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“We should stop this now,” she blurted. If she didn’t admit it now she never would.
“Stop what?”
“This. Us.”
He set the box down at the guest book station, the feathery plumes blowing in the breeze created when he walked to her. “Why would we do that?”
“Because we have a fundamental disagreement about how to move forward. You don’t want to make any plans. I want to makeallof the plans.”
“Again with this? What’s under your need to plan everything half to death? I’ve admitted I’m more comfortable not knowing the future. What’s your excuse?”
“You have no plan for your career! How will we know when or whereor ifwe’ll see each other? Are you telling me you’re going to stick close to home? Because I’m not. I have a busy life. The weddings I plan take me out of town periodically.”
“I’m not going to stop traveling, either but I’ll be close to home for a while. As you heard me confess earlier, I’m done crashing weddings. I have hours upon hours of footage to edit and compile into content. I am so backlogged I could spend the next six months catching up.”
He reached out to grip her arms. She let him. It felt good to be touched by him. To be comforted. Even when he was saying things that scared her.
“So far all we’ve done is argue how we should move on, not if we should move on. You want to be with me too, don’t you?”
“There is no guarantee you won’t show up tomorrow and pull a stunt you cooked up tonight.” She shook off his hold and walked around the long table, needlessly straightening flatware as she went. “Every problem you cause can’t be solved by leaving behind an envelope of money or flashing one of your charming smiles.” She paused, opposite from him. “We were only supposed to last one night anyway.”
He nodded so slowly it was almost imperceptible. He looked hurt, but she refused to feel guilty. He hadn’t offered her anything concrete. There was nothing more to say.
“I understand that you’re scared, Rylee. So am I. At least I can admit it. You know me. The real me. No one else in Royal can say that.” He let out a small laugh. “Hell, not many people at home can say that. You want me to wedge myself into some tidy column because you aren’t comfortable acting on impulse? Not going to happen. I couldn’t follow your rules if I wanted to because every time I turn around there is a new one.” He gave her his back.
“That’s not true.” She should have let him leave but what he’d said had etched itself into her skin, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. “I’ve been the one bending to your will, not the other way around.”
“Was that so bad? The Bellinis and the kissing and the sex and the foot massage? Eating chocolate in bed?”
“Waking up alone after you walked out on me without an explanation.”
“I overreacted. I owned it. But right now? This? This is you doubling down on your fears. If you stay afraid, Peaches, we’ll never have a shot at more.”
She wanted to screamHow much more?!but the words wouldn’t come. The truth was shewasscared. She wanted guarantees, promises, assurances. She wanted to know that the bottom wouldn’t drop out from under her if she allowed herself to get her hopes up.
“This is for you.” He tapped the medium-sized cardboard box he’d carried in. “Inside is the real reason I was late to the interview. See you, Rylee.”
She let him go. She didn’t want to show up at the wedding and reception tomorrow with any unexplored issues between her and Trick. She had a job to do, and he’d already distracted her from doing it. She tried to blow out a sigh of relief, but the truth was she didn’t feel better. Nothing had been resolved. If anything, their relationship wasunresolved. It had ended, but with an ellipsis.
The unmarked cardboard box he’d carried in was holding what, she had no idea. It could be a new pair of shoes—flats, she thought with a sad smile—or a nest of fake rubber snakes.
Hesitating over the closed flaps, she thought again of him asking for “more.” She loved the idea of more. More friends, more weddings to plan. When it came to her romantic life, she hadn’t warmed to the idea of more. The one time she’d reached for that golden ring—quite literally—she’d ended up returning it to Louis.
Trick’s presence in Royal had changed her over these last few months—the rumors of his antics had preceded him. She’d gone from a hyperactive, fretting perfectionist to a woman who wore her hair down. A woman who stayed up past her bedtime to make love rather than answer emails.
Unable to stand the suspense, she opened the box. When she moved the tissue paper aside, her eyes filled with tears. They spilled over and ran down her cheeks.
Inside the box was the exact match for the gold flatware she’d been fruitlessly searching for all day. She wouldn’t have to wake up early tomorrow after all. She wouldn’t have to burden herself or worry about everything matching. As she moved to a back table and set the box onto the waiting folded napkins, she spotted a square handwritten notecard.
In spite of your best laid plans, one issue seems to have worked itself out. ~Trick.
Back in her room, Rylee didn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling, asking herself how a guy like Patrick MacArthur had turned her head. He was her exact opposite in nearly every way. He made no sense.Theymade no sense. Who entered a relationship planning no further ahead than tomorrow? And who accepted an open-ended future without the promise of more?
Hands over her eyes she felt the heat of fresh tears on her palms. A bout of clarity swept through her. Despite her best efforts to prevent it, Rylee, like everyone else who had encountered him, had fallen head over uncomfortable high heels for Trick.
The woman who’d prided herself in having a plan for every possible situation, had never seen it coming.
Twenty-Two
