View With Your Heart (Heart Collection #5) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,1
timing was after my high school graduation and before I left for college. That was the best June, July, and August of my life. I was reckless, thoughtless even, but not with her. She was all I thought about that summer. We had temporary written all over us, but perhaps that was the appeal. Summer loves are like that—unparalleled because of the limitation on them.
As I have a good view of the woman, I continue to watch her from my seat on the third floor. She stills a second, spinning in a half-circle to again settle that hair dancing around her face. The breeze blows it back as she faces west. With her back to me, I imagine her eyes closing as she feels the sun heat her cheeks. I’m enthralled by her movements, which are nothing out of the ordinary. Any woman might move in this manner to clear her face on a breezy, late afternoon.
It's when she turns back around, dips her head, and brushes only one side of her hair behind her ear that I stiffen. I do a double take and squint harder at her.
It can’t be.
Britton was just as hell-bent on being somebody as I was. New York called her name, she said. We were headed to opposite coasts.
Yet the movement of her hand, the way she holds it on the side of her neck a second after brushing back her hair, feels too coincidental. She begins walking again, coming almost parallel to my view, and stops before the condo building. Putting her back to me again, she looks at the water once more, and more memories rush over me.
A tiny boat, a dark night, and fireworks exploding over the water.
Shaking my head, I realize I’m imprinting, merging my history with reality. I blame it on my emotions, a roller-coaster ride of peaks and valleys at being so close to home and soon to see my family.
Still, I can’t take my eyes off the woman who spins and faces the building a second time. A hand at her brow shields her eyes, and it’s as if she looks up at me. For some reason, I wave. Her hand drops, and I chuckle to myself. I’m an idiot, and I’m relieved she didn’t see me.
Then her hand lifts, and a hesitant, short wave returns mine. My breath catches.
Again, it can’t be, can it?
Because if I could do any imprinting, it would be Britton McKay standing on that beach.
What would be the odds?
Considering this thought, a young boy runs across the sand to her, and she extends an arm to him. He looks older than a youth but not quite a teen. However, I’m not a good judge of ages. I’ll probably never have children. Zoey hadn’t wanted them, and I guess I hadn’t either.
Still, I’ve been thinking so much about family.
My sight follows the woman, wrapping her arm around the kid’s neck. He’s carrying a wakeboard in his hands, a favorite pastime of kids in the area. Surfing isn’t really a thing in these parts. He’s nearly as tall as the woman, and she presses a kiss to the side of his head. Quickly, he slips out from under her arm. Her head tips back as though she’s laughing as he runs off before her, drops the board, and skims a few feet in the inches-deep wave. He stumbles, and she bends forward, laughing harder.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. Belly shaking. Eyes tearing. Full body immersed in the depths of something funny.
Again, I remember someone laughing just like that, and as much as I don’t think it’s a possibility, it seems undeniable.
Britton McKay is here.
Take 2
Scene: The Lake
[Britton]
Some afternoons, it’s nice to take a stroll through town after a busy day. Elk Lake City is wedged between the larger lake of Lake Michigan and a series of inner lakes, the closest of which is Elk Lake. The two are joined by a short, rapid river, and I cross the bridge over it to walk along the flowing water for a casual jaunt.
As I saunter, I reflect on my crazy day. My tea shop—TeasMe!—is doing well for a two-year-old business. Summer sales are better than I anticipated, and the additional help of Henry and Jenna has made all the difference. It’s my personal business that’s been a Ferris wheel of lifts and drops today. For one, Rebecca Sterling is at it again, wanting me to name a price on my uncle’s property.