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“You seemed upset that your parents were leaving town,” JT said later at dinner. The candlelight made him even more attractive, which didn’t seem fair to me. His skin glowed, and his eyes shone. The table was in a premium spot, nestled in the corner between two huge picture windows with a view of the water. The clinking of silverware and glasses gave the restaurant enough background noise to lend a sense of privacy to our conversation. “Wait. Is that a stressful topic?”
“Nah. I’m used to it. They’re always off someplace,” I said. “I just wish…” I bit my lip to stop myself from turning into a whiner. It was none of my business where my parents traveled. Or when.
“Don’t do that. Don’t censor yourself with me,” he said softly. “I want to know how you really feel. I get the sense you don’t complain very often.”
JT’s words surprised me. “Are you kidding? I complain all the time. All I do is complain. I gripe at Alden for gossiping. I complain to Dan about annoying customers at work. I bitch to Castor about Dan fucking up simple things in the Meadery. I even complained to Pop the other night because…” I stopped when I realized I was going to saybecause you were at the cookout.
JT’s chuckle was easy and relaxed. “You’re doing it again. Censoring yourself. Can’t you see I’m a dead end? Who am I going to tell? My mother? Hardly. My father wouldn’t listen even if I threw scotch on his face while I was confessing murder, as long as the scotch was top-shelf. And my brother Reagan, despite appearances, is actually a pretty upstanding guy. So…talk.”
“I don’t want to ruin our nice time by unloading the salt truck all over my parents.”
JT leaned forward and squeezed my hand on top of the table. “Every dinner is better with a little salt. I’d kick us off by telling you some Patricia stories, but I think that falls under thestressfulheading, and I don’t want to break our deal.”
I snorted, then quickly took another sip of my wine and savored it, grateful for the distraction. JT had started to order a bottle of champagne, but he must have seen the panic on my face because he’d quickly changed it to a chardonnay instead. I didn’t need this to be more romantic and special than it already was. We weren’t boyfriends, for god’s sake, and we certainly weren’t celebrating anything.
But if the man wanted to know what was on my mind, I could tell him. At least some of it.
“Fine, then. You’ve been warned.” I set down my glass with a littleclick. “I’m annoyed and hurt that my parents are leaving the country while I’m working my ass off preparing for Brew Fest, which is in a couple of weeks—”
“Three weeks from Saturday,” JT agreed mildly.
I gave a clipped nod at this reminder thatof coursehe knew exactly when Brew Fest was, and not because I’d mentioned it but because he was no doubt going with Fortress. It was only dumb luck that we hadn’t run into each other there in the past.
I clenched my napkin in my fist below the edge of the table, where he couldn’t see. “Right. Well. I haven’t been able to expand my operation as much as I’d like yet, and I could have really used their help preparing, that’s all. Willow had promised to be here for it, and I counted on her.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s my own fault, really. I shouldn’t have trusted her. She always does this.”
I took another sip of the wine, pointedly not looking at him. The crisp chardonnay suddenly tasted bitter in my mouth.
JT’s foot nudged mine under the table. “I’ll help. I told you I would.”
I almost choked on the wine. “You were serious? Why would you do that? Brew Fest is my shot at getting the Ren Faire contract, which means getting a whole bunch of distributors vying for my attention. You’d be helping me get an even better deal than the Fortress contract I turned down.”
JT sat back in the chair as emotions passed across his face unchecked. Surprised. Sad. Offended. Annoyed.Hurt.
Panic surged through my brain, making my stomach twist and my breathing wonky. I reached for my wineglass with fumbling fingers and nearly knocked it over before snatching my hand back awkwardly.
“I would help because you asked, and I… We’re friends, Flynn. Aren’t we?” JT paused and pressed his lips together for a moment like he wasn’t sure he should finish his sentence, then finally blurted, “I care about you, for fuck’s sake.”
Sudden, horrifying tears rushed to my eyes for no reason whatsoever, and I stood abruptly, shoving my chair back with a horrible screeching sound. “Sorry. I can’t… I need to… One second.”
I rushed out of the main part of the restaurant in search of the men’s room. When I found it—empty, thank fuck—I leaned back against the door and took a great, heaving breath of the artificially flowery air, trying to calm myself, but once again, the meditation breathing let me down. Then again, this was a pretty extreme situation. The most extreme.
I wasn’t just “pretty sure” I loved Jonathan Turner Wellbridge III; I was one hundred percent, without a doubt in love with the man… and it was a disaster beyond anything I’d imagined.
I’d known from the moment Frog swaggered into my office with his sexy smile and his stupid, prissy leather folder that if I let this happen—if I let myself fall for him again—I’d be merrily flinging my own heart straight into a woodchipper. And that was plenty bad enough.
But tonight, seeing the sweetness and patience in JT’s eyes, knowing how much trouble he’d gone to just to give me a night of rest and make the guy he was hooking up with happy, I was suddenly afraid this disaster was going to cut both ways and JT might get hurt, too.
What kind of dumbass heard the man he loved say “I care about you” and bolted from the table like a gazelle from a lion? Me. Only me.
And why? Because the man I loved was offering me friendship and kindness and sexual release, just as he had when Grandpa Horace had died… and I couldn’t handle it. I wanted so much more from JT Wellbridge that settling for less was impossible.
The truth was, there could be no comfortable, lukewarm halfways for me when it came to Frog Wellbridge. There never had been. It was either full-on love, or it was hate. Heart eyes or daggers drawn. This summer fling had been me balancing on the pivot point of a seesaw—a state I couldn’t possibly sustain for long—and sure enough, I’d tipped.
So what the hell was I supposed to do now?
I didn’t want to be in love with JT, that was for damn sure. The man was leaving again in a few weeks, and who knew how many years it would be until he came back next time? Unrequited love was the sad, emo shit my sister, Georgia, sang about, and I wanted no part of it.
I still wasn’t sure I could trust him—certainly not with this giant, aching love bruise in the center of my chest that made me extra vulnerable.
