Ishouldwant this.
Ididwant this.
But as I sit there, trying to reach back and pull up memories of how I felt before the accident that I don’t remember—how I remember feeling when we were together—I hit a wall.
I remember the way he’d get calls and leave in the middle of dates to pick up extra work despite not needing the money. How sometimes, when we had sex, it wasn’t as passionate as I wanted it to be and often times left me feeling frustrated and without an orgasm that he didn’t care to try to deliver.
I remember feeling… safe. Comfortable.
But was Ihappy? Was that enough?
And why do I feel like something is still missing?
What changed?
My heart pounds as I try to piece it together, as if the answer is just out of reach, teasing me from the edges of my mind. I need clarity. I need answers.
“Thank you,” I say with a bright smile as the server sets our trays of food down. The scent of smoked barbecue and creamy mac and cheese drifts upward and my stomach grumbles. I dig in eagerly, popping a forkful of food into my mouth, savoring the familiar taste.
Then, before I can overthink it, I ask, “So… will you please tell me again, from your perspective… Why did I turn down your proposal?”
Declan freezes for a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable, but I catch it. Then he winces.
Guilt slices through me. Of course,this wouldn’t be a conversation that he’d want to have, especially not again when I asked him on this date.
He exhales slowly, taking a bite of his sandwich and chewing, his jaw tight with thought. Finally, he speaks. “You never really gave a clear answer. You told me you loved me, that you liked what we had. That you enjoyed dating me, getting to know me. But that the proposal caught you off guard. That you weren’t ready to take that step forward with me and that you thought there was someone else out there that could love me better. Love me the way that I needed.” He pauses, shifting in his seat. “You were about to turn thirty-years old, and I think you were... you know, evaluating shit. And then you said no to the proposal, and ended things completely because you felt it wasn’t fair to continue to date me because you didn’t see marriage in our future.”
I swallow hard, my appetite wavering because damn, that’s some harsh truth.
“I asked around,” he continues, his voice even. “Thought maybe there was someone else, but everyone said no. I even asked your brothers. Had Rhett ask Molly.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Then Hayes showed up out of nowhere and suddenly you were looking at him like he hung the moon.”
I take a bite of my sandwich to keep myself busy, nodding because—yeah. That’s still a mystery to me and also, news to me.
“It sucked, you know.”
I glance up. “What?”
“The fact that this new guy just waltzed into town, and boom, you married him without hesitation. Just like that. For aproperty.” His jaw tenses. “When I had literally just asked you to marry me, and you said no.”
I flinch. Because yeah. That had to sting.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly, but he shakes his head.
“I get it now. After the fact, I mean.” He sets his sandwich down, running a hand through his short brown hair. “Molly explained the details. That you and Hayes had both made offers on the land before Mrs. Mayberry died. That it was some legal loophole you got caught up in, so you had to marry each other or some shit.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “But before Mrs. Mayberry passed,you could’ve asked me.” His voice dips lower, rawer. “I would have married you if it meant you got the land. No hesitation. Even if you thought that you couldn’t love me the same.”
I swallow thickly.
Damn.
I hurt him. Bad. And I don’t even remember why I ended things if not it had to have been because I didn’t see a future with him. And marrying him, even for just a property, sounds unfair if one person wants more. And I get the feeling he was the one who wanted more. Suddenly, my heart sinks and I feel terrible for asking him on this date. I don’t want to lead him on. I don’t want to get his hopes up again just to hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, the words feeling inadequate. “I—I don’t know what to say. I don’t remember what I was thinking or feeling at the time.” But something tells me that I know now.
Declan lets out a slow breath, then forces a smile. “It’s all good. I’m just glad you’re okay. And that you’re giving us a second shot.”
That has me freezing. I keep my expression neutral, but my stomach twists. Because is that what this is? I turned down his proposal for a reason. I broke things off for a reason. Even ifI can’t remember it right now, I’m not interested in giving this another shot.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat, shifting the conversation before my thoughts spiral, “how’s work going?”
