“It’slate,” I observed in an even voice. Braving his gaze when all I wanted to dowas slink away into the dead of night and never resurface again, I said, “Canwe talk about this tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
Istretched up on my tiptoes and kissed the feather tattoo on his neck. “When Iget in tomorrow morning? We can figure out the details.” Panic had startedwelling up inside me like an overboiling pot. I needed space to figure out whathappened. I needed air to catch my breath.
Ineeded… sleep.
“Details?”He kept repeating my words as if they didn’t make sense to him. “Is this thekind of relationship that has details?”
Myeyes squinted shut and I turned away from him, so he couldn’t see my regretfulexpression. I was afraid he would misread it. Or maybe I was misreading it.
Whatdid I regret? What we did?
No…not really. Not yet.
Pullingaway from him and treating him like this?
Maybe.
“Thereare logistics, Wyatt. We can’t… we can’t… We work together. This could getmessy.”
If Ilet it go on. If I didn’t figure out how to stop it.
Hisfingers reached out and gently wrapped around mine. He barely applied anypressure, but he didn’t need to. The feel of him was enough to pull me backinto the sanctuary of his body.
Hisother hand wrapped around my waist and he dropped his face to the curve of myneck, my back pressed to his chest. I flinched when he spoke, his voice barelyabove a whisper. “Okay, Swift. Go home. I’ll clean up here.”
Hewasn’t fragile, I reminded myself. Jo was wrong about him.
Iknew him.
Hewas the strongest person I knew.
“Thanks,Wyatt,” I told him, my voice shaking with emotion, fear, and regret.
“Seeyou tomorrow?”
Inodded, unable to say the words. I was the fragile one. It was me that wasbreakable.
Helet me go. I fled the building, too much of a chicken to look back at him.
Howhad something that amazing caused me to run away again? I had never experiencedanything like that before. Nolan didn’t even have the ability to make a womanfeel like that. I was positive ninety-nine percent of the male populationcouldn’t make a girl feel that way.
Sowhy was I still running?
Whywas I still trying to avoid this thing that could be so good?
Thequestion plagued me all the way home. It continued to haunt me all the waythrough my hot shower, stripping the joy of my shower beer and the satisfiedfeeling of having kicked major culinary ass today. It stayed with me as Iclimbed into bed, tossing and turning with no chance of falling asleep. And thedoubt sat on my left shoulder the next morning, whispering lies andinsecurities and all those things I’d thought I’d left behind in Hamilton allthose years ago as I tapped out a cowardly text to Wyatt an hour before I wassupposed to be at work.
I feel like crap. I think I’mgetting the flu. Sorry, I won’t make it in today.
He’dsent back a thumb’s up emoji, making me feel even more like crap.
See you Mondaysat on my phone for the remainderof the day, but I never found the courage to send it. It was official, the samereasons that had sent me running from Hamilton, had now possessed my feetagain.
Wyatt isn’t Nolan, I told myself.
He’s still trouble, my brittle heart whisperedback.
