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Her sister had suggested the same thing. That Keely was scared to take a leap even when she had the opportunity. Maybe there was something to it. A different kind of strength she lacked, one that wasn’t about holding together a broken family, or building a business out of the ruins of a farm.
Would she regret it if she didn’t take a chance with Nate this week?
The question barely had time to formulate in her mind when the answer rose to the surface, plain as day, considering she longed to touch him with every fiber of her being.
Hell yes.
*
Toiling in thehot field all day putting in tomato plants, staking them, and watering them, hadn’t been as bad of a job as Nate had feared. Working with one hand in a splint had sucked, but he’d left it on for protection to make sure he didn’t inadvertently reinjure himself.
In the shower that evening, he examined the progress in his tendon tear, careful not to flex the hand with the splint off. At a follow-up appointment the day before, the specialist had told him he could remove the splint at night starting today, which was why he’d put off the tomato planting for as long as he had.
Stepping out of the shower, he dried and bandaged the torn skin before wrapping his hand. Having the splint off finally felt like progress.
Which was more than he could say for his relationship with Keely. Shoving his arms through a tee for a ball club he’d been with three seasons ago, Nate knew he needed her to come to him. She’d been the one to end things the first time. He’d hurt her, and he was only just coming to understand how much. He hauled the tee over his head.
So he couldn’t rush the process if they were going to reconnect. But they’d been stuck so long at an impasse, he wondered if it wasn’t going to happen. The thought shook him more than it should have given he’d only been back in town for two weeks. Then again, she’d been on his mind ever since he’d seen her at his game in San Antonio.
Sliding on a pair of thread-worn jeans since he wasn’t going back out again tonight, Nate didn’t bother to fasten them with his finger dexterity in one hand still limited. Then he strode into his living room.
And found the woman he’d been thinking about standing in his kitchen, her long blond hair trailing on the small kitchen counter as she hunched over a note she was scribbling.
“Keely?”
Surprised, he tried to tamp down a hopeful rush of pleasure, rooting his feet to the spot so he didn’t close the distance between them and pull her in his arms. The pink cotton dress she wore stopped just above her knee. A frayed denim jacket draped over her shoulders like a shawl.
“I’m so sorry.” Straightening, her golden-brown eyes flitted over him, as if not quite sure where to land. “I wasn’t sure you were even here. I tried knocking—”
“I was in the shower.” He liked seeing her here. Very much in his domain.
His heartbeat slugged harder.
“The door wasn’t locked,” she explained, setting down the pen before she crumpled the paper in her palm. “So I thought I’d just leave you a note.”
He walked deeper into the living room, his bare feet padding silently on the slate tile floor as he rounded the reclaimed wood coffee table. He figured if she’d wanted to tell him that she’d changed her mind about reliving their relationship, she would have done so by phone. Or text.
Or any way that didn’t involve her in a pink dress in his apartment.
“I’m going to have a hard time reading the note now.” He looked meaningfully at the balled-up paper she still clutched, curious.
“No need now.” She jammed the paper into an interior pocket of the denim jacket. “Since here you are.”
“Here we are.” He couldn’t quite mask the note of satisfaction in the words since he’d just been counseling himself on the need for patience.
The need to let her come to him.
When her hand moved back to the pen, spinning it in a circle on the gray quartz countertop, he realized he couldn’t afford to savor the moment. Not if she was still on the fence about what she wanted to happen next.
“Have you eaten?” He seized on the first idea that came to mind. “I could make us something.”
A smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “I thought you didn’t cook.”
“When I say ‘make,’ I meant I could make food appear,” he clarified, closing the distance between them until only a couple of feet separated them. “By calling for delivery.”
“That’s okay.” She swiped a few kinky strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I already ate.”
He caught a hint of her fragrance as she moved, the scent as complex and layered as one of her flower fields, enticing him to explore it more thoroughly.
