I could survive solely off the sound of my name in her mouth for the rest of my life. I’d give anything for her to look at me again.
“Please,” she murmurs, voice shaking. “Just leave me alone.”
Guilt rushes up my throat, hot and acidic.
“I’m sorry.” The words fall out, my voice raw. “For this morning. For the joke. For being a dick. For all of it. Everything.” I scrub a hand over my face. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just…Fuck, Sadie. I’m sorry.”
When she looks up at me, a tear slides down her cheek.
Something inside me fractures.
I’m done being the thing that hurts her.
Forever.
“Will you come with me?” I ask, my voice wavering.
She hesitates, teeth catching on her bottom lip as her fingers twist the hem of her tank top.
The silence stretches so long it aches.
I lower my arm, slowly stepping back, accepting the reality of what I’ve lost.
“Okay,” she whispers.
A wave of relief surges over me so roughly I nearly stumble.
I take her hand—gently this time—and lead her out toward my truck, worried if I hesitate even a second, she’ll change her mind.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I open the passenger door for her.
“You’ll see,” I say, hoping she can’t hear how hard my heart is pounding.
Because there’s nowhere in the world I want to be more than wherever she is.
We’resittingonthetailgate of my truck, the field stretching out in front of us like someone spilled every shade of summer across the earth. Wildflowers sway in the breeze, brushing against each other like they’re whispering secrets.
I’ve brought her here a handful of times now, so it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore—but it still feels special in a way.
It feels like something I shouldn’t get to have.
She’s connected her phone to my truck, scrolling through her playlists with her bare feet dangling off the tailgate.
I can’t look away from her. She looks so soft like this. Unarmored. A little sunburned and smudged with dirt. Sweaty. Human.
Beautiful.
“You can put on whatever you want,” I say, trying to sound completely unaffected by how close her thigh is to mine.
She puts on something soft, folky even. It’s delicate, raw, and a little unexpected.
Just like her.
I should’ve known better, but just when I think I’ve figured her out, there’s another layer to peel back.
“Tell me something real,” she says, her voice light as she continues swinging her dangling feet.
“What does that mean?” I ask, even though I know exactly what it means.
