“Okay.” One word is all she says as she fiddles with her hands in the passenger seat.
Is she nervous?
Throwing the truck in park, I round the car and catch the door at the same time she opens it. I watch as the smile on her face brightens with one small gesture. Little does she know, I’m at her mercy and would do anything she asks me to do at this point.
Taking a few steps into the open grass, she tips her face toward the sky. Her shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath she takes of the evening mountain air.
“It’s so beautiful out,” she says.
I say nothing back. I don’t knowwhatto say back truthfully.
Can I make her stay?
Not just tonight, but for good?
“Do you want to sit on your porch for a little bit?” she asks, turning to face me.
I almost stumble back from where I stand, because every time I come face to face with her, a new wave of adrenaline flows through me. Emotions hit me in the face like I’ve been punched repeatedly.
Yep, I’m 100 percent at her mercy.
Extending my hand to my side, signaling ladies first, I follow her up my porch steps. She takes the same seat she did when shecame over for dinner, crossing one leg over the other and her gaze locked on the stars in the sky.
She’s not wrong.
It’s fucking beautiful out tonight.
It might even be the clearest night we’ve had in a while.
The only thing blocking my view is the tension that has followed us from the car to the porch. It’s thick and almost suffocating.
Her phone chimes three times consecutively in her small handbag on the table and she reaches for and takes a moment to read the texts before putting it back without replying.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Lily is texting me to remind me that tomorrow is the day I have to be at the bakery super early for work. Founder’s Day?” She looks at me from her chair.
“Biggest day of the year in Bluestone Lakes.”
She lightly chuckles, looking back out to the sky.
“Did you want me to take you home now to get some sleep?”
A selfish part of me hopes the answer is no. I don’t want this time with her to end.
Shaking her head, she keeps her stare out beyond the porch.
“I’m sorry about my parents and how much political talk they brought to the table tonight,” I say, trying to ease whatever is floating around us.
The moonlight causes a glow to her features as she turns to face me and the urge to get up and kiss her is stronger than it’s been all night.
“Don’t be sorry for them, Griffin. I’m used to that kind of talk. It’s all I knew growing up and the past however many years I was married to that life.”
I swallow, and it burns. A painful reminder of her past.
“Was married,” I repeat her words.
Confirmation I’ve already received, but needing again.
