Page 121 of Romeo

Dennis had.

That distinction was clear to me.

I wasn’t sure it would be clear to her yet.

I finished the coffee and crushed the empty cup before tossing it into the trash.

One day, Fiona was going to see all of me.

Not the version Georgie imagined when he heard the name Romeo. Not some polished man I could invent long enough to win her.

Me.

The man who remembered her favorite flowers.

The man who crossed fifteen hundred miles because she wanted to go to prom.

And the man who could leave Dennis Coleman bleeding on his floor without losing a minute of sleep over it.

Whether she could love all of that wasn’t mine to decide. That was the part I had to remember.

I swung onto the bike and started the engine. Rosewood disappeared behind me as I pulled onto the highway.

I’d told Granny Fiona got to choose what I meant to her. That truth didn’t become less important just because there were parts of me she hadn’t seen yet.

If anything, it made it more important.

And someday, when she was ready to look at the whole picture, I’d have to trust her enough to let her decide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Romeo

The highway stretched endlessly ahead of me, white lines disappearing beneath the bike as the miles accumulated between Rosewood and what I’d done there. The steady rumble of the engine should’ve cleared my head. Usually, enough road could do that. Tonight, every vibration through the handlebars found the split skin across my knuckles and brought Dennis Coleman’s face right back with it.

My phone buzzed inside my jacket.

I ignored it. The road was too dark and the wind too strong to take one hand off the bars safely.

A minute later, it buzzed again.

The third time, I knew it was her.

There weren’t many people who’d keep texting after I didn’t answer. There was only one who could make me start looking for the next exit.

A gas station appeared a few miles later, with a single semi idling near the far pumps. I pulled beneath the canopy, killed the engine, and dug my phone out of my jacket.

Ma Belle: You home yet?

A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.

Me: Not yet.

Ma Belle: You left after breakfast yesterday. You should’ve been home hours ago.

I leaned against the bike and read it again. Knowing she’d kept track of the miles and the hours that lay between us, hit me in the chest.

Me: You keeping track of me, Cher?