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“I’m leaving,” she said slowly. “Because it feels like I’m never going to get what I want here.”
“Mm,” Spencer said, connecting to her in a whole new way. “I know what that feels like.”
“Do you?”
“Yep.” He smiled at her, and a blush crept into her cheeks, accentuating her beauty and making a few freckles stand out. She really was beautiful, and the way her daddy had gobbled down his ice cream, she had talent in the dessert-making department.
Spencer would like her even if she didn’t. Clarissa was a strong woman, with a good head on her shoulders. She knew what she wanted, and she took actionable steps to get those things.
“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten what you want,” he said. “You were always so good at that.” She’d left Sweet Water Falls—and him—to go to culinary school. He’d lost track of her then, as he had his own life to live and she was just one more regret hanging in the back of his mind.
He’d dated several women since then, making new mistakes with each and every one of them. He’d learned from those mistakes, and he really thought he was ready to try again. Maybe he didn’t need to leave his comfort zone at Hope Eternal Ranch, not if he could go to dinner with Clarissa. Perhaps she could be the risk he took, the change in his life that he needed.
As proof that he’d learned something, he simply waited for Clarissa to say something. She shrugged and said, “I know what I want, but I don’t know how to get it. Not here, at least.”
He’d rather not talk about what he wanted and all the ways he’d failed spectacularly to get them, but he nodded. “Makes sense.” He cleared his throat. “Before we do anything else, I need to apologize for what I said before you went to culinary school.”
Her eyebrows went up, and she swallowed. Spencer’s own chest tightened, making his heartbeat seem so big inside the smaller cavity. So much stuck in his throat, and he hated that. He didn’t want any awkwardness between the two of them, especially if they had to live next-door to one another.
She’s leaving, he told himself, though she had just admitted she didn’t actually have a job in San Antonio yet. Spencer knew how long a person could look for a job, because his father had been looking for twenty years.
“Anyway, you don’t have to say anything,” he said, swallowing away the bitterness in his throat. Not a day passed where he didn’t think about his dad, but he seemed pretty prevalent today for some reason. “I just wanted you to know my insensitivity and stupidity have been weighing on my mind all these years, and I’m sorry.”
He nodded, feeling lighter now that the apology was out. If she wanted to talk more about it, she could certainly say something. He’d never known her to stand there and stare, but he hadn’t seen her or spoken to her in a while.
She said nothing. Moved not an inch. Blinked some more.
Feeling like he’d suddenly lost his clothes and stood in front of her naked, he stepped away from the ice cream case. “This is a pretty nice place.” He took in the open-beam rafters in the ceiling. The black floor tiles were a bit uneven, but nothing that would cause a major problem for someone not completely taken off-guard, rushing around the counter, and holding two servings of ice cream.
The walls sported light gray paint, and the curtains screamed country-chic with a hint of the red-checkered pattern than Spencer thought every proper farm had somewhere on the property. A little table for two sat in the corner, with a sign that readEvery day is a good day for a sundae.
He smiled at it, noted the door had been painted a bright, bright blue and faced Clarissa again. “Did you paint the door?”
“Yes,” she said, a frog in her throat.
Spencer nodded, because he could’ve told anyone that. Clarissa liked bright colors, because she herself was so bright and lively. During their single summer together, she’d told him of her “dream house” and how it would have a bright blue door with a window in it. This one didn’t have a window, but he supposed this wasn’t her house either.
His stomach growled, and he told himself he should leave. He couldn’t make himself do it though, and he decided to employ another strategy he’d learned after a painful break-up with a woman named Pippa.
Ask me about myself from time to time, Spence, she’d said as she’d gone around her house and boxed up the things he’d left there over the months they’d been together.You never ask me about myself, my day, none of it. It’s you, you, you all the time.
He didn’t want to talk about himself right now, or possibly ever again. So he asked, “What is it that you want, Clarissa?”
