And for the most part—he was.
But as she sipped sweet tea, she tried to ignore the ache creeping in behind her ribs.
Declan was good company.Thoughtful.Attractive.Present.
He made her laugh.Madeher think.
But as the check arrived and he reached for his wallet, she found herself wondering—is this what peace feels like, or just the absence of pain?
He walked her to her truck, his hand brushing hers.Hepaused beside the driver’s side door, eyes searching hers.
“CanIsee you again?”he asked.
Rose hesitated.Thennodded.“Yeah.IthinkI’dlike that.”
He leaned in - not quite a kiss.Justclose enough to feel his breath, smell the faint pine of his cologne.Thenhe pulled back and smiled.
“Goodnight,Rose.”
“Night,Declan.”
She climbed into her truck, heart thudding - not from what had happened, but from everything that hadn’t.
She drove home slowly, the stars scattered above her like questions with no easy answers.
But out inthe parking lot, leaning against a truck that didn’t belong to him,AcenWheelerwatched through the shadows.
He hadn’t meant to drive by.
Honestly.Andhe blamedRileyfor mentioning thatRosehad a date tonight and where she would be.
He’d told himself he was just taking the truck for a drive to make sure that carburetor repair was working right before handing the truck back to the owner.Toldhimself that he’d just happened to take the long way – even thoughTheSilverCatfishwas at the end of a very long dead-end road he had no business being on tonight.Thatturning into the lot was about needing to check a slight rattle under the hood.
But when he sawRose—her head tilted back in laughter,Declan’shand resting casually on her arm, both of them glowing in the light of the full moon overhead—it was like something inside him cracked wide open.
He’d seen her smile a thousand times.
But not like that.
That smile was soft.Unburdened.Hopeful.
And it wasn’t for him.
Acen clenched his jaw, swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat, and turned away.
He wasn’t sure which hurt more—the fact thatRosewas moving on… or the gut-deep fear that maybe sheshould.
He waited until he was sure her truck had disappeared on the highway home before he cranked up his own and rolled into the night with his own twisted thoughts his only company.
CHAPTERNINE
The parking lot ofTheMimosaTreeDinerwas packed whenRosepulled in and circled for the third time, her oldFordgrumbling like it had better places to be.Itwas eight o’clock on the dot, and every single space looked like it had been claimed since sunrise.Shesighed and found a narrow spot between a pickup truck with two muddy fishing poles hanging out the bed and a compact car covered in bumper stickers fromDollywoodandSECfootball.
“Uh oh,” she muttered under her breath.“Howheavy has the rumor mill been churning this morning?”
She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror—hair frizzing just slightly from theJunehumidity, eyes a little wary.Shedidn’tthinkshe looked like someone who’d caused a town-wide stir, but that was the thing aboutPickwickBend—you never had to actuallydomuch to become the center of attention.
Still,TheMimosaTreewasalwayspacked at breakfast, even this late in the morning.Maybethis was just the regular morning crowd—retirees holding court by the window booths, moms in yoga pants, and the usual mess of old men inJohnDeerehats arguing over who had the better tomatoes this year.
