Chapter 22 #4
“It’s my turn to make a Bloody Mary, this time with Copper Summit bourbon.”
My interest piqued. “You’re waiting on me?”
He searched the little fridge for the mix. “I’m serving you.”
“Mr. James, are you trying to get me drunk?”
His expression turned knowing. “I don’t have to get you drunk to get what I want.”
The thrum started between my legs. “And what is it you want?”
He speared the olives and rested them across the glass’s opening. “I want you to relax and tell me about your day.”
“Nothing was different about today than any other day.” This was different. Right now with Gideon was not a normal part of any day outside of the last few weeks.
He pushed the glass over and rested his hands on the table. “Autumn, you’ve been grilling me for three days about moving cattle and how I felt about it. You rarely talk about your job.”
Was he keeping me from asking him deeper questions about how he was feeling? Like what had been bothering him last night? “I’m just a teacher, and I’m not supposed to talk about the students.”
“Yet the house is full of lesson plans and sample Thanksgiving crafts. You can tell me about those.”
“Handmade turkeys are so last century. I’m trying to figure out another way to make turkeys that doesn’t take two hours.”
“Good start. Tell me more.”
I snatched an olive and popped it into my mouth. “That’s just it,” I said around the mouthful. I was full, but I’d down anything he made me. “You run a casino that makes how much a year?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Three hundred and fifty million. I looked it up.” I swirled the sword of olives in the liquid. “I know teaching kids is important, but everyone’s been to school. Everyone knows what teachers do.”
“I want to hear what you do.”
“But for how long?” Had I really asked that? I shoved another olive in my mouth.
He waited. I took a drink. How had that question slipped out? Dammit, Summer. She’d gotten it in my head that I could talk with Gideon, tell him I was falling for him—I’d crashed hard when I’d first seen him—but I was veering out of my fantasy world.
“What do you mean?” he asked when I swallowed.
“Nothing. I just don’t see how my day compares to the casino or even what you’ve been doing all week.”
“You grew up doing the same.”
“You’re right. I ran a local casino when I was eight.”
Humor lightened the green of his eyes. “I happen to find smart-asses sexy.”
“How convenient you’re married to one.”
He smiled, but it faded. The grimness returned.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.
He pressed his hands on the counter and cocked a foot back. I braced for him to tell me that whatever he was feeling was none of my business. “Your mom had me take a plate of food to Hank last night.”
No wonder he’d been in his head when he’d come home. “I don’t think she meant to meddle.”
He cocked a brow.
“She’s usually there for us, but she’s not intrusive. She probably heard about how you worked with him for a few days and then helped tow his truck.”
“But she knows he’s still selling.”
I phrased my next words carefully. This topic was a sticking point and I knew where his opinions rested. Still, it needed to be said. “Being on speaking terms with your dad doesn’t necessarily hinge on whether he sells or not.”
His gaze went hard. “It does.”
I nodded. I hadn’t expected a different response. “How’d it go?”
“He said something I can’t figure out, and he expects me to know what he meant.” His flinty gaze was aimed out the wall of windows. “He said he’s selling because we all need to live our own lives.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Exactly.”
His dad had been telling him over and over again that he would continue with the sale. “He’s pretty determined.”
“Yeah.”
I swallowed hard. My drink was forgotten. “Are you going to stay until they close?”
His eyes sharpened. “Why wouldn’t I?”
A little glow that had nothing to do with the Bloody Mary ignited inside me.
“I still have time to get through to him.”
The spark died. Right. The land came first. That was his priority. Convenient distraction, that was me.
“Autumn.”
I was glowering at my drink. I lifted my gaze to his.
“I’m enjoying my time with you. But when this is over, don’t take it personally. I’m not good for marriage.”
He’d been pretty fucking good for the last couple of weeks. I had two more weeks with him and I didn’t want to cry or beg. “I’m just going to miss you. That’s all.”
An exhale gusted out of him. “Fuck, Autumn. I’m going to miss you too. The thought of going back to my life . . . it won’t be as easy as I thought it’d be. You’re a special person. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
A murderous expression flitted through his eyes. I blinked and it was gone.
The guy would have to want me first. And then I’d have to be into him. That seemed like an impossibility with Gideon in front of me. Long after he was gone from my house and his scent had been washed from the sheets, would I be able to meet another man and not compare him to Gideon?
Instead of moving my life forward when I’d married him, I’d stalled out. By saying my vows, I’d screwed myself out of the future I wanted.