I laugh. “If you don’t hurry up and say whatever it is, I’m gonna eat your taco salad.”
“Don’t touch that or I’ll cut your fingers off.” She gathers herself. “Okay. So a lot of our problem is me being too focused on putting how I feel about you in a box with a neat little label. I’ve never been able to just see you like another guy. I don’t have to brand my relationship with other men. I shouldn’t brand you. Or … us.”
“You should be able to do that pretty fucking easy with other men. ‘Friend’ isn’t hard.”
“I’m not just friends with every guy I know, Machlan.”
“Oh, really?” I say. Crossing my arms over my chest, I try to ignore the irritation gaining traction in my stomach. “How many guys are you not ‘just friends’ with?”
“Enough.” She draws out the word before busting out in a fit of giggles. “It’s you who needs to relax.”
“This is as relaxed as I get.”
“And that’s sad. But true,” she says. “Anyway, Em says I need to treat you like any other guy. Like I would a guy I met at the dry cleaners, for example, or an old friend.”
“You want to treat me like Peck?”
“Well, maybe.” She shrugs. “I guess.”
“This should be fun,” I grumble.
She swats my shoulder as she walks by. When I turn around, she’s facing where the sun would be if it were visible.
“You want to be my friend?” I ask the question slowly, getting a feel for it as I say it. “Is that what you’re saying?”
She considers this. “I think a friend label will work because we’ve always been friends, right? I mean, more or less. At least until I figure it out, I guess.”
“I’m tired of your guesses. You want to hammer this out? Then let’s hammer it out.”
She turns to look at me. She’s a warm fixture on a backdrop of pine trees and the slate sky, a bright spot in an otherwise bleak day. The slant of her lips is down, not up, and I can’t see the gold in her eyes either. It’s a stark reminder of the reality of this situation.
“Fine. Do you want to be my friend, Machlan?”
“Is this a George Strait thing? Is there a box to check yes or no?”
Her chest shakes, but she doesn’t allow me the laugh. “This is not a George Strait thing. But I might make you cross your heart when you answer.”
“I can’t with you and country song references.”
Despite the ache in my chest that says otherwise, I don’t want to be in her life on that kind of level. I don’t want to be her friend at all.
What I want is to hear about her day at the dental office before I leave the house for the bar. I want to come home to find her snuggled up in my blankets with a book beside her. I want to hear her jab me about haircuts and take her to Nana’s for Sunday dinners and plan my whole weekend around a bunch of chores she wants done—chores I’ll bitch about just to see her get worked up.
That’s what I want. I want her on every fucking level. I want her so much I can’t do it to her.
Lance’s voice filters through my mind again. If I don’t marry her, someone else will.
What the fuck do I do now?
Sixteen
Hadley
The view from atop Bluebird this time of year is my favorite. The leaves are starting to change, giving hints of the show they’ll put on a few weeks from now. It’s still subtle now with just touches of golds and crimsons. It’s pretty, but my favorite view anytime, anywhere is standing just a few feet behind me.
I wonder if he’s pacing, and if he is, why. I don’t want to turn around and look, but I feel his presence. He gets closer, then farther away, then closer again. My lungs hold the air that’s filled them. My heart rattles in my chest, and I can feel my pulse pounding in the side of my neck.
Something has been different between us today. Initially, I thought it was my attempt at a new mindset courtesy of Emily. But the longer we’re together, the more I think it’s not just me.
“The truth is,” he says, making me jump, “I don’t want to be friends with you.”
I shake my head, hoping it loosens the fog in my skull as I try to process Machlan’s words.
Silence settles on Bluebird Hill. The only sound is the rush of oxygen my lungs finally let go.
My bottom lip starts to quiver. I don’t want to be friends with you.
He can’t mean that.
Fighting tears, I clutch a hand to my chest and try to steady myself. This is exactly what I wanted when I came to Linton, and now that I’m getting it, it feels like I’m being sliced and there are no bandages big enough to stop the damage.