Page 87 of Blue Jean Summer

She handed over the basket. “Then go apologize so I don’t have to dig a Hayes-sized hole. You know how hard red clay is to shovel up, and I’m still wiped from dancing last night.”

I glanced over my shoulder before heading out the door. “Thanks, Hal.”

—

My boots echoed with each step as I walked through the stables to the stairs that led up to the loft. Maisey ker-thunked against her stall in a tornado of excitement at the prospect of attention and food.

She flopped her head over the stall door, nibbled the air in the direction of the picnic basket, then huffed when I passed her by.

The barn cat hopped off Elvis’s head and followed me up the stairs. He stopped midway, looked at Maisey, and shot a taunting smile at her. My hunch was confirmed the moment I set foot inside the loft. The barn cat weaved around my ankles as I kept a slow pace toward Catherine, just in case she got spooked.

She was curled up on a throne of hay bales, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I brought breakfast,” I said pathetically as I lifted the basket.

Finally, she lifted her eyes and looked at me when I loomed over her.

“Can I sit?”

Catherine motioned to the empty bale beside her. I set the basket on the ground and sat before she changed her mind.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the dusty wood floor.

“I should be the one to apologize. I shouldn’t have let myself into your space like that.”

“Cath…” I looked over and saw that she was just as stone-faced.

“I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” she said defensively. “I just woke up and you weren’t there. I was worried that maybe you weren’t okay. I’m sorry. I should have waited for you to go downstairs or something.”

Tension pulled tight as my brows drew together. “Why would you think I wasn’t okay?”

“Because I’m not okay!” A caustic laugh slipped from her cherry lips. “I woke up with a fucking wedding ring on. We got married, Hayes. I don’t know what the hell we were thinking—throwing sex into the mix. And then you weren’t there. I just…I thought maybe you were freaking out like I was.”

Catherine seemed to handle everything just fine yesterday. Most people get cold feet the day of the wedding. I never stopped to think that maybe she’d have cold feet the morning after.

“Come here,” I said as I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into my side. “I’m sorry I slipped out this morning.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and caught the faintest hint of the perfume she had been wearing yesterday.

Catherine refused to look at me. “I’m not mad that you got up and went to your room to take a shower. You just…you snapped at me about being in your room and I figured you…” She sighed. “I don’t know what I figured. That you were having regrets.”

“The marriage was my idea, Cath. I don’t regret it.”

Finally, she looked up. “I don’t mean about the marriage.”

Oh. “You thought I regretted having sex?”

She dipped her shoulder in a little shrug and found a spot on the wall that was utterly fascinating.

“I don’t regret it, Cath.” I smoothed my hand up and down her arm, hoping to ease her rigid posture. “Sometimes…” I sighed. “Sometimes I need a minute to figure shit out. You just caught me at a bad moment.”

“You could have just talked to me,” she muttered. “I’m pretty good at that.”

“I’m not,” I countered with more of an edge than I had anticipated.

I swore under my breath. Great. I really was fucking this up.

Her warm hand on my thigh startled me as the answer lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I had only ever recited it a few times.

“Hayes,” Catherine said softly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. What’s the worst that could happen? We get divorced?” She laughed. “That’s going to happen anyway.”