Ignite (Cloverleigh Farms #6)(83)

“Come on, girls.” I gestured for them to go out the door to Winnie’s garage. “Go on back to our place. I want to talk to Winnie a moment.”

Thankfully, they didn’t argue. Chattering about their new nail polish, they went outside, pulling the door shut behind them.

She stood across the kitchen from me, legs together, her arms wrapped around herself, hands lost inside the big sleeves of her sweater. That carefully cool expression was gone, replaced by eyes that glistened with tears and a trembling lower lip. My gut instinct was to embrace her, and I took a step forward.

She put out one hand. “Don’t. Please. There’s nothing you can say at this point that won’t hurt, and I’m already thirty seconds away from a really embarrassing ugly cry.”

“God, Winnie.” Defeated, because she was right—there wasn’t anything I could say that wouldn’t hurt—I stood there with my chest caving in. “This sucks. I don’t want to leave it this way between us.”

“I don’t either, but I can’t help the way I feel, just like you can’t help the way you don’t.”

“But what if—what if it’s not just about the way we feel?” Desperate, I took another step closer to her. “What if it’s just that the things we want are too different?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re so young, Winnie. You’re so young and so beautiful, and you have so much of your life in front of you. You want all these things, and you deserve them all, including your dream job and someone who can devote himself completely to you.” Closing the gap between us, I cradled her face in my hands, my eyes burning. “And as much as I might wish I could be that guy, I can’t. No matter how I feel, I can’t.”

“You won’t.” Tears clung to her lashes.

Swallowing hard, I shook my head.

She pushed my arms down. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes. “I guess I was hoping we could at least say goodbye as friends.”

A solitary tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn’t wipe it away. “I need more time before I can be your friend.”

I nodded, understanding.

“Take care of yourself, Dex.”

“You too.” My voice was barely a whisper. Forcing myself to walk away, I went to the door and hesitated, my back to her. I swallowed hard. “I lied to you.”

“What?”

“I lied to you when you asked me how I felt. I said I didn’t love you.”

I heard her quick inhale, and that was it.

I pushed the door open and walked out.





Twenty-Four





Winnie





“It was awful.” Seated at the island in Abelard’s kitchen, I blew my nose in a soggy tissue. “I wish he hadn’t even come over. I made it all day long without crying, and now I can’t stop.”

“Why’d you even let him in?” Ellie flipped our sandwiches in the pan. I’d begged her to make me one of her gourmet grilled cheeses for dinner. I needed comfort food.

“I told you, he was with the kids.” I went over to the trash, threw my tissue away and grabbed another one from the box on the counter. “They’d given me a gift and I had one for them. What was I supposed to do, make him wait in the driveway?”

“Yes.” Ellie turned down the gas under the pan and poured two glasses of red wine.

“Well, I couldn’t. He looked all sad and hot at the same time.”

Ellie sipped her wine and studied me. “Do you think he was telling you the truth about his feelings?”

“I don’t know.” I blew my nose one more time and tossed out the tissue. “But what reason would he have for saying he lied? Just to mess with me?”

“No.” She thought for a moment. “But it seems kind of selfish of him to drop that bomb on you and run away.”

“I don’t think that was his original intention.” I went back to my chair and dropped into it. “I think he only meant to ask me if we could be friends and it . . . escalated.”

“Because being friends with someone you’re in love with always works so well.” Ellie checked the sandwiches and turned off the gas.

“He didn’t exactly say he was in love with me.”

“Based on what you told me, I think he made it clear.” Ellie lifted our sandwiches from the pan with a spatula, setting them on a wooden cutting board. “He loves you, but he doesn’t think he can handle being the guy who loves you. It’s fucked up, but it’s clear.”

“Yeah.” I sniffed. “This is a new one, huh? A guy breaking it off because he does love me, not because he doesn’t?”

“It’s not your fault,” she said loyally. “Those unavailable asshole types really know how to get under your skin.”

“I guess.” I fidgeted in my chair. “But he was so different than those guys. He wasn’t a selfish jerk. He sewed my dress, and he brushed my hair, and he cooked for me—badly, but he tried—and he’s so protective and brave and determined to be a good father . . . he isn’t an asshole deep down, Ellie. I know he isn’t.”