Page 68 of Heart Breaker

James watches her go before turning his attention to me.

“So,” he says, settling back into his chair. “Lottie tells me you’re a pilot.”

I nod, the corner of my mouth lifting. “I am.”

“Commercial?”

“At one time, but now I fly private charters.”

He nods. “Ever crash?”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised by the question. “No sir, I haven’t.”

“Good.”

The response comes so quickly that I laugh. He smiles at me and suddenly I see where Lottie gets it from. The way she can put people at ease, lighten the tension in a room.

My gaze wanders to the mantel and the framed photos that stretch from one end to the other. There are a few of Lottie as a kid—grinning widely to reveal her missing front teeth, jumping waves in the ocean with her sister. My eyes linger on one where she’s wrapped around her dad’s neck, both of them laughing at something outside the frame. I don’t realize I’m staring until James speaks.

“She was a happy kid.”

The emotion in his voice makes me look at him.

“Looks like it.”

His smile softens. “Still is.”

I look back at the photographs of the little girl who grew up surrounded by people who adore her, and I suddenly understand how someone like Lottie emits light because she was taught how to share it.

“You know, you’ve caused quite a stir around here tonight. For once in a long while all the attention is off me. Thanks for that.”

Before I can answer, Claire appears at our side and hands me an ice-cold glass of beer. “Lord, James. Stop interrogating the poor guy.”

His laugh rumbles through the room. “I’m not interrogating him.” Then he winks at me. “Besides, I don’t think Wes is the type of man to run.”

I smile politely, but if I’m honest, every instinct I have is screaming at me to do exactly that. Not because of the crowd or the occasion, but because this house feels like something I haven’t experienced since I was ten—parents who adore their kids, a home full of laughter. Love is woven into the fabric of this house and you feel it the second you walk through the front door. Standing in the middle of it feels a lot more intimidating than I would have thought.

James takes a sip of his water. “You got family still in Deep Cove, Wes?”

I shift back in my chair, the wood creaking. “Yeah, I do. I’ve got my three brothers, Ford, Jesse, and Noah.”

“Ah yes, I’ve heard about the Winters brothers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

I’m well aware of my family’s reputation. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve heard some variation of I’ve heard about the Winters brothers that ends in a rumor or a story that’s only half true. It’s the downside of growing up in a small town.

His grin widens. “Nothing to be sorry about. You and your brothers should be very proud. Your success is impressive as hell. How about your parents?”

I look down at the glass in my hands, watching condensation slide beneath my thumb. “My dad’s around. My mom passed away when I was ten.”

James’s smile fades, replaced by a quiet sadness that settles into the lines around his eyes. “I’m very sorry.”

I nod. “Thanks. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember her all that well anymore. The sound of her voice, what she smelled like. Stuff like that. But sometimes I think that’s easier,” I say, shifting in my chair. “Not remembering.” I clear my throat, surprised that I just shared all of that with him.

Claire looks at me with kind eyes. “It doesn’t sound easy,” she says quietly.

“I told Lottie that you can’t miss what you don’t remember,” I tell them, thinking back to our conversation. “She said I wasn’t mourning the memories, I was mourning everything I never got to have with my mom.”