Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(12)

“Okay.” She kept right on walking.

“I’m serious.”

“Fine.”

“Can we stop moving please?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to talk to you.” I halted my steps and reached out, attempting to catch her by the shoulders before she crashed into me, but she barreled into my chest anyway before going down on her butt.

“Oof!”

Immediately I knelt down to help her up. “Sorry. I can’t seem to get anything right this morning. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She brushed some dust off the seat of her pants. “Not really sure what’s wrong with my balance today, but I’m fine.”

I took her upper arms and looked her in the eye. “You’re totally right—I was being an asshole back there. I do that sometimes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m not used to people being nice. Because I don’t want sympathy. Because I get really mad at myself and want to make other people mad at me too.” I shrugged, dropping my arms. “At least that’s what my therapist said. I probably shouldn’t have fired him.”

“You fired your therapist?”

“It was kind of mutual. I said he wasn’t helping. He said I wasn’t trying. Which I probably wasn’t.” I adjusted my cap and tried again to explain myself. “Look, being back in this town is messing with me a little bit. I had a lot of dreams when I left that have died on me—or maybe I killed them, who the hell knows—either way, it’s really hard to let them go. But that’s not your fault, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

She studied me silently for a moment. “Okay.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“I suppose.”

I exhaled. “Good.”

She opened her mouth like she had more to say, but then closed it again.

“What?”

“I was just going to say that letting go of the past is something I’ve struggled with too. So I get it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. And I agree, it’s painful. But you have to do it, or you’re going to remain stuck in a really unhappy place.” Then she sort of smiled. “At least, that’s what my therapist says. And we’re still together.”

Voices carried across the field, and we both looked toward the opposite side of the track, where three other runners were stretching out.

“I should let you get back to your workout,” I said.

“Okay.”

But we both stood there a moment longer, and I realized I didn’t want this to be goodbye. “Can I see you again?” I blurted, surprising myself. “Maybe for dinner or a drink or something?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure.”

“Are you busy tonight?” I frowned. “Sorry for the late notice, but I’m leaving Sunday, Sadie has me tied up with wedding stuff Friday and Saturday, so tonight is my only night off.”

She thought for a second. “I could do tonight. I have a meeting with an engaged couple at five-thirty. Why don’t you come by the bar at the inn? I should be free by about seven.”

“I could do that.”

“Great, I’ll meet you there. You remember where it is?”

I gave her my old grin. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

She laughed. “Okay. Let me give you my number. Just text me when you’re on your way.”

Pulling my phone from the pocket of my sweats, I listened carefully as she recited her number and added her to my contacts. “Got it. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay.” She gave me a little wave and continued down the track.

I watched her for a minute, admiring the swing of her hips and the long ponytail, wondering if she was single. My body reacted at the thought of the curves beneath her clothing, the warm bare skin, that deep red hair hanging down her naked back.

Not that I’d ever seen her naked—I wasn’t even sure I’d taken both of her legs out of her jeans in the back of my truck. Too bad I couldn’t get a do-over. I’d learned a few things since then.

But as I walked back to my SUV, I scolded myself for even thinking about it.

Hands off, Shaw, I told myself as I unlocked the driver’s side door. You’ve caused that girl enough grief. Buy her dinner, ask her how she’s been, apologize for being a dickhead eighteen-year-old who couldn’t keep it in his pants, but do not, under any circumstances, lay one finger on her, even if she is more beautiful now than she was then.

Yet as soon as I got in the car, I brought up her name and number in my phone just so I could stare at it. Eighteen years had gone by since I’d seen her. That was a long time—half my life. Half her life.

And it hit me.

That baby—had it been a boy or a girl?—was just as old now as we’d been the night it was conceived.

But like I always did when my mind started to venture into dangerous territory, I shut it down.

What was past was past.





Four





April





I finished my walk on rubbery legs.

Thankfully, Tyler was gone by the time I looped around the track again, otherwise he’d have seen me stop, put both hands over my heart and take a few slow, deep breaths.