“You don’t sound so sure.”
“I just don’t want to spend my time on the ranch dodging each other.”
Her smile is tight, and I hate that what I did was morph her from someone who was open and had all this love to share to someone who is guarded and untrusting. “Fine. Stop flirting, and we can be cordial.”
“Cordial?” I repeat, as if it’s a foreign word.
“What do you want, Zander?” Her voice rises a little. “You just—” She cuts herself off, swallows. “It doesn’t matter. You’re doing me a favor by being here, so if you want to be friends, we’ll be friends.”
I want to explain. I do. But what am I supposed to say? That I asked DeSoto to keep her away because I was scared? Because she made the ground shift out from under me? Because she made me question a lifetime of choices and everything I ever thought I wanted?
I was scared and couldn’t make sense of all the conflicting feelings inside me. Wasn’t sure that she’d want me or my life for the long term. Sure, I was exciting and mysterious, but when she got to know the guy underneath the stardom, she’d find out I wasn’t good enough for her. She’d see the parts of me that aren’t made for stadium tours and song lyrics and realize I don’t have anything real to offer.
“Good, want to do lunch?” I force a smile.
She shakes her head. “I was thinking more like… wave from a distance kind of friends.”
Jensen walks back over and joins us. “Okay, what are your top five favorites?”
“I’ll be back,” Romy says, disappearing before either of us can say anything.
He looks at me. “Everything okay?”
I lie through my teeth. “Yeah. All good.” Then I rattle off my answers, “Burgers, chicken sandwiches…”
He jots it all down then asks about breakfast, snacks, and drinks.
My answers are quick and easy, but my head’s still at the door she walked through, wondering how the hell I’m going to make it through this while pretending all I want from Romy Owens is friendship.
Chapter Ten
Romy
I stand in my office in front of the corkboard of ideas for my cousin Ben and his fiancée Gillian’s wedding. Even though they’ve decided not to have the reception at The Knotted Barn, they’ve asked me to help with the planning.
They’re hosting the reception in the backyard of Uncle Bruce’s house. The same yard where we always have the Fourth of July parties. I think it’s a special place for them.
I unpin the piece of fabric I got for the tablecloths and hold it against a swatch I ordered online. To anyone else, the corkboard probably looks chaotic, but I’ve never been able to build one digitally. I need to touch and feel and compare, to see the pieces side by side.
“You never told me you were so talented,” a voice says behind me, sinking into my skin before I even turn around. “Although I’m not surprised.”
My spine stiffens. His boots cross the floor until he’s standing right beside me. Close enough that his scent drifts over. Just as I remembered—sandalwood and leather.
I hate how easily he makes me forget how to breathe.
“How would you know? I feel like we barely talked.” I keep my eyes glued to the board.
“That’s what happens when you’re so good at doing other things together.” Zander’s tone carries enough heat that my pulse jumps. He nods at the board. “This is for a wedding?”
I press down hard on the flutter in my stomach, on the memory of how badly I used to want his hands, his lips, his body pressed to mine. Our chemistry was like a wildfire. We never stopped long enough to talk, just pieced each other together in shared fragments. Regardless, I felt as though I knew him. It felt like the start of something.
“Ben and Gillian. He’s the football coach.”
Zander smirks, amused. “That’s all, huh? Just a high school football coach?” His chuckle rumbles low, since he knows Ben’s a retired professional football player, a small-town legend, and Gillian is the high school sweetheart he left behind. I overheard them talking around the fire the other night.
“Now he is.”
“One day I’ll be just a music teacher, I suppose.” His soft voice dips.
