“I don’t know.” I shake my head and button my jeans, then lean one hand against the cabin wall and draw my hair off my face. “I just… I can’t do this.”
Shock registers on her beautiful face. So gorgeous and glowing in the aftermath of half a dozen orgasms. Certainly, the best sex of my fucking life, hands down. I want to reach for her, envelop her, make her promises. I want to believe—in love, in her, in us. Badly. So badly. But I don’t. I’m twelve years older and wiser and sick to realize I don’t fucking believe anymore.
I haul up the anchor, turn over the engine, and angle the boat toward the marina. I pull up to the end of the dock, right beside the houseboat she’s staying in. Yeah, on purpose, because I doubt she’ll question me with her friends so close. And I’m right. She just studies me a long silent moment, and I let her, still trying to untangle whatever knot closed up my heart.
When she still doesn’t step to the dock, I say, “I’ll put the boat away.”
It hurts to see the disillusionment and pain in her eyes. Hurts to know I can’t seem to bridge the cavern between us, even though part of me wants to. And I feel like royal shit knowing she probably believes I wanted to fuck her just to fuck her, like I’m evening the score or something. Maybe I’m just broken. Maybe it’s just been too long, and my heart is rusted shut. All I know right this second is that I can’t let her believe it’s going to continue.
“Will you talk to me?”
I shake my head. “Not now. Not about this. Mitch or I will be by with a few other guys to start work tomorrow.”
She exhales and stares at the dock a long minute, then steps out. I shove the boat into gear, make a tight turn, and return the boat to its slip, tuck the keys under the driver’s seat, and make my way to my truck, feeling like the worst excuse of humankind on the planet.
12
Laiyla
It’s another stunning summer day, but I feel like one of those cartoons with a storm cloud hovering over my head everywhere I go.
I stand in front of the office door to Mecklenburg Paving and take a deep breath, but I can’t seem to fill my lungs. A pain cuts off my breath at the half-full mark. I haven’t been able to take a painless full breath since Levi dropped me off at the dock, now eight days ago.
God, it feels like forever.
I’ve seen him every day since, and we get along fine. He’s polite and professional, and he works hard. But he’s got invisible concrete walls erected around him, twenty feet tall and a foot thick. I haven’t seen him smile once since our night together, and he won’t talk to me about anything other than the development.
I rub at the pain in the center of my chest.
My phone pings with a text from Michael. Are you ever coming back? I could use a road trip, can I come up and see what you’re doing up there? I’ll take you wine-tasting.
I drop my head back and groan, then push into the office. There is a middle-aged woman behind the desk. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her. She looks up with a polite smile. “Good morn—”
She recognizes me, as I do her. She used to supply baked goods to Grandpa’s market. Her mouth tightens, and my heart sinks, which is saying something when it’s been residing at my feet for over a week.
“What can I do for you?” Her tone tells me no matter what I ask for, I can’t have it.
I’ve learned over the last couple of weeks that no one holds a grudge like the residents of Wildfire. Even having the city’s favorite son working on the project hasn’t changed anyone’s behavior toward me.
“Hi, I’d like to get an estimate for paving a road and two parking lots.”
“Sorry, we’re booked.”
“I didn’t even tell you when I needed it done.”
She shakes her head. “We have jobs lined up for the rest of the year.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need it done until next summer.”
“Summer is our busiest time. We can’t help you.”
The look on her face is all too familiar. “I guess I’ll have to give the work to someone from out of town, then.”
“I guess you will.”
I shake my head and leave the office. I still can’t believe everyone in this town is forgoing work out of spite. It’s so disheartening, it makes me rethink the renovations. But I’m doing this for Grandpa, not them. So I cross the street, wander down the row of shops, and enter the local hardware store. A teenaged boy mans the cash register, and I think I may be in luck this time.
“Can I help you?” he asks.