Her smile falters. “And that makes you an expert at patching people up?”
I grab the antibiotic cream. “More like… I struggled to keep my emotions in check, and I had to fix myself up after a lot of fights.” I peek up at her. “On the rare occasions I didn’t win.” I wink, but she doesn’t smile or laugh at my joke.
“You had to bandage yourself?”
I shrug. “Most of the time.”
She’s quiet. And when I glance up, her mouth is pinched, her eyes softening with the one emotion I hate—pity.
She grew up on this big ranch with her pick of family members to turn to whenever she needed support. She’ll find my childhood sad and depressing. It was, but I don’t want people’s pity. I’ve made a helluva life for myself by anyone’s standards.
“Don’t pity me, Romy.”
She inhales when I touch her again, wrapping the Band-Aid carefully over the wound. “Pity a superstar? Give me a break.”
I smooth the edges of the bandage, then make the mistake of looking up.
She’s smiling. An honest and unguarded one.
It’s her first real one since I stepped on this ranch.
The words rush out before I can stop them. “I’m sorry.” My voice is quieter than it should be.
She meets my gaze, and I swear, for a second, all the bullshit between us slips away.
But then she blinks, pushes off the counter, and cleans up the wrappers and gauze. “Yeah, we’re not doing this.” She tosses away the trash. “Thanks for your help.”
I cover her hands with mine. “Romy… just let me say it. I was an asshole. I handled everything in the wrong way, and you didn’t deserve it.”
Her head tilts, and her brown eyes sear me down to my soul. Every ounce of my energy is being used to hold me back from lowering my head enough to press my lips to hers. To feel their warmth, her want and her desire for me.
But I know the truth. She’d be kissing Zander Shaw, the famous singer. And I’d be kissing the woman I can’t stop thinking about, the one who might actually be able to break down everything I’ve built to keep people out.
“Thank you,” she says softly. She turns, closes the first-aid kit, and walks over to the door. “I should get back to work.”
Her hand hovers over the handle, and I brace for her to bolt. For the door to swing shut and lock me out again.
But instead, she glances over her shoulder. “Did you want to go through the storage room? See if there’s an arch you like? Seems senseless to build a new one.”
I blink and wait a beat until I realize she’s not pushing me away. Then I smile. “I’d love to. But you better be careful. My medical expertise ends at cuts and bruises. No promises on broken bones.”
She laughs. Actually laughs.
And I just stand there, stunned like a fucking idiot. Because that laugh is dangerous.
I don’t know what’s worse, her hating me… or her friendship. Because when this ends, one of us is going to walk away hurting. And I’m worried it won’t be her.
Chapter Twelve
Romy
My boots crunch up the gravel path toward The Knotted Barn. Lottie runs up beside me, breathless like she sprinted the whole way from her house.
“You’re a hard woman to find,” she says, panting.
“You haven’t been looking very hard. I haven’t left the ranch in, like, two weeks.”
She’s dressed in her Harvest Depot long-sleeve shirt and jeans, probably on her way into work. “Well, you know how busy the store is during the fall season. It’s the one part of the ranch that’s open, and everyone and their sister wants to visit to try to get a glimpse of Zander.”
