Is he thinking the same thing? Focus, girl.
As they finished their last bites, they stared at each other,the weight of everything unsaid bearing down. The severing of the branch of possibility between them.
The seconds ticked on agonizingly slow.
She lifted her eyes from her empty plate and met his gaze. “Jamie, about last night?—”
He didn’t let her finish.
“I fucked up, Brinton.” He looked to that impossibly high ceiling, laughing to himself. “And it’s not the first time since you got here. I’m betting the house that it won’t be the last. I guess…I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?” she asked, caught in a vortex of panic and uncertainty.
Would he tell her that none of what they’d shared had been real, like she’d feared? Would he plead temporary insanity by rancid whiskey?
Crap, did whiskey even go rancid?
She’d google it later. Not that it mattered. She was ending this—whatever it was—tonight. She had to.
But dammit, itdidmatter. So much that she’d already put her career, the very thing validating her and making herworthy, on the line.
He spread his hands wide, leaning against the counter.
“How to be with someone,” he admitted. “I’ve never done it right, never thought I could. In that alley last night, I gave you the impression that these last few days haven’t been exceptional. That you’re like any other woman to me. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Because, Bee, I’m serious about you.”
He exhaled, his laugh a nervous jumble. “I’m sorry, I’ve never said that to anyone before, and I’m scared shitless.”
She couldn’t believe this was happening again. Brinton had set herself up for disappointment. And yet Jamie was a rainstorm on a blinding sunny day. There was no choice but to dance until you were soaked to the bone.
“I’m serious about you too,” she whispered, a lukewarm smile blooming across her lips. Sadly, that didn’t solve the bigger problem.
Her eyes floated shut, as if she could shield herself from what was coming next. “But you’re my interview subject. There can’t be any doubts about how this story came together.”
She shook her head as his smile dampened. “They’ll think I fucked my way to a byline. And I don’t want to lie about it, because that’s not who I am. So we can’t…”
Brinton couldn’t place exactly when her hands started shaking, but Jamie crossed to her side of the kitchen island and took them into his. The warmth spread through her fingers, sheathing each fractured nerve.
“What if I’m not ready to let you go?” he pleaded, eyes wide and handily reeling her in.
“I don’t think I’m ready either,” she said before she could swallow the words. The tender truth. “But I don’t know what else to do. Unless…”
Had Shay and her mother been right? Brinton had been miserable atLandmark. And who knew if this cover story would even change that?
“I could give the story to another reporter, and you can decide whether to share your secret.”
As Brinton said the words, her stomach slicked with disappointment. She’d fought for this opportunity for years, but if she let herself actually be happy, that all disappeared.
Agatha’s cacophonous snicker ransacked Brinton’s mind.
Jamie tightened his grip on Brinton’s hands. “I won’t let you do that for me. And I don’t trust anybody else but you to tell my story.”
His hands circled her back as his lips pressed against her right temple.
“There’s gotta be another way.” He pulled back. Possibilitybrewed in his eyes. “We’re still getting to know each other, so what if we…” Adorably, he cocked his head. “Pump the brakes on…you know.”
She eyed him, confused. No, she had no fucking clue.
He raised a brow. “Sleeping together?”
