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“He’s ... here,” I said.
“Where?”
“He’s across the street from the hotel. He just went into a clothing store.”
At my first glimpse of him in more than a week, the sight had something in my chest squeezing tight.
He was wearing aviator shades, khaki shorts, and a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. The stubble on his face was heavier than when he left and, oh, he looked good.
I wanted to bury my face in the side of his neck and breathe.
And I wanted him to handcuff me to a bedpost.
It was so very, very disconcerting. Everything felt unsure in a totally different way than it had at the beginning.
Did I want to be Burke Barrett’s keeper? Not really.
But I was feeling, just a bit, like I wanted to keep him around.
All the time.
“Am I pathetic?” I asked Daphne. “For wanting him like this when he can’t even ... talk about what happened?”
“You stop that right now,” she said, her voice firm. “That is a bullshit story implanted in your head by society’s expectations of how women should act. If you want a man, you are allowed to tell him, and it doesn’t make you less valuable or worthy if he’s not the one saying it first. I didn’t burn my bras all those years ago for you to feel like you have to let him do all the proclaiming, young lady.”
I laughed under my breath. “Okay.”
“Just because he has the emotional vocabulary of a toddler doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you right back. No matter what you two decided at the beginning. If there are strings around this now, then you hold on tight and tell him why you like them there.”
“I know.”
“Good luck, cupcake. If you’re unsure of how to proceed, just think about what I’d do.”
“And do the opposite. Got it.”
She was chuckling when I disconnected the call.
By the time I stepped out onto the sidewalk, Burke had disappeared into the store. The front window was filled with the maize and blue gear that covered the entire city.
What would Aunt Daphne do? She was brazen and outspoken; she did certifiable things for what she believed in. I adored her for all those traits. And in this situation? I didn’t really want to think about what her course of action would be. But I was starting to feel a lot more settled in what Charlotte Cunningham would do.
I pulled the door open and smiled at the man standing behind the checkout counter.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.
I shook my head, gesturing to where Burke faced a display of collared shirts. He couldn’t see me yet, and I let my eyes trace over the muscled arch of his shoulders, the trim line of his hips.
A few other shoppers mingled around the store, and I paused to let a couple walk past me before I joined him.
The movement must’ve caught his eye because he did a double take when I stepped up next to him. We brushed shoulders as I studied the display in front of us.
His gaze on the side of my face was a physical weight, pressing over my skin as we stood in silence.
“For tonight?” I asked.
Burke cleared his throat, then turned his attention back to the wall. “Yeah. All my shirts are older. Once I unpacked, I thought maybe I should get something new. Something nice.”
I blinked a few times. My stomach curled unpleasantly at the subtext, but I didn’t comment. Not yet. Not until I could trust my own voice.
