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“Ramsey?”
I shake my head. I can’t look at him. I swallow past the lump in my throat as I fight back the tears that threaten to fall. I never should have told him, and definitely not here. I’m sure in his eyes, I’m this young, weak girl who needs to get her shit together. The thought of seeing any of that reflected in his gaze has my stomach in knots.
“I’m going to hold you.” I hear him say, not a second before his arms wrap around me. He’s once again moved to my side of the booth, and he’s got both arms wrapped around me. “I want to find him, and I want to hurt him for what he did to you. Fuck, Rams, I’m so sorry.”
His words cause the dam to break and the tears to fall. It’s been two years since I’ve allowed myself to cry over my past. I spilled every bit of my past to Aunt Carol the day I arrived in Willow River and swore to never give my father or Robert that kind of power over my emotions ever again. That’s been working well for me, well, until Deacon. I hear him murmur a thank-you, and I know I need to get myself together. We’re in a damn restaurant. Sure, we’re not in Willow River, but it’s just a short twenty-minute drive, and he loves this place. I’m sure he knows people in this town. Some might even be his clients. I pull out of his hold, and he reaches for a napkin from a pile that wasn’t there before my breakdown. I wipe at my eyes and offer him a watery smile.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this emotional. Just… telling you the story, it brought it all back.”
“Never apologize when you’re with me, Ramsey. Own how you feel. Let the tears fall, scream, yell, whatever you need to do. You do it.”
My eyes roam over his face, looking for any signs of falseness to his words, but I find none. Just honey-colored eyes, willing me to just be me for him. “You’re a good man, Deacon.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you could read my mind.” He slowly raises his hand, giving me time to tell him no, and tucks my hair behind my ear.
“Tell me.”
“You’re sitting here crying, your heart cracking wide open, and all I can think about is kissing you. Well, I want to kill the fucker who hurt you, but the kissing you part is just as strong.”
“I’m a crying snotty mess.” I shake my head, unable to believe what he’s telling me.
“There are several reasons I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing those sweet lips of yours, but that’s not one of them. You’re beautiful.”
“Stop. You don’t have to say those things to cheer me up.” I know he’s just trying to be nice. I wish I could believe his words, but I’m scared to allow myself the chance to hope or even dream of a man like Deacon taking a permanent place in my life.
He leans in close. “I only say things that I mean, Ramsey.” Then to my complete surprise, he presses his lips to the corner of my mouth. He pulls back far too soon for my liking. He stands and moves to his side of the booth just as Becky arrives with our pizza.
Deacon serves me a slice of my side first before serving a slice for himself. “Now,” he says, smiling across the table at me, “let’s forget about all of that. I don’t want to talk about anything for the rest of the night that removes that smile from your face.”
Not wanting to make a mess of myself, hearing my father’s voice in my head, “Ladies don’t eat with their fingers, Ramsey.” I nod and grab my fork and begin to eat. The conversation turns to the photo shoot and how excited we both are to see the final images. I tell him stories about my cousins and their antics, and he does the same. I didn’t realize it, but he and Orrin have been best friends for years and a few of my other cousins by association. They’re all really close in age, so it doesn’t surprise me.
“Can I get you anything else?” Becky asks.
“Ramsey?” Deacon asks.
“No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Just the check, please,” he tells her. She reaches into her pocket and produces the check, handing it to Deacon.
“How much is it?” I reach for my purse and pull out my wallet.
“What are you doing?” he asks incredulously.
“Paying for my part of dinner.”
He points his index finger at me, furrowing his brow. “Never with me. Put that away.” He points at my wallet as if it’s a snake or something. I match his stare, furrowing my brow at his demand. “Please,” he adds, his tone lighter.
