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I’m not so sure I want to tell him, but the way this town is, he’ll find out anyway.
“The bank.” I put curl cream into my palm and run it through my hands before applying it to my hair.
“The bank?” His forehead wrinkles.
I glance over, and god, he looks so sexy. His legs are crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed over his chest, and his brown eyes are on me. What I wouldn’t do for him to be mine and be able to walk over to him right now and ask him to take me to bed. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was ready to pour my heart out to him, but then my dad died, and I can’t deal with the possibility of a fallout right now. It’s the one thing that I can put on the back burner. I mean, my attraction to him has been there forever anyway—it can wait a few months.
I look back at myself in the mirror. “That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
I stop scrunching my hair, stand up straight, and glare at him. “Why did you come here to apologize if you still think I can’t handle this myself?”
He holds up both hands. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t think the bank is going to do much.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”
He remains quiet, and I know what he’s thinking. Why would I bother going when I don’t have anything to offer them for the loan? The Wilkins name doesn’t mean a lot, but I have to try. It’s my only hope.
“True.” He uses that tone he does when he doesn’t want to argue with me. Like when we watch a who-done-it, and we disagree. As if he’s silently going to wait until I have no choice but to tell him he was right. Which really makes me wish I had some fairy godmother to grant me a pile of money just to stick it to him.
“I get it, okay? I have nothing. They’re probably going to shoot me down, but I have to at least try. I’m out of options here.”
He raises his hands over the doorframe, his body swaying into my already cramped space. Why is it so hot when guys stand like that? “You have me.”
I should turn to open my makeup drawer, but before I do, I glimpse at the small amount of his stomach revealed with his shirt riding up, the light sprinkle of dark hair running down under his worn belt buckle. Is he trying to kill me?
“Sadie,” he says my name so softly it flows like sweet honey down my body.
I look up, and his gaze is on me. I swallow past the dryness in my throat.
“You always have me,” he repeats.
My heart flutters like a new butterfly just out of its cocoon. “I know.”
“Do you?” He leans in, the muscles in his arms flexing to hold his body in place.
“Yes.” I don’t voice all the questions that run rampant in my brain all the time, like how much of him will I always have, what happens if he meets some woman tomorrow who he falls head over heels for? Who will I be to him then?
“Good. I gotta head back, but call me if you need me.” He pushes himself back, and I immediately miss his scent. “Good luck at the bank.”
“Do you really mean that?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “When are you gonna realize that I want you to have everything in life that you want? So, of course I mean it.”
I give him a small smile. “Thanks.”
He winks, and his boots stomp on the floor of my cottage before the door closes behind him. I lean against the wall, needing something to hold me up. Maybe I should just say screw it all and tell the man I love him. But then again, I need him too much right now. Regardless of me wishing I could do this myself, I probably can’t. Jude knows it. and I know it, even if I don’t want to admit that to him yet. So I’ll keep my feelings to myself a little longer.
Downtown Willowbrook is quaint with the bank on the corner of the square. I park my yellow 1969 Datsun that my grandma gave me when I graduated high school in the angled parking spot in front of the bank. Then I check myself in the mirror one last time.
“You are a good investment,” I tell myself over and over.
A few people are walking along the sidewalk as I step out of the car. One woman looks at me and turns to her friend to say something. Her friend glances over her shoulder at me as I step up onto the sidewalk. Whatever. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if I had gone to college after high school. I probably would’ve come back anyway. I’m all my parents have—all my mom has now.
I swallow past the grief that threatens to pour over me like a rogue wave and pull the door to the bank open.
Soft music plays, and the two tellers are huddled together in what appears to be a gossipy conversation. One looks my way, and they break apart.
