“See you Thursday. For the cake tasting,” she added, like I could possibly have forgotten.
“See you Thursday.”
She got out, and I watched her walk to the door. She turned at the threshold, waved.
I waved back.
Then I drove home, my mind spinning.
The truce was working. Or maybe it wasn’t. Because whatever was happening between us felt so right and yet so wrong. My mind was spinning and not for the first time in my life the confusion of what I was supposed to do warred with everything I wanted with all of my soul.
At home, I sat in my truck in the driveway for a long time, staring at my phone.
I could text her. Should probably text her something friendly about the locations, about coordinating schedules. Set some boundaries of what this thing between us could actually be.
I typed:Thanks for today. You’re good at what you do.
Stared at it.
Deleted it.
Put my phone down.
“Eight weeks. You can last eight weeks.”
My phone buzzed.
My heart stopped.
Leigh:Thanks again for today. Those locations are perfect. See you Thursday.
Professional. Friendly. Safe.
I typed back: ??
The most emotionally repressed emoji in existence.
I hated myself for it.
But I didn’t know what else to say. Because what I wanted to say was:
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Today felt right.
I don’t want to pretend anymore.
But I couldn’t say any of that.
So I said nothing.
And instead I headed inside to lay in bed thinking about the way she’d smiled at the overlook. The way she’d looked at me by my grandparents’ graves. The way her hand had felt for that brief moment when I’d steadied her by the creek.
Eight weeks.
I wasn’t going to survive eight weeks.
Chapter 11
