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A man who might be my father-in-law.
A man who is thirty years older than me.
A man who is spending time with his son’s girlfriend so she’s not alone.
And I ruin everything by having a crush on him.
He stares at me. Dark eyes pierce me with his worry.
“Are you okay, little one?”
When he calls me that I feel like jumping into his arms. All I can do is cry.
And leave.
“I don’t feel well.”
Scrambling to my feet, I start running toward the campfire. I have to get away from him and my shame. How can I be attracted to two men at the same time? Especially father and son. The thought is too awful to contemplate.
An old stump catches my boot, and I stumble again, only to be caught before I hit the ground. Saved once again by Gaspar, he sheathes me to his body and tucks his head into my neck.
“Stop. It’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
Nothing is okay.
None of this is okay.
I’m shaking in his embrace and want to sink into his hold. But that’s unbelievably wrong.
He would be so disgusted if he knew the truth. “I’m sorry. I know I’m ruining this amazing day you planned for me. But I need to go home.”
My voice catches from the guilt. He probably has so many other more important things to do, and he takes me out to be nice. Then I wreck everything, acting like a silly schoolgirl infatuated with an older man.
“You’re not ruining anything. If you want to go home, we can go home.”
He’s so sweet. Most men would be beyond furious that I’m acting like a lunatic and unappreciative of everything he’s done for me.
Almost as if he thinks I’m going to run again, he slowly releases me, shifting me to his side and keeping me close as we walk back to his SUV.
Nicholas hops up from his rocker on the porch of the little cottage and starts ramming his hands into his gloves until Gaspar stops him. “We’re heading out.”
If he’s shocked, he hides his surprise well. He simply nods before turning around and going inside the building.
We’re alone again, which I’m not sure is good or bad. I’m afraid my guilt is written all over my face, and I don’t want anyone to see my shame.
But I also don’t know if I can handle Gaspar being so caring to me since he thinks I’m sick.
Silent as he helps me up inside the passenger seat, he doesn’t close the door until my seatbelt is buckled. Once the engine rumbles to life, we bump and bounce over the gravel road until we’re back to the highway.
He grips the steering wheel hard and his gaze bores into the windshield, too disgusted with me to look in my direction.
I’m just as disgusted with myself.
I really have spoiled everything.
Balthazar
