I wink back at them. Then turn back to Wilder. “I’m working.”
He relaxes in his chair with his ice water as if to show he’s not going anywhere.
Two hours later, I’m locking up for the night. It took me longer than usual after closing since my hands were shaky and my mind in shambles.
Wilder is outside, leaning against a meter, watching the busy downtown street. I turn and start down the sidewalk for my long walk home.
Here, I walk like I belong, matching the city’s pace. Not like six weeks ago, when I was struggling to keep up with Wilder’s long strides as he showed me around town.
He catches up with me, now sprinting likeI’mtoo quick. “We headin’ home?”
“I’mheading home.”
He doesn’t say anything but follows behind me, pulling me to a stop when I reach a cross street. A taxi zooms past two feet in front of me. “Rose.”
“What, I saw him coming.”
“Christ,” he mutters, but releases me.
Wordlessly, he follows me for another two blocks until my patience starts to boil.
I spin around abruptly—nearly colliding with him. But wedon’t.
His sure and steady arms come around me, catching me. “Saw that coming a mile away,” he says with that knowing grin.
It still takes my breath away. Still makes my heart race. I swallow hard and pull away. “Why don’t you just say what you came here to say,” I whisper, my voice giving away that I’m ready to break.
He moves me out of the way of a couple walking along the sidewalk, then hails a cab like an expert.
The ride back to my apartment is quick, and he hasn’t said a word in response to my asking why he’s here.
“Can I come in?” he asks when we reach my door.
I pull my keys out and look up at him. He looks so sincere. And tired. “It’s late, Wilder.”
He looks over my shoulder. “I know. I didn’t exactly think this through when I booked the first flight out today.” He brushes my hair back. “I just knew I had to get here.”
I look back at my door but don’t make a move to go inside.
“Can we please talk soon then? I can wait,” he asks gruffly, like he hears the irony and knows my response.
I should say it.Ineedaday.
The scorned girl in me wants to. But the sharp, level- headed woman in me who just wants to move on doesn’t.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say softly. “You have a ranch to run. A friendship to protect. And a heart to shield.” I repeat the reasons I used to convince myselfitwasn’tmefor the past week.
I touch his cheek. “I never want to hurt you. So please don’t wait,” I tell him in all sincerity. Then I unlock my door and step inside, shutting it softly.
My eyes burn as I close them, listening for his departing footsteps.
They don’t come.
And I don’t wait for him to leave before turning in for the night.
35
Rose
