Page 65 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

She laughed.

He took the phone back and slipped it into his pocket.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable.”

“Probably.”

She followed him back inside, and when he reached for his duffel, something inside her dropped. That was ridiculous. Of course he had somewhere else to stay. He’d come to Crete because she’d let him, not because she’d invited him to move into her house. They hadn’t even kissed. And perhaps that was exactly why she hadn’t thought this part through.

He slung the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll come by in the morning.”

“You will?”

His mouth twitched. “Extra set of hands.”

She smiled, but the feeling in her chest didn’t ease. He was really leaving. Not leaving Crete. Not disappearing back to Montana. He was going to a ridiculously luxurious villa a few minutes away. That shouldn’t matter, but it did.

“Blane?”

He stopped and looked back at her.

“You could stay here.”

He went still. Not dramatically. He simply stopped moving, one hand still curled around the strap of his bag.

“You want me to?”

There it was. Not, Do you need me to? Not, Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own? But, You want me to?

“Yes.”

His gaze stayed on hers.

She swallowed. “There are three bedrooms. I’m not suggesting anything else. I only mean…” She stopped herself. She didn’t need an excuse. “I’d like you to stay.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then he nodded. “Okay.” He took the duffel from his shoulder and set it back down.

And something inside Bea settled with it.

Chapter Twelve

Blane helped her clear up after dinner, but Bea shooed him out onto the terrace with another glass of wine while she finished. Now that he was staying, she understood why he’d only had one glass earlier—he’d intended to drive to that ridiculous villa his friend had rented for him. And she needed a few moments to come to terms with what asking him to stay here with her might actually mean.

He hadn’t expected anything. He’d arranged somewhere else to sleep because he hadn’t assumed. That, perhaps more than anything else, made her decision easy.

She nodded to herself, hung the dish towel on its hook, and went out to join him. The lights from the village twinkled in the dark below, and cicadas still filled the warm night. Blane was standing at the rail with his back to her, looking out at a valley he’d known for a few hours, and that she’d committed her whole life to.

“You’re hovering,” she said. “You’ve the look of a man deciding where the exits are.”

“Habit.” He didn’t turn. “Nice view, though.”

She came to the rail and stood beside him, not quite touching, the way they’d stood not-quite-touching in front of the lifts at the hotel half a lifetime and three days ago. Then he turned to face her, his expression the same one he’d worn the night before, when he’d straightened up instead of leaning in, said early flight, and very politely broken both their hearts.

She took a deep breath. “There’s no early flight in the morning.”

He went still, and she watched him take in what she meant.

“I’ve thought about it rather a lot, if I’m honest.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “Last night, outside my room, you did the decent thing and I let you, and I’ve spent the whole time since wishing that you hadn’t and being glad you did, in roughly equal measure, and it’s been exhausting, Blane. I’m nearly sixty. I don’t have the stamina for this much restraint—”