Chapter 29 #3
Panting, I only just stop myself from banging on it. I know Hattie. She won’t appreciate banging. She might not even appreciate a soft knock.
I force myself to take three deep breaths. She can probably already hear me out here—unless she’s got her headphones on. But I give myself a minute to think about what I need to say.
“Hattie—honey, can I come in?”
Silence.
I count to ten.
More silence.
“Hattie? Can we talk...? Please?”
When silence answers me, I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing because I know just how long she can go without talking to me.
And this time, I have no one to blame but myself.
“Hattie, I’m sorry. Please let me try to explain.” I’m not above begging.
I hear footsteps approaching. I hold my breath, waiting for the door to open.
It doesn’t.
But she must put her mouth right up to the door jamb because her words are loud and clear—if a little wet and thick.
“I already said we’re not talking anymore tonight.”
And, just like that, her footsteps retreat.
Shit. I’ve hurt her.
Fuck me.
She doesn’t want to talk to me. But I can’t wait until tomorrow. Sleep across the hall from her? Knowing how badly I’ve fucked up?
No way.
I lower my head to her door with a soft thunk.
“I messed up, Hattie,” I confess softly, holding out hope. “I understand you don’t want to talk, but will you maybe listen?”
Silence.
Then footsteps.
“Telling you that we aren’t talking until tomorrow is establishing a boundary. Are you going to respect that boundary or are you going to disappoint me again?”
Shit.
I press away from the door.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” I say in a rush, backing across the hall. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
And then, as an afterthought: “Text me if you need anything.”
I step into my room and force myself to close the door so she won’t feel crowded or under a microscope.
It’s barely six o’clock, but I stretch out on my bed, if nothing else, to give myself a minute to get my head together.
I shut my eyes, hearing every one of the names Pop called me.
Idiot.
Horse’s ass.
Jackass.
He’s right. I am all three.
Hattie offered me everything—all the help I needed—and I rejected her in mere minutes.
Yet, if she’d asked me to marry her, I wouldn’t have dreamed of telling her no.
Why?
What’s the difference?
Is it money?
Do I think I’m worthy of her love, but not her wealth?
Because that’s fucked up.
But I shake my head.
That’s not it.
That’s not it.
My phone buzzes with a text. I dig it out of my pocket, hoping like hell it isn’t my twin messaging me with his own insults.
My heart leaps when I read the screen.
Hattie: HI…
I waste no time texting back.
Me: Hi, love.
I want to say more. A lot more, but I tread carefully.
Her dots move and stop. Move and stop.
Hattie: TEXTING ISN’T THE SAME AS TALKING.
Despite how miserable I’ve made myself, I crack a smile.
Me: Agreed.
More dots…
Hattie: WE CAN’T TALK UNTIL TOMORROW, BUT YOU MADE ME CURIOUS.
I bite down on my smile as if she can see me.
Me: Yeah? About what?
The pause is shorter this time.
Hattie: WHAT YOU WANTED TO TELL ME.
I don’t waste any time.
Me: Well, for starters, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I should have heard you out. My reaction was knee-jerk.
There’s more, but I press send, hoping she’ll give me the chance to explain. Hoping when I get the chance, I’m actually able to explain.
Hattie: YEAH. IT WAS.
My chuckle is rueful.
Me: Glad we agree.
I fire off another text.
Me: I’ll be honest. Pop said something that has me questioning why I shut you down so fast.
Her reply is almost immediate.
Hattie: WHAT DID HE SAY?
I press my lips together, hoping that sharing this with her is the right decision. But it must be, right?
Me: He compared your offer to invest in the farm with a marriage proposal.
I press send and immediately regret not adding more.
Hattie: IT WAS *NOT* A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL!!!
Her text comes back so fast, it’s a wonder my phone screen doesn’t crack.
Me: I know. I know. That’s not what I meant.
I press send and gather my thoughts. And then I just tell her the truth.
Me: But if it had been, I would have said yes. Immediately.
Nothing.
I count to ten.
No dots.
I count to twenty.
Still no dots.
“Shit,” I mutter into my empty room.
I strain my ears for any movement. Any sign of what this silence means.
Then a flurry of dots and—
Hattie: YOU WOULD HAVE???
I let go a huge breath.
Me: Hell, yes, I would have.
In another three seconds, my screen is flooded.
Hattie:
My nose stings, but I chuckle. Her teary smiles are followed by a flurry of dots.
Hattie: WAIT… BUT WHY? WHY YES TO AND NO TO ?
I suck in a deep breath and let it out.
Me: I don’t really know.
It’s an honest response, but I know it’s not good enough.
She goes quiet.
I wait, my stomach pitching.
Dots.
Nothing.
Dots.
Nothing.
Hattie: I THINK I KNOW.
I blink at the screen.
Me: You do??
I wait.
And wait.
I can feel my heart chugging in my chest, nervous and heavy.
Remembering what she said before she left me on the porch, what she said about underestimating her, about not trusting her to make her own decisions, and how I disappointed her, my thumbs fly over the screen.
Me: It’s not because I don’t have faith in you and your independence. I swear, Hattie. It’s not that.
Out of all that’s passed between us tonight, hearing that I’ve disappointed her is the thing that weighs me down the most. I could fucking kick myself for making her feel that way.
Hattie: NO, I DON’T THINK IT’S THAT. NOT ANYMORE…
I frown at my phone and wait for her to explain.
She’s typing for a while—or typing and deleting for a while—and the longer it takes, the tighter my stomach knots.
Hattie: IT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GIVING AND TAKING.
My chin notches back.
Me: I don’t understand.
Hattie:
I huff out a breath.
Me: An arched brow emoji?? That’s not helping.
Hattie:
I’LL EXPLAIN.
I wait, rereading her statement.
IT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GIVING AND TAKING.
IT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GIVING AND TAKING.
And I don’t love the lump that’s settling in my gut.
Hattie: IT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN AN OFFER AND AN ASK, BECK. IF I ASKED YOU TO MARRY ME, YOU’D SAY YES. BUT WHEN I OFFERED TO GIVE YOU A WAY TO KEEP YOUR FARM, YOU SAID NO.
Hattie: YOU CAN GIVE OTHER PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT, BUT YOU CAN’T ACCEPT FROM OTHERS WHAT YOU WANT.
Sweat breaks out across my back.
Hattie: ESPECIALLY SOMETHING BIG.
I flinch.
Me: I don’t think that’s true.
I fire off the denial, even though this prickling all over my skin says that maybe it is true.
Hattie: HA!
I scowl at the phone, but before I can retort, she texts again.
Hattie: WHAT ABOUT THE FIRST TIME WE FOOLED AROUND? IN THE STORE SHED? YOU GAVE ME A SWEET HAND JOB AND THEN TRIED TO DEMURE WHEN I OFFERED THE SAME TO YOU.
A cough punches through my throat.
Shit.
That was a good afternoon.
But she’s right.
Fuck.
Hattie: AND WHAT ABOUT WHEN YOU PICKED ME UP FROM THE BACHELORETTE PARTY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT? EVEN THOUGH IT MEANT YOU’D GET A CRAP NIGHT’S SLEEP. AND THEN YOU PICKED ME UP FROM THE AIRPORT YESTERDAY, BUT YOU WOULDN’T EVEN LET ME PAY FOR PIZZA.
I’m honestly glad she can’t see me right now.
She doesn’t know it, but pieces of evidence that prove her right flash across my mind.
My easy response when Griffin told me and Pop he didn’t want to be a farmer, leaving me with the lion’s share of running this place.
The fight I put up when he no longer wanted his dividend check, telling me to reinvest it in the operations instead.
The three weekends I spent helping our neighbors to the east, the Comeauxs, rebuild their fence after a storm took it out. And my insistence that we didn’t need them to cook for us the week after Mom died.
The deal I gave Javier last year on the old pickup when his dad’s truck up and died on him. And my flat no when his mom was so grateful, she offered to come in and clean once a week.
Hattie: WHAT DO YOU THINK? AM I RIGHT?
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
Even though she doesn’t know about any of these instances, Hattie still knows me.
And it’s humbling as fuck.
Me: You might be right.
She doesn’t let me off the hook, either.
Hattie: AND WHAT’S THAT ABOUT?? DO YOU THINK YOU AREN’T WORTHY TO RECEIVE? OR ARE YOU TOO PROUD TO ACCEPT WHAT’S OFFERED?
I snort.
In case I needed one, here’s another reminder of what life with Hattie—what loving Hattie—will be like. Abandonment of pretense.
Because with her, there is absolutely no bullshit allowed.
I nod to myself.
Yeah, I can live with that.
And I start typing.
Me: I’m not sure if this is a complete answer—I may need more time to think about it to give you a complete answer—I don’t think it’s exactly a self-worth thing or a pride thing. I think it’s more of a…
I press send to give myself a minute to weigh the truth of it.
Me: A self-preservation thing.
A minute passes.
Hattie: TYPE MORE WORDS.
I huff a laugh at my Hattie and type more words.
Me: If I can handle everything on my own, then a part of me feels… protected. Invulnerable. In control, I guess.
Putting it into words now feels a little ridiculous, but there it is.
Hattie: YEAH. I GET THAT.
And, of course, she does. She probably gets it better than anyone. But, still, she shows me no mercy.
Hattie: IT’S JUST AN ILLUSION, THOUGH. WE’RE VULNERABLE AF AND EVERYBODY NEEDS HELP SOMETIMES.
Hattie: PRETTY SURE I’VE ALREADY TOLD YOU THIS.
I chuckle, shaking my head. Because I remember more than one conversation like that.
Me: Yeah, you have.
Then I draw in a breath, remind myself that I’ve still got a set of balls, and take a step out on that limb.
Me: Hattie, if you still want to, will you go into business with me and help me buy out my uncle?
She doesn’t respond.
But then I hear the door across the hall open.
I’m up on my feet when she taps lightly on my door.
I swing it open, my heart somewhere just above my Adam’s apple.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I acted like a—”
Hattie covers my mouth with one hand, eyeing me pointedly. Her hair is brushed out, and it falls over her shoulders in gleaming chestnut waves. She’s changed into a plum-colored pajama set with spaghetti straps, a deep V between her luscious breasts, and shorts that barely cover her bottom.
I swallow hard.
She doesn’t speak a word, but the glint in her eye and the angle of her chin shut me the hell up.
Then my phone buzzes in my hand.
It’s only when I look down at it that I see she’s holding her phone in her other hand.
I blink at my screen.
Hattie: LIKE I SAID, WE’LL TALK TOMORROW. AND I’M DONE TEXTING.
My gaze snaps back to hers. That glint in her eye has turned into a dare.
Oh, hell, yeah.
I cover the hand at my mouth with my own and press a slow kiss to her palm. The shiver that runs down her body is better than any words.
Gently, I tug her into my room and shut the door behind her.
We stay up half the night without saying a thing.