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“Don’t, Chase.” I yank the door open. “I can get—” I catch myself before I say something else stupid—like home. “Back to town on my own.”
He’s unreadable.
A complete blank page.
And I’m done playing this game.
“I’ll see you when you get back.” I don’t wait for him to figure out whatever he seems like he can’t say.
And he doesn’t need to.
Chase Reeves doesn’t chase.
I’m halfway down the block and have the urge to reach for my phone so I can check train times, but I still don’t have one. I make a mental note to ask Charlie about getting one. Stopping at the corner, I try to decide which way would be my best bet for the station.
“Pepper.”
Glancing back, I see Chase jogging up behind me.
I stop.
Don’t move. Don’t give anything away.
Don’t let them see you.
Don’t let them pity you.
“Hey,” I say, a little too high-pitched. “Did I forget something?”
He releases a harsh breath, clearly not liking that he had to jog for anyone. “Pepper, I know you’re upset. Just come back up and I’ll drive you back.”
“I’m not upset,” I counter quickly. “I’m just…late. I need to get to the house. There’s still a lot to do and I need to hold up my end of the deal.” I point a playful finger and turn on my heel once again.
“Forget the deal. Would you just stop? Look, you want to know about my tattoos? I’ll tell you—over coffee. Come on.”
“Ya know, I’m good, thanks.”
“Pepper. Stop being a brat.”
“I’m not a brat,” I shout and spin.
He grins.
Shit.
Swallowing hard, I turn again and march down the sidewalk—the station has to be this way.
“Pepper!”
I turn my death glare on him. “Look, I’m not running again, alright? I’m just giving you some space so I can go and have mine—at your brother’s cottage where I feel a whole lot more comfortable. I want to get through those boxes. I want to call my only friend in town so I’m not constantly talking to myself in my head. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Chase—really, I do. From the bottom of my heart. But you can’t babysit me. I’m fine. I’m going back to town, smile brightly when someone congratulates me on our engagement and pray for this nightmare to be over soon.”
I give him three seconds before I turn back on my heel and charge down the street.
It’s a minute before I hear him behind me.
“The wings,” he starts, as calmly as he can muster, “when I was young, I wanted to be a pilot, but I was afraid of heights so I got the wings inste—”
I keep walking and he abandons the admission.
