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“It really bugs you that I’ve got you figured out, huh?” He asks as he continues to stare at me, looking as if he is trying to solve a puzzle.

“No, it bugs me that you think you have me figured out. Do you really think I’m limited to how I look and where I was raised?” I ask, wondering how one man could possibly be so shallow.

“I think you grew up in a small pond and that has limited your world view.” Will says with a shrug and tone that conveys that he doesn’t get why I think his words are so offensive.

“And I think you grew up in a large pond and didn’t realize it had borders. Small towns are just as much a part of the world as big cities are. You may know the city, but you don’t know small towns. It limits your world view.” I argue and by the time I finish speaking, I’m fuming a little. I blush and turn my attention back to my food. I hadn’t meant to let him get me so riled up.

“I may not know small towns yet, but I think I’m starting.” He says thoughtfully as he stares at me before finishing his burger.

Dad rejoins us, and we pay the bill before getting back on the road. I try to ignore Will for the first few hours of the drive, but eventually, the barren landscape and the droning country music my dad put on gets to me. Dad is snoring in the passenger seat, and I study Will’s profile form where I sit in the backseat, annoyed with how attractive I can think he is even when he annoys me. Needing to distract myself from foolish daydreams, I ask a question.

“If you went to law school, why do you write?” I ask, once again wondering why go to the trouble of becoming a lawyer, just to end up writing.

“I’ve always wanted to write, but I needed something to fall back on. I work as a lawyer part time for my mom’s firm to make ends meet, but I write because I love it.” He answers as his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“And why my dad’s story?” I ask, genuinely curious about why he wanted to write my dad’s story. He didn’t exactly strike me as a romance novelist.

“It’s a journey of redemption, of becoming the person people believe you to be. Your dad is doing this not to find an old flame, but to right himself before his conscious. His motives aren’t tarnished by romance, and I think there is something immensely special about that. It’s a story worth telling.” He explains.

“You think romance would be a tarnish?” I ask, thinking his words were odd.

“Well yeah. It would make his intentions less pure. As is, your dad is the perfect hero. All he wants is to explain. He has no expectations in return, which is about as pure as it gets. If romance were added into the storyline, it would seem self-serving.” Will explains.

“But love isn’t self-serving.” I argue. Mama had taught me from the time I was a child that service was love.

“Isn’t it though? Is anybody that is looking for love looking for love actually looking to love someone or are they looking to be loved?” He asks, and it is clear his mind is made on this idea.

“They are looking for both!” I say because to me that is the truth. Unreciprocated love sucked, but reciprocated love was what made heartbreak worth it.

“Are they though? You can’t tell me that in all your daydreams of grand romance that you glorify all the hard work that you are going to do to show a man that you love him. No, you daydream about all the things he will do for you, how he will make you feel. With romance, it is all about how you feel. The other person is just a means to that feeling.” He rants and I’m surprised Dad is still blissfully snoring while our voices steadily rise.

“But romance isn’t love and love is selfless.” I argue.

“Then I haven’t known love.” Will says wryly, obviously not agreeing with my assessment.

“Obviously you haven’t.” I say, matching his stubbornness with my own.

“And I’m sure you did in your little town with your quarterback boyfriend.” He says sarcastically, and his words sting like a slap.

“So, I haven’t either, but I’ve seen it. My mom loved like that.” I say, and tears prickle at my eyes as I feel the harsh absence of that love. I return to staring out the window in silence as I blink away the tears. Dad keeps on snoring; unaware Will and I have just been at each other’s throats. Usually, the ridiculousness of his snores contrasted with our heated argument would have made me laugh, but Will Whitmore riles me up like no one has before, because even Dad’s oblivious snoring can’t pull me from my anger.

Chapter 8

That night I lay in my hotel room alone, trying to find something to watch on the television because there is nothing else to do besides argue with Will, but I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t approve of that. To Dad, Will is the perfect young professional, different from the young men we usually deal with in town, a complete novelty. To me, Will is a beautiful jerk, not all that different from most other attractive men.

Remembering the nice-looking pool I had seen as we had pulled into the parking lot, I pull my swimsuit out of my suitcase. Maybe a relaxing swim would take my thoughts to a healthier subject than Will Whitmore. After changing into my bathing suit and covering up with an oversized t-shirt, I take the elevator down to the main floor. I am about to step out onto the poolside patio when I look in the window to the gym.

Will stands inside, his back to me as he stares himself down in the mirror as he does dumbbell curls. So that’s why his arms are so nice, I think as my eyes rove over his muscles, which are displayed nicely in the tank he wears. He moves onto a shoulder exercise, and I find it hard to look away.

I move outside before I can be caught staring, or worse, drooling. Slipping my t-shirt over my head, I dive into the pool, which I have to myself. I swim several lazy laps to clear my head before just relaxing into the water. Closing my eyes and laying on my back, I just float, letting all my worries drift away.

“Got big thoughts on your mind, small-town girl?” A voice calls out, jerking me from my peaceful place. I splash in the water before seeing Will.

“You scared me.” I say, avoiding his question because my big thoughts had been about his big muscles, which was about as typical as he thought I was.

“Yeah, you seemed pretty far away.” He says with a smile as he pulls off his shoes and socks. Sitting on the pool edge, his feet dip into the water.

“I just needed to destress.” I say as I return to floating on my back.

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