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“Are these friends of yours?” Wyatt scratches at his temple.
I’m definitely buzzing, and I’m sure I sound like a crazy person, but I’m on a roll.
“They’re characters in a show,” I say, adding, “That you’ve probably never watched …”
“Okay. Continue …”
“Anyway, Big was Carrie’s person. Her big love. Her best friend. But he was also kind of an asshole. He broke her heart more than once. He left her at the altar on their wedding day. He also flew across the world for her when she needed him the most. In the end, he always loved her, he was just terrible at showing it. Their relationship was complicated and flawed and filled with ups and downs, but they were always meant to be together. Anyway, all of that was to say … I really could’ve used you these last ten years. Even if it wasn’t always perfect …” My voice trails off. I can’t finish. Hot tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away before they have a chance to fall. I didn’t intend to get emotional—I just wanted to illustrate a point.
“You going home or where are you headed?” he asks.
I’m grateful for the change of subject. He never was good at handling other people’s emotions.
“Yeah …” I say. “Going home. Why?”
* * *
I glance up to find him raking his perfect teeth along his lower lip.
“Thought if you had time, we could make a quick run to the line shack. I know you wanted to see it while you were still in town,” he says.
The farm is fifteen minutes from here and the line shack is another half hour beyond the main house. That’s ninety minutes alone of sheer driving. There will be nothing quick about this run.
Rising from the Tahoe bumper, I ask if he’s sure.
“The last time you said it wasn’t a good idea,” I remind him.
“That was in the middle of the day,” he says. “It’s late now. There’s no one around …”
“Oh my god.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. “You want to hook up.”
“No.” His eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant … I just like to keep my personal life private. People like to talk around here and that’s how rumors get started.”
“Yeah, can you imagine the scandal it’d cause if someone saw us together?” I chuckle.
He rolls his eyes, going back to serious mode. “It’s not like that.”
“There you go being strange again …”
“Just get in the damn truck,” he says with a semi-playful glint in his eye as he jangles his keys.
Did he just … flirt with me?
A minute later, we’re loaded in the cab of his ’76 Ford, the engine rumbling and my insides feeling like a tangled string of multi-colored Christmas lights.
Windows down and Willie Nelson serenading us from the AM radio, I kick off my shoes, rest my feet on the dash, and sing along softly as Wyatt takes us to my favorite place in the entire world.
Five minutes into the ride, I turn the music down. “I have an idea.”
“Um, okay?”
“It’s weird.” I cringe. I cringe before the words have worn a path from my brain to my lips to his ears. But if there’s anyone I can be weird around, it’s him.
“Is this a freak flag request?” he asks, wearing a teasing smirk.
“One hundred percent it’s a freak flag request.”
His mouth presses flat. “All right. I’m listening.”
“Do you think …” my heart races so hard it throbs in my ears. “What if for one night … we just pretended … that we were still together … that nothing had changed …”
He’s stoic, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. I’m attempting to read him, but he’s giving me nothing.
“Just for the next few hours,” I add. “It could be fun … a little escape from reality?”
I’m not sure the man has so much as blinked yet.
“I know it’s weird.” I recoil. “I’m fully owning the fact that I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman asking her ex to pretend to love her again, and I know exactly how that sounds, but if we’re—”
Reaching across the center of the bench seat, he slides his hand into mine.
“Just for tonight,” he says. His hand is warm, callused, and feels like home.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I scoot to the middle seat, straddle the gear shifter, and rest my cheek against his shoulder. His hand slides to the inside of my left thigh, and I hook my arm under his.
My entire body radiates with fullness, followed by an undeniable heaviness, as if my soul is digging her heels into the ground to get my attention, to tell me this is where I belonged all this time.
I can hate what this man did to my heart, but I don’t know that I could unlove him if I tried.
22
Wyatt
* * *
“Home sweet home.” I unlock the door and swing it open, propping it with my foot as Blaire steps over the threshold.
