“Means something to me, too, cowboy,” Sky said, his voice soft. “And you don’t have to keep apologizing to me.”
Seeing anin, I asked, “Not even if I wanted to apologize with steak and a nice wine?”
“In that case . . . I’m listening.”
“Do you have a free evening this week?”
After one hellacious moment of quiet, he responded, “For you, I’ll make time. How about Friday?”
“It’s a date,” I said quickly.
I could almost hear him smiling. “We’ll see about that.”
22
SKYLAR
This time,pulling up to Kit’s house, I had no idea what the night would bring.
After talking to Desi and Sam—admitting I didn’t want this to be over—and then actually saying it out loud to Kit, I realized just how much I meant it.
Here’s hoping the cowboy shows me something good.
Waiting in the driveway was a solid start. He didn’t even let me open my own door.
Things had been awkward since Austin, but he was trying. He’d listened. He’d done what I asked. And the fact that he still made me smile… maybe Iwasbeing an idiot.
Or maybe I don’t have to internalize his bullshit while also giving him a tiny smidge of grace.
I knew for sure he was nothing like Rich. If Rich had a son who was anything less than his version of perfect . . .shudder. I wouldn’t want to be that kid. But I had the sense Kit didn’t view his son as imperfect, or someone to be loved in spite of his ‘issues.’ Reed was simply Reed, and Kit took him as he was, working with his mother to ensure he had everything he needed.
I’d also realized, belatedly, that Kit had never once judged me for my makeup and clothing choices, never once had hegiven me even the smallest hint of side-eye. He’d been curious, unguarded, and very, very imperfect with me.
I refocused on the man in front of me, who was holding out his hand, the look in his eyes so vulnerable I didn’t know what to do with myself. So, I took his hand and let him lead me into his house. Through his living room and into his kitchen. He let go of my hand and reached into the gorgeous metal wine rack, producing an expensive-looking red. He pulled out two delicate, long, stemmed glasses, and set them on the counter, then gripped the edge, lowering his head.
“Kit?”
“Can I please hug you?” he asked, more to the pretty granite than me.
I couldn’t help my smile. Kit Baker was asking me for a hug.
“Yes.”
He pivoted and had his arms around me before I could blink, holding me tight as he pushed his face into my neck, just like he had before. I circled my arms around his waist and his body went heavy, each of us collapsing into the other. We stood there in his kitchen, holding each other, swaying to background music only the two of us could hear.
His breathing pitched up, then slowed, our energies twining around each other, dissipating the hurt like a magic trick.
“You are so fucking special,” he said to the thin patch of skin under my ear. “Please tell me I haven’t fucked it up too much.”
“This hug isn’t hurting your chances,” I said, and he laughed.
We straightened, still melded together. He looked down at me like he wanted to kiss me, but instead, he adjusted his hold and started leading me around the island. I threw my head back and laughed.
“Cowboy, are we two-stepping?”
“That we are.”
“I bet you pull this move with all the boys.”
