And now?
Now I was thirty-six years old, sitting half-dressed in a lodge bedroom, wondering how the hell a woman like Fifi had cracked through in less than a week.
I didn’t want to hurt her.
That was the part I couldn’t stop circling.
I didn’t want her to look at me in two days, or six, and realize I was just another guy who got her hopes up.
Because last night felt like more than just a fling. Even now, thinking about her curled up beside me made something in my chest go tight.
I’d wanted to tell Dustin that.
I’d wanted to ask him what the hell I was supposed to do when I was falling for a woman whose life was rooted six states away from mine.
But instead, we’d bantered. Again. Defaulted to dumb emojis and big-brother bravado.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and rubbed both hands over my face.
I wasn’t mad at him.
I was mad at me.
Because Iwantedto talk.
I just didn’t know how.
And now, the only person I could imagine talking to about any of this was Fifi.
And I’d just kissed her senseless and maybe,probably, set both of us up to break a little.
I leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling.
Maybe I could figure this out.
Maybe I could undo the knots I’d spent years tying.
But not in one day.
Not without being honest.
And that?
That was the part I still hadn’t figured out how to do.
The knock was soft.
Tentative.
Too gentle to be anything other thanher.
I froze.
For a second, I told myself to ignore it. Let it go. Stay wrapped in my tangle of guilt and logic and text messages I regretted sending.
But my legs didn’t get the memo.
I was halfway across the room before my brain caught up.
