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“Of course not, Johnny, I don’t get off until seven. It’s only seven thirty. And it’s not like we have some set-in-stone time limit to eat. I’ll jump in the shower and be ready when you get here.”
Wow. The woman was incredible. Going on as though he hadn’t had a bizarre out-of-body experience that afternoon and nearly screwed everything up...
“Unless you want me to meet you at your place?” she added. There was a lilt to her voice. He liked it. A lot.
“Johnny?”
“I’ll see you at your place,” he told her, wiping the sweat off his brow as they ended the call. The afternoon away had done him good. Until he’d heard her voice, heard how happy she was to hear from him, and he’d realized how relieved he was that she wasn’t holding the text he’d sent against him.
He had to talk to her. Let her know...what? That he had the hots for her so badly he’d run away from her that afternoon? That he’d purposely put himself in a position where he couldn’t do what he’d told her he would?
Of course, she already knew that part, about the way he’d run off. It had been in his text message.
She hadn’t asked why. She’d just been glad that he’d returned with dinner as planned. Because that was how their partnership rolled.
Too bad Johnny wasn’t rolling right along with it.
* * *
Showered, in sweatpants and a big, thick gray sweatshirt—chosen because she could go braless in it and hadn’t been able to bear strapping herself up again that night—Tabitha picked up her phone. She was ready to leave her small master suite and head to the dining room. She could smell barbecue and mac and cheese. Johnny had arrived...
And her phone’s new-text icon showed on the screen. She’d just left work, so no need for FYI messages from the hospital. If there’d been an emergency pertaining to something she’d done that day, they would’ve called. So who’d be texting her? Except... Mallory?
Clicking to open her text app, she stood in the middle of her room, willing her hands to stop trembling. She’d given the other woman her cell number...just in case.
Johnny’s caller ID icon appeared on the new text. She could breathe again.
Smiling, she took a couple of steps toward the door, opening the message. He was probably sending some unnecessary apology for having been late.
As if she had any right—or desire—to...
Day too nice to waste. Decided to take plane up. Heading to Phoenix. Not sure when I’ll be back. Don’t count on dinner.
Slippered feet frozen in place, one in front of the other, Tabitha continued to stand there, reading the message a second time. Johnny hadn’t called because he was running late; he’d called because he thought she wasn’t expecting him at all.
Heart pounding, she took a deep breath. He didn’t owe her dinner. Or anything. He’d had a free Sunday and...
Had he been planning to get back in time to drive to San Diego in the morning, as planned? They weren’t opening the food truck until dinner. But there was nothing that said he had to open it at all the next day. Or ever.
They’d been planning to meet Mallory and Braden to go over her lists...
But Johnny’s real life had called out to him and he’d answered the call. He owed her nothing; he could end everything at any time. There was no law that said he had to live next door to her for the entire year he’d set aside for himself.
“Tabitha?” Johnny’s voice sounded in the hall, as if he was heading toward her bedroom door. Looking up, she saw him standing there, his gaze locked on the phone in her hand.
She might have gasped when she first read the text. Might have made a sound. She didn’t know what had brought him to her.
“You’ve been out of the shower a long time,” he was saying, still looking at her hand. “I was just checking to make sure you were okay.” He raised his eyes to meet hers.
“You own a plane?” It was the only thing she could get out. The only thing she wanted to focus on.
He wasn’t just rich. He was...completely out of her league.
The relationship between her and Johnny had been different lately. Changing. She’d worried about it. And then she hadn’t. The past three days had been great...
For her.
“Technically my family owns it,” he said, his hands in his jeans pockets now as he stood in the doorway facing her.
