Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(59)

My shoulders sagged as disappointment rained over me. Deep down, I knew she was right. He wasn’t Caven Lowe anymore, but the problem was: The longer I got to know Caven Hunt, the more I was starting to like him too.

He was a good dad with a tough exterior, but on the inside? His girl made him all soft. And let’s be honest, his sense of humor was as dry as the Sahara, but his subtle smiles and lip twitches were going to be the end of me. I loved that he didn’t laugh at everything. The rich and deep sound was so rare that it felt like I’d struck gold when he gave it to me. Sure, I hated it when he apologized, but I adored the way he wasn’t too proud to show vulnerability. And most of all, I was addicted to the way he could not only read my emotions, but understand them too.

In a lot of ways, I wished he weren’t Caven Lowe, because then it wouldn’t have mattered that I wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave.

But it did matter and wishing had never gotten me anywhere before. This time would be no different.

“I hate when you make sense.”

“I know. But one of us has to.” She pulled me in for a chaste hug. “What about this? If you happen to be right about the way he was looking at you tonight and he tries to kiss you in the future and you are physically unable to dive out of the path of his lips, I give you permission to kiss him back for eight seconds before shoving him away, telling him he’s lost his mind, and storming out. Okay?”

I smiled big. “Eight seconds, huh?”

“If a bull rider can do it and walk away without a broken heart, so can you.”

“Awesome. Me and the bull riders.”

“Speaking of bull riders, there’s this country bar we should hit for your birthday. Jeans so tight you can be a little perv and check out what side all the cowboys tuck on.”

I rolled my eyes. “I already told you I’m not celebrating my birthday.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know I’m here.” Waving over her shoulder, she walked toward her car, shouting, “Get some sleep tonight! You look like shit!”

I probably did look like shit after having lost it at Caven’s, but that wasn’t why she’d mentioned it. The concern on her face every time she’d stopped by—a.k.a.: checked on me—over the past few weeks had been obvious. She hated that I was spending so much time in my makeshift studio trying and failing to make one single piece that didn’t feel like a fraud.

I needed sleep in the worst kind of way. She didn’t need to point it out to me.

After locking up my house and dragging my tired body up the stairs, I barely managed to wash my face and brush my teeth before collapsing into bed. It was just past nine and I had a hot date with the backs of my eyelids when my phone chirped on my nightstand.



Caven: She’s finally asleep and I’ve banned all caffeine from the house.



Uhhhh… What was happening? Caven didn’t text me unless it had something to do with Rosalee’s “art classes.” Things like, Why the hell is there glitter on my egg carton? or You spilled tie-dye on my deck! But never, not once, had he reached out to me to tell me she was asleep.



Me: Hey, I think you meant to send that message to someone else. This is Hadley.

Caven: I know who it is.



Okay, so that theory was out the window. The problem was: Without reading into this far more than the I’m-going-to-kiss-you smolder he’d given me in the bathroom, I was out of other theories as to why he was texting me.



Me: Oh. Okay.



Yep. That was all I could come up with to reply. Oh. Okay?

Idiot.



Caven: I just wanted you to know that she was okay. She didn’t even mention her mouth again after you left.



Holy smokes. Was he reaching out to me because he was worried that I was still worried? How freaking sweet was that? Sitting up in bed, I propped a pillow behind my back and grinned at the phone.



Me: Aw, thank you for that. I hate that she got hurt, but I promise it won’t happen again.

Caven: Oh, it will absolutely happen again. Maybe not from standing on the chair, but she’ll do something else. We haven’t had stitches yet, but with as accident prone as she is, it’s only a matter of time.

Me: Yeah. Sorry about that. She got that from my side of the family. I broke my arm when I was five after slipping on a banana peel.

Caven: A banana peel? You’re kidding, right?

Me: Nope. True story. My mom was making banana bread and one of those death traps fell off the counter. My dad was pretending to be a monster, chasing me around the house. I didn’t see it before it was too late. It was a scene straight out of The Three Stooges.

Caven: Wow, The Three Stooges? How old are you again?

Me: Twenty-seven.

Caven: I know how old you are. I was making fun of your Three Stooges reference. Clearly it was a fantastic joke.



And he was now making jokes.

Via text.

To me.

His archnemesis.

Only I wasn’t his archnemesis anymore.

I was a woman he was texting and telling jokes to at nearly nine p.m. because he was worried about me worrying about Rosalee.

Oh, Beth was so so so wrong about me reading into that situation in the bathroom.

I bit my bottom lip to suppress my smile as if he could see me.