Listen to Your Heart(9)

I don’t care about any of it, because I’m here.

With him.

It’s exciting.

It’s terrifying.

Suddenly too overwhelmed with everything, I close my eyes.

“Please look at me,” he whispers, and because I’m completely under his spell, I obey.

“Caleb, I . . .” my voice drifts off.

Everything’s just too intense. It’s too much. And I don’t know what to say.

“You feel it, too?”

The insecure girl in me wants to ask what he means, but the woman in me knows. Of course I feel it, and I have no idea how to answer him. I decide to go with the truth.

“I do.”

He sighs and presses his forehead to mine once again. I’m confused, because it’s not a happy sigh. It’s not even a contented sigh. It’s a painful sigh filled with regret, and I don’t know why. Did I say the wrong thing? Was I supposed to lie?

The song comes to an end, and we applaud politely before walking back to the table. The shift in his mood in palpable, and I know that the night is over.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

Numb and confused, I grab my bag and follow him out into the Nashville night. He takes my hand as we walk to the parking lot. When we reach my car, he finally looks at me. He smiles, but he’s smiled so much tonight that I know this one’s forced. It makes my stomach hurt how much it’s forced.

“I had a great time, Skye.”

“Me, too.”

After a few minutes of complete awkwardness, I finally take the hint and climb into my car.

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Goodnight, Skye.”

He closes my door, and then he’s gone.

Dazed and a little heartbroken, I drive the five miles to my apartment. It’s only when I pull into my driveway and glance in my rearview mirror that I realize I’ve cried all the way home.



“You’re leaving something out,” Lynsey says with a frown.

“And for the hundredth time, I promise I’m not.”

An insomniac Skye is rarely a happy one, and my two hours of sleep are making me grouchy and impatient. Not only am I exhausted, I’m pissed. Totally and completely pissed at myself for crying over a man I’d known for less than twenty-four hours.

Who does that?

I do that. Did that. All last night. Because I’d actually allowed myself to think that Caleb might be different.

“You were dancing . . .”

“Yep.”

I tap angrily on my keyboard, trying to ignore the fact that the numbers on the screen are starting to swim.

I will not cry.

“He asked the band to play a song for you?”

“Swayze.”

Lynsey sighs wistfully.

“And then he asked if I felt it, too. I should have lied, because it was at that point he completely shut down.”

“Something spooked him.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Nashville’s a big city. I’ll never have to see him again.”

“I don’t know, Skye. The connection was so intense.”

“Too intense. Way too intense. So intense it wasn’t even real.”

My best friend smiles sadly at me. “You can’t fool me, you know. I think it was very, very real. Otherwise you wouldn’t be this upset.”

“I’m not upset!” Why won’t she let this go?

Lynsey arches an eyebrow. “Obviously not. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I take a deep breath to get control of my emotions and then close my laptop. It’s not like I can concentrate on work anyway.

“I’m sorry, Lyns. I’m just exhausted . . . and confused. It was going so well and then, suddenly, it wasn’t. I don’t know what happened.”

“Come sit.” Lynsey pats the sofa.

With a weary sigh, I walk over and slip off my heels before sitting down beside her. We both curl our legs beneath us, and I grab one of the pillows and hold it close to my chest. Our receptionist knocks on the door and walks in with two mugs of tea.

“Sounds stressful in here so I made chamomile,” Robyn says, offering us each a cup. “And Skye, I’ve cleared your schedule for the afternoon.”

“I don’t need my schedule cleared!”

Robyn’s eyes dart to Lynsey’s before she creeps out of the room.

“Yell at me. I told her to do that.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Skye. Maybe because you’re snapping at everyone? Maybe because I’m afraid to let clients see you in this condition? You’re obviously upset and with good reason. You’re the boss. Take the afternoon. Go home. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t. We have that outdoor wedding this weekend and the caterer is being a bitch.”

“I can handle it.”

“You have enough to do.”

“I think I can deal with some finger foods. Go home.”

I know she’s right, so I give her a hug and apologize to Robyn before heading to my car. It’s barely noon, but my plan for the rest of the day is to order the greasiest cheese pizza, open a bottle of wine, and curl up on the couch until I eat and drink myself into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the drive home takes thirty minutes longer than usual, because people on the interstate can’t drive when it rains.