“You didn’t mention that before,” she said, carefully.
“Which part?”
“That you tried to book elsewhere.”
“No, it wasn’t when I first tried to book. That’s not what I meant.”
“Wait, you wanted to leave once you got here.”
Oh, no. That sounded even worse.
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t…then everything happened, and I figured… maybe it didn’t matter.”
“Everything, meaning the kiss…or?”
“No, that’s the exact opposite of what I meant.”
She looked down at the gravel path between us, then back up, sharp now. “So was thatbeforeorafterwe slept together?”
The question stopped me cold.
There wasn’t an ounce of flirtation in her voice. Just quiet disbelief, and maybe even something worse—doubt.
I stepped closer, my voice low. “Fifi, I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t know what was going to happen between us. But I swear to you, it wasn’t about trying to—”
“Get laid?” she finished.
“No,” I said, firm now. “It was never just about that. I stayed in the room because I liked it here. Istayedbecause you made me feel like I could breathe again. I booked it because it was exactly what I needed.”
She watched me.
A long, aching pause.
And then she said, “I need to get back to the booth.”
My heart thudded. “Fifi…”
“I just need a minute,” she added, already stepping back.
I didn’t stop her.
I wanted to. I wanted to reach for her, grab her hand, say something big and sweeping to pull us back to where we were yesterday on that lakeside porch with pie and possibility between us.
And how, as an attorney, could I completely lose track of all my words?
But I knew that look.
She wasn’t angry.
She washurt.
And I was the one who did it.
Again.
And this time?
I didn’t know if a pie and a smile would be enough to fix it.
