Worth the Risk(91)

“And what does he say about you leaving? Are you going to try to make things work—oh. Oh.” The expression on my face must give everything away, because the shocked look in her eyes and her sudden epiphany tells me she gets it. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how to.”

“Sidney.” It’s a scold. It’s shock. It’s compassion.

“One minute we were nothing, just a little fling to have some fun—and the next minute he’s telling me he wants to try to figure this out. Take each day as it comes. When I tried to tell him, he cut me off with his own apology.”

“You have to tell him.” The foreboding in her voice has nothing on how I feel and what I fear inside.

“I know. Communication doesn’t seem to be our strong suit.” I shake my head, using the cop-out, which is nothing more than a bullshit excuse.

“Love is a bitch, ain’t it?”

“You can say that again.”

“Let me ask you this, if he were to ask you to stay, would you?”

“I don’t know.” The answer is automatic, and yet, my head and my heart don’t match up on this one.

“What would it hurt to try it and stay? I can find a spot for you here. You’ve done a hell of a job so far, so I know you’re good for it.”

“But I have a life back home.”

“Do you?” She angles her head and studies me for a moment. “Do you really want to go home to an empty apartment at the end of every day when you’re so very used to going home to him?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”





“Why did that woman over there tell the other woman that you’re leaving soon to go back to San Francisco?”

In an instant, Luke’s words yank my attention away from Grayson and the camera crew currently interviewing him.

Panic ensues. The kind that has your body shaking and sweat beading and heart pumping.

“That’s where I live,” I say, trying to remain calm.

“No, silly. You live here. In Sunnyville.” His brown eyes search mine in a way that makes me want to crawl into the corner and hide.

“You’re right. I do live here. But I also have a home in San Francisco, which is where I lived before I came here.”

“So, are you going back there or are you staying here?”

Grayson’s laughter with the reporter for E! News filters our way. “For now, I’m staying here.” I’m lying to a kid. Bold-faced lying.

“But when the contest is over?”

I can’t look at his face, at the hurt that’s there, when I can already feel it crashing down on him.

Two weeks. That’s the answer I can’t bring myself to tell him.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” I try to explain. “I work for a huge corporation, and sometimes, they send me to certain places to do certain jobs, and then when I complete them, I do the next one.”

God how time has flown. The past two weeks have been a lot of working and a lot of Grayson and me taking things day by day. There has been a lot of pretending that nothing is bugging us when everything is. The me not telling him my assignment is almost up and the him not telling me whatever is preoccupying him. The kind of bugging where asking if something is wrong just prompts a million reassurances that everything is all right.

“If you leave for a different assignment, you’re still coming back here after, right? You’re still coming back to the Kraft house when you’re done?”

I turn from where Grayson is standing and answering questions. One of his helicopters is at his back, and the reporter is interviewing him, asking the same set of questions she’s asked the other top five contestants. When I meet Luke’s eyes, I kneel so I’m on his level.

“Of course.” The words get caught in my throat, right next to where my heart is lodged.

He eyes me, uncertain if he believes me, and the confused expression on his face only serves to tear me apart even more. “My mom left me. My dad tells me she still loves me, but she wouldn’t have left me if she did. People who leave never come back, even when they promise.”

Chills blanket my body as his words hit me one by one, and I take my hand and put it over his heart. “I’ll prove differently, Luke Malone. I promise you if I have to leave, I’ll be coming back to see you.”

His skepticism slowly blurs with tears welling in his eyes. Then he nods. “I believe you . . . but don’t come back just because of me. Come back because of my dad. I think he really likes you.”

Oh, my heart.

“He does, does he? What makes you say that?” I feel ridiculous asking an eight-year-old to tell me why his dad likes me, but I’ll own it.

“Because he doesn’t need coffee in the morning to not be grumpy anymore. Because he puts cologne on before you come over. That, and he said he’s going to move the PS4 into his bedroom. I think he wants you to come over and play with him some more.”

I burst out laughing. I can’t help it, and then I have to apologize to the camera crew for ruining their take, even though I’m not sorry at all. Luke and his comments are all I need to hear to encourage my thoughts to keep going in the direction they have been headed.