But then I stop, suddenly forgetting what I was saying. I drop my eyes to her ass, her body now twisted around as she leans over the arm of the couch to set her beer down. Her little shorts hug every curve, her knees are spread a little, and for a moment, I’m drawn to the dip between her thighs.

Heat floods my groin, and my cock throbs.

Shit. I look away.

I struggle for air and sweat breaks out on my neck. What the fuck?

She may not seem young, but she is. She’s a kid. What the hell am I doing?

She sits backs down, and I tip up my bottle, taking another swig to cover my nerves.

“Not really,” she answers.

What did I ask her again? Oh, right. Traveling.

“I went to New Orleans with my sister when I was fifteen, and I won a scholarship to a summer camp in Virginia when I was twelve,” she tells me. “That’s about it.”

“New Orleans at fifteen?” I joke. Must’ve been interesting.

A thoughtful smile crosses her face, but it falls quickly. “That’s where my mom lives,” she says.

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Her dad is Chip Hadley. I don’t pay much attention to gossip, but I know he’s been married a couple times.

Jordan clears her throat, sitting up. “She left when I was four.”

Four? What kind of person would leave her like that?

She sits quietly, looking like she’s thinking, and an urge comes over me to have her in my arms.

Right now.

“When my sister graduated from high school, we tracked her down,” she explains, “and we took a road trip that summer to visit her.”

“How did it go?”

She shrugs a little. “Fine, I guess. She was waitressing, had a little apartment, and was living her life. She was pleased to see us. Now that we’re grown and don’t need a lot of care, I suppose,” she adds.

She finally looks over at me, quirking a sad smile.

“Did you ask her why she left?” I inquire.

But she just shakes her head. “No, I used to want to know, but then when I met her, I didn’t really care anymore.” She pauses and then adds, “I didn’t like her.”

I watch her, remaining quiet. Does Cole have those thoughts about me?

“So, have you ever been married?” Her voice is light, and I can tell she’s trying to change the subject.

I sit up, taking a deep breath and rolling my eyes at myself. . “Cole’s mom and I didn’t last long after he was born,” I tell her, “and I don’t know… I got caught up in trying to build a livelihood—a future. Got used to being alone.”

I run my fingers over my scalp, finally resting my head on my hand and looking over at her. But she looks skeptical, studying me with something cautious in her eyes. Like she doesn’t believe that’s why I’m still single.

“There were chances to get married,” I say, assuring her, “but I guess even in high school I never wanted to be one of the numbers and do what I was supposed to do, you know? Graduate, get a job, get married, have kids...die.”

I breathe out a laugh, but surprisingly, the words are coming easy now.

“My grandfather, the one who also smoked cigars,” I clarify, “passed away when I was nine, but I still remember this house party my parents had when my dad finished college. He was in his thirties, the first one in the family to get a college education, so it was a big deal.”

She sits back in the seat, holding the bottle with both hands and listening.

“I think I was like six years old at the time,” I tell her. “My grandparents were there, and everyone was talking and laughing, but what I remember most is my grandfather, in his sixties, six-foot-four and two-hundred-fifty pounds shaking the foundations of the house, because he was dancing around to Jump by the Pointer Sisters.”

She breaks into a smile. Yeah, you can just picture it.

“My grandmother watched from the table, laughing with everyone else with this look of joy.” I swallow, remembering the huge smile on her face. “Everyone was just so happy, and even at their age, they kept growing, having fun, being silly…” I trail off. “I don’t know. I liked that, I guess.”

“You want that,” Jordan says quietly.

I think about my grandparents, constantly making each other smile, and all the women I’ve been with, and how I never felt that. Not even with Lindsay. I was probably incapable.

“It just didn’t look forced, you know?” I go on, turning to her. “They set a high standard. It’s hard to find that one person who speaks your language.”

She drops her eyes, looking deep in thought.

I keep going, changing the subject. “What about you?” I broach. “Any ideas about how you want your life to be someday? Your marriage, the wedding, the perfect day, the perfect dress…?”

She just sighs and takes a drink from the bottle. “I really don’t care about the wedding,” she says, staring back at the television. “I just want the life.”