Chapter Fourteen
Lila
I needed to slow down and think.
Normally, that involved excessive cleaning, but I’d deep-cleaned over the weekend so that option didn’t work. I’d already called out for the day, and now the space and time stretched before me. Although I was exhausted and sleep-deprived, a nap wouldn’t work because energy buzzed through my body.
A run. The movement and sunshine would provide room for my thoughts to sort themselves out.
With the sun warm on my bare shoulders and my shoes hitting the pavement, all I could see was his cautious stance and hear his hushed realization.
You’re not there yet.
Where was there?
I mean, I knew. I just didn’t know where that was for me. What that looked like.
Before, I’d always thought there would turn up with the time was right. When I was established and had moved back to Atlanta to be near Mama and Daddy, I’d meet someone with similar goals, and we’d build a life.
It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy.
I might.
The lingering memory of that conversation made me annoyed with Samantha. Annoyed with myself.
I needed to – no, had to – figure myself out.
Before we had that conversation he mentioned.
So . . .
I quickened my pace, feeling the burn in my calves and my lungs. I wasn’t married to Atlanta. Small town life had a lot going for it . . . mainly no Atlanta traffic. Oh, I was on the road a lot for work, but I wasn’t sitting in traffic.
The cost of living was so much lower, and I was saving like crazy.
Coney lay close enough to Tallahassee for shopping and concerts and museums, and the drive home to visit my parents was only four hours.
But could I be married to Dan? Like some day?
Married to the man he was?
Absolutely.
Married to the cop I now saw he was?
That frightened me.
But walking away from him, never seeing what we might be . . . the thought scared me worse.
I turned the corner at the hospital, shivering as I viewed the spot where his patrol car had waited the night before. The reality sank in once more – he’d parked, climbed out of that vehicle, and never walked back to it.
Running and thinking were not helping.
Once I returned home, I showered and ate a snack-lunch of cheese and fruit and prosciutto standing up at the counter. I tapped my nails on the fake marble. How was he? Was he resting? I couldn’t call or text him, he wanted space to process, and not knowing made me edgy.
He wanted space from me.
Not our normal not-in-each-other’s-pocket space, but I’d-hurt-him space.
Maybe even don’t-want-to-be-with-you-anymore space.
No.
That prospect made my heart fold in, almost like walking into the ER and seeing him hurt, realizing how that could have gone.
Okay. Okay.
I pressed a hand over my heart, thudding in the center of my chest like I was mid-run. Worst case thinking was not my friend.
I simply needed to . . .
Give him space.
And get myself together.
My notebook, the one with the soft pink cover and gold lettering on the cover, the one that held my to-do lists and budget check-ins and goals, caught my eye. I itched to lay out a pros-and-cons list but that could wait.
All of this might be a moot point anyway.
He might break up with me.
My throat tight and aching, I pushed that thought aside.
If he loved me, like he said, not saying it back yet wouldn’t be the end of us. I’d never told a boyfriend I loved him.
What did that even look like? I mean, I knew from the outside. Mama and Daddy loved one another deeply. I’d assumed I’d know it when it happened, with the right guy in the right place at the right time.
I should be exhausted, since I’d been up late and hadn’t slept well in the few hours I’d spent in Dan’s bed.
Still, I was wired and feeling the loss of our communication with his phone lost. He filled up a lot of my day, not with nonstop texting or anything, but I received a morning, lunch, and evening text from him at least.
The silence pressed in around me, broken by the slight hum of the refrigerator – a hint as to what it would be like without him. I needed something to do. Something for him. And a trip to the grocery store would give me movement and a focus.
Cookies, maybe? He loved the ones with pecans and coconut from the cute bakery downtown. I could make those using Mama’s chocolate chip recipe, the one straight off the yellow bag.
But I could make him cookies, and when he was ready, I’d have something sweet and just for him.
In the middle of a workday, Winn Dixie wasn’t too crowded, a few retired couples ambling around, contrasting with the SAHM’s trying to get their errands done.
With a basket instead of a cart, I hustled through the aisles, too agitated still to do much more than collect what I need and get through the checkout line, this time without encountering the local gossip queen.
The sharp smell of fresh asphalt hung in the air as I strode for my car, plastic bags looped over my wrist. I stowed them in the hatch and reached up to press the close button.
“Lila, right?” A too-familiar voice shivered over my taut nerves. , and I spun on one sneaker to find Nicole’s cousin behind me. Allison, maybe? The ER nurse Lacey thought was a bad influence.
I tilted my chin, watching her face, weighing her expressions. “Yes.”
“I’m glad Dan is all right.” Her lips curved into a perfect smile while she gazed at me with eyes that were very blue and very blank. Those eyes made my heart flutter, like stumbling on a snake along the sidewalk. “I appreciate how good he is to Nicole.”
I wasn’t entertaining that. Instead, with her blocking the path to my driver’s side door, I pressed my lips closed and let her have her say.
Head tilted to one side, she paused, waiting. My stomach clenched, and I refused to curl my hands into defensive fists. Her smile grew. “You’re not from here.”
That wasn’t a question, and she didn’t require a response.
“You’re . . . different. Fancy.” The word dripped derision. She was two seconds from me shoving by her.
The pads of my thumbs prickled.
“Everyone thinks Dan is a great guy.” Ugh, that smile. Her eyes skimmed over me, blank and expressionless. I suppressed a shiver. “I just want to see him get what he deserves.”
“And you think that’s not me.”
Something lit in her blue eyes, amusement mingled with relish. “Well, it’s not like you’re the kind who stays.”
I wasn’t entertaining that, either. Let her play her little games.
She smirked, the moment stretching between us, then pursed her lips, almost like a kiss. “Have a good day.”
Shouldering her bag, she swished away, too-blonde ponytail bouncing against her blue scrubs. I watched her go, anger and uneasiness pounding in my chest.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Eyes trained on Allison’s back, I tugged it free. Once she disappeared into Winn Dixie, I glanced down, surprised to see Dan’s name on the screen.
Want to come over later?
Relief flowed through me, washing away the lingering unease. Another text vibrated my phone against my palm.
We can talk
Baking did not help, so I carried a heavy dose of nerves as well as two dozen cookies to Dan’s door. Clutching the box, I knocked, remembering a time when I didn’t have to, when he’d simply text me the door would be open when I arrived.
I’d closed a door between us, and the realization made me sick, nausea coiling in my chest.
Steady footsteps sounded before the door swung open. Gray joggers hung on his hips, a navy t-shirt hugged his chest, and he was barefoot. At my first sight of him, relief and concern mingled with the leaden dread. His bruises looked worse, red and purple with increased swelling under the splint.
“Hey. How do you feel? Are you hurting?” The words spilled like a gushing waterhose after being unkinked. “I made you cookies, the ones you like from the bakery.”
“Um, thanks.” Blinking, he took the box I shoved at him. My heart fell to my stomach. He wasn’t pleased to see me at all. Unsmiling and without kissing me, he stepped back. “Come on in.”
I followed him inside, and he set the box on the island, next to a clear plastic container of . . . bakery cookies. The small bubble of hope I’d managed to keep alive deflated. He didn’t need anything I brought, did he?
“Got just about anything you’d want for supper.” He swung the refrigerator open, studying the interior. “Chuck’s mama raided the bakery so we’re good for days–”
“You said we needed to talk.” Where had my chill gone? Because I had none.
His mouth dropped before he snapped it shut, jaw tightening. He pushed the refrigerator closed. “Okay.”
Nerves coiled low in my belly, tying into hard knots. “You said not while you were concussed. What’s different?”
Had he decided I wasn’t worth it?
“Got some sleep. Ate something.” He scuffed a hand over his nape. “I’m not a hundred percent, but I’m not as fuzzy as I was this morning.”
“Where was your phone?” I was fuzzy apparently.
“Supposedly they found it in the ER.” Something about the ironic twist of his mouth cast doubt on the assertion. He cleared his throat. “So about us . . .”
A hollow yawned where my stomach dropped like I was going over the top of a terrifying roller coaster.
He frowned. “You want to sit down?”
I didn’t want to do this at all, but standing in the kitchen was probably weird. Instead, I stalked to his couch and perched on the edge. He settled at the other end, one arm stretched along the back.
“Okay.” His voice emerged a little nasal, but as calm and steady as always. “I messed up because I assumed we were on the same page. My cross country coach back in high school used to tell us assuming made an ass out of you and me. Guess he was right.”
“Dan–”
“Let me finish. So, yeah, I was looking at us from the angle of being longterm from the first. I let the infatuation blind me from the practicalities.”
“Infatuation?” Why did that sting so much?
“Well, yeah. I mean, probably a lot of dating relationships start with infatuation, but that stage doesn’t last. It either deepens into something real or it leads to nothing.”
But he said he loved me. Like, today. Like that morning.
“So for me, it got deeper. And for you, it . . . hasn’t.” He grimaced, then winced and touched a finger to the splint. “And that’s okay.”
Relief flooded through me, so my breath whooshed out. I forced my lips into a tremulous smile.
He shifted, gripping his knees. “So we need to talk about this, decide if we’re going forward or if it’s time to end things–”
The little rivulets of happiness froze, and that couldn’t-breathe sensation rushed back in. “What?”
“I get you don’t love me now. And I can stand in that. But if I’m not someone you can see loving, see a future with, it’s probably best for both of us if we break it off because that could get messy. Maybe hurt both of us.”
I stared at his earnest face. Words died on my tongue, clogged my throat.
“I can wait, you know, and I don’t mind waiting. I mean, I’m good with that, but if you know, then–”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. I would not cry.
His face twisted, leading to another pained wince. “I’m probably doing all this wrong. Made sense in my head, but emotions aren’t always logical and my thinking might still be fuzzy–”
“You’re not doing it all wrong. I’ve done everything wrong.” I slumped, heavy and weighted down. “Mama called me flighty, and she’s right.”
“Pfft.” Affection laced the amusement. “You’re one of the most settled people I know.”
“She meant about men and relationships. I’ve never . . . they’re for practice.” I moistened my upper lip. “The future was in the future, and I’d figure it out when I got there.”
Comprehension dawned in his dark blue eyes. “Okay.”
“It’s not okay. Because then there was you, and you’re great and I hurt you–”
“Hey.” He didn’t touch me, no gentle fingers lifting my chin, but he held my gaze. “I’m good, and this isn’t about that. I don’t want you locked into something with me out of guilt.”
“No.” I shook my head, the torn whisper hurting my throat. “I wouldn’t.”
“Good. I want the best for you, even if that’s not me.”
And he did. He meant that. The sincerity written all over him left me breathless.
“And I’m not rushing you. I don’t expect you to answer me tonight. But I need you to think about what you want for the future, Lila.” He cleared his throat. “And whether or not you can ever love me.”