Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(75)

“You were with another man. What the hell did you think I’d do?”

“Come to me!” Her shout made me wince. “I needed you. I needed you, Dakota. And you were here and you walked away. I’m not dating anyone. I’m so hung up on you I can barely see straight. That man was the cop who took my case. He was there after I got mugged. He talked me through it. He sat with me when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He brought me water when I felt like passing out. I needed someone to come with me into my apartment because I was terrified and alone.”

Oh. Fucking. Hell. “Sofia—”

“No. I needed you and you walked away. I thought I meant more to you than that. I really did. But this? We’re done. You were right. We don’t have a future.”

“Sofia—”

“Take care, Dakota.” She spat my own words back in my ear then hung up.

“Shit.” I threw my phone onto the couch and raked my hands through my hair.

I stalked to the kitchen, looked out the window over the sink to the yard. I needed to mow the grass today. I could prune one of the bushes along the driveway. I should refill my bird feeder with some seed.

I had plenty of better shit to do here in my life than worry about a woman in New York City.

But instead, I walked back into the living room, picked up my phone and hit send on her number.

“What?” she answered.

“I’m sorry.”

“You came here.”

“I was worried. I heard what happened, took the first flight out.”

“I needed you.” She sniffled and it cut me to the core.

She was crying. I was sure of it. I’d made her cry. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“We can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this. If we don’t have a future, we have to stop.”

“I know.” It gutted me but she was right.

“Maybe one day I’ll see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

The next three heartbeats felt like nails being driven into my chest.

“Take care, Dakota.”

“Same to you, Sofia.”

I hung up, knowing that phone call would be the last. I’d let her down, broken her trust. Truthfully, I’d let myself down.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and walked outside, where I spent the day busting my ass in my yard.

Trying to forget Sofia Kendrick.





Two months later . . .



“So what are you going to be for Halloween?” Landon asked.

I swallowed my bite of pasta and smiled. “A ballerina. A few of us are going to dress up at the studio that day.”

“You’re really branching out with that one.”

I giggled. “What about you?”

“A firefighter.”

“A cop dressing up as a firefighter. Yeah, you’re really stretching yourself too.”

We both laughed, our smiles white in the dark booth at the Italian restaurant where he’d brought me for dinner.

In the last two months, Landon McClellan had proved my first impression had been accurate. He was kind and caring. He was thoughtful. But his strongest characteristic by far was stubbornness.

I’d called him on it a week ago. He’d just laughed it off, saying he preferred to be called persistent.

Since the day I’d called and begged him to “sweep” my penthouse, he’d asked me out on countless dates. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. I’d declined all of his invitations except those to meet him for coffee on Sunday mornings.

Still, no matter how many times I said no to a shared meal, he kept asking.

At first, it hadn’t been hard at all to refuse Landon. I’d been so crushed by Dakota, so confused, I hadn’t wanted anything to do with men as a species. But Landon wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kept meeting me for coffee on Sundays, pretending like my last rejection had never happened.

Sunday mornings had become a highlight of my week, because Landon had become one of my closest friends.

We had coffee. He’d even stop by the studio on occasion just to say hello. Two of the instructors there had told me in no uncertain terms if I wasn’t going to date the officer, they’d be happy to accept his invitations on my behalf.

Last Sunday, when he’d asked me to dinner, there had been no hope in his voice. He’d still made a convincing pitch, swearing the breadsticks at this little hole-in-the-wall eatery were the best he’d ever tasted. The breadstick ploy had won me over. The shock on his face when I’d agreed had been an added bonus.

So here we were, eating pasta and drinking red wine. The breadsticks had long since been devoured. And like our Sunday-morning coffee breaks, we talked about nothing serious.

Maybe that was why Landon and I’d developed this friendship. Because nothing about him was overly serious, except his job. But personality wise, he was one of the most laid-back people I’d ever met.

And after everything that had happened with Dakota, I’d needed some light. Being around Landon was refreshing. Light. Casual.

Empty.

This dinner date had confirmed the feeling I’d had for a string of Sundays. Landon McClellan was a good guy—I was better at spotting the nice ones now—but he wasn’t for me.

There was no all-consuming, steal-my-heart desperation. There were no skipped heartbeats or full-body shudders. There wasn’t the potential for love.