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Once again, Cloe pressed a finger to his lips. Once again, the mere touch heated her body like a gust of late August wind. She jerked her hand back.
“No need to explain. A man who saved my daddy’s life doesn’t need a reason to stop by.” She grabbed his arm—maybe a little too tightly because he flinched—and pulled him toward the porch steps. “Come on into the house and I’ll get you something to drink and a piece of leftover wedding cake while you wait for Mama and Daddy to get back from town. I’m sure they won’t be long.”
As she tugged him past Liberty and Noelle, she prayed her sisters wouldn’t say anything. They didn’t. They both seemed to be as stunned by her uncharacteristic behavior as Rome was. Once inside, she dropped his arm and tried to explain.
“I’m sorry, but it would be better if my sisters didn’t know we spent the night together. Or about me getting drunk and acting foolish.” Cloe glanced out the window. Liberty and Noelle were in deep discussion—no doubt about Cloe’s uncharacteristic behavior. They both probably thought she had lost her mind over the breakup.
Maybe she had.
She certainly felt off kilter when she looked back at Rome and found him studying her with his soft gray eyes.
“You didn’t do anything to be ashamed of, Cloe. It’s okay to blow off a little steam every now and then. Especially after what you’ve been through.”
She had thought Rome being so nice to her last night had to do with him wanting a distraction from his wedding memories. But here he was today being just as nice. She didn’t know what to make of it.
She self-consciously tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “Still, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. I’ll drop your tuxedo jacket by later today.”
“Actually, I’m not worried about the jacket. I just stopped by to see how you were feeling this morning.”
“Oh. Well, I’m feeling fine, thank you.”
He squinted at her. “You sure? Or is that just the standard reply you give everyone? Because I wouldn’t be fine if I’d just broken up with a girl I’d dated since college, my family was losing their ranch, and I was hungover as hell. I don’t think anyone would be.”
She started to argue the point and then realized there was no argument. He was right. She wasn’t okay. “I guess I’ve had better days.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Brandon broke up with me. The ranch has to be sold. I drank too much champagne and my body is paying for it today. End of story.”
He studied her for a moment. “I wish it was that easy to compartmentalize problems and push our feelings aside, but I think we both know that’s not how it works. Sometimes, you just need to get those feelings out. And I get that you can’t talk to your family because you don’t want to worry them.” He shrugged. “But you can talk to me.”
She didn’t get what was happening here and she couldn’t pretend any longer that she did. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never been friends, Rome, and now suddenly you’re acting like we are.”
He looked taken back. “Not friends? I disagree with you. We’ve known each other all our lives. You shared pencils and your lunch with me in grade school. Tutored me in geometry and helped me ace that final in high school. And came to my rescue when I was having a panic attack. Now if that’s not a good friend, I don’t know what is.”
“That’s just what people do. We don’t really know each other.”
“Of course we do. I bet you know more about me than you think. What kind of trucks do I like?”
Once again, she didn’t understand where he was going with all this. “This is silly.”
“So you don’t know.”
“Of course I know. One’s parked out front. Dodge Rams.”
“And what color was my first truck?”
“Again easy because you’ve only ever driven one color truck. Black.” She hesitated. “No—I take that back. When Casey stole your truck his freshman year and ran it into Mr. Fletcher’s mailbox, you had to drive that white rental truck. But everyone knew you hated every second of it.”
“I’m not a white truck kind of guy. And that right there proves you know me.”
“Just because I know what color trucks you drive doesn’t mean anything. You were one of the most popular boys in town when we were growing up. Everyone knew what you drove and that you like Tony Lama boots and JW Brooks Custom Hats and Hanes underwear.” She cringed when she realized what had slipped out.
He stared at her. “You know what kind of underwear I wear?”
Her cheeks flamed as she looked away. “I . . . umm . . . it was just girls’ locker-room gossip. I don’t know for sure.”
A big smile split his face. “Like I said. You know me. And I know you.”
