But the truth?
I already know this isn’t temporary for me; it hasn’t been since I first laid my eyes on her.
I sit there long after the credits roll, after the movie fades out and the screen goes black, after the only light leftin the room is the light that spills through the porch window.
I sit there watching her breathe, memorizing every tiny detail because I know I shouldn’t. Because it feels like the only thing I’ll have.
Finally, I lean my head back against the couch as the ache in my chest becomes unbearable.
I close my eyes and let the sound of her breathing fill the room.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not sure if the silence is comforting or if it’s killing me slowly.
reed
. . .
Ipark two blocks away on purpose.
If I pull right up to Main Street, Layla won’t look. She’ll miss how Ruby Ridge opens slowly; the way the buildings lean toward each other, the way the air smells faintly of pine and coffee, the way everything feels…unrushed.
She hops out of the truck before I can even shut off the engine, already lifting her camera.
“Okay,” she says, walking backward down the sidewalk while filming. “I need everyone to appreciate this cutie small town. LOOK at all the cute shops with western decor!”
I shut the door and catch up to her, my hands sliding into my pockets.
She’s wearing a sundress today, the kind that moves with her, catching the breeze and brushing her legs.
My gaze travels along her delicate back, the curve of her natural hips, her sundress clinging to the right places.
Fuck, I shouldn’t be looking.
I force my eyes back to the street, even though I desperately want to admire her.
“It’s just buildings,” I say.
She stops so abruptly that I nearly walk into her.
“Reed Hayes,” she says solemnly, camera still rolling, “donotdisrespect a good Main Street.”
I snort. “I grew up here. It’s allowed.”
She grins and pivots, filming the bakery window, the handwritten menu, and the flower shop next door, with buckets of blooms spilling onto the sidewalk. She crouches low, captures a shot of petals scattered on the concrete, then pops back up.
“Do they always do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Put flowers everywhere. Like they’re trying to seduce people into staying.”
I shrug. “Guess it works.”
She glances at me, eyebrow raised. “Oh? You seduced?”
My pulse quickens as heat creeps up my neck. “That’s not what I meant.”
She laughs and turns back to her camera.
