“Says who?”
“Me!”
“And what do you know about it? You’re still a baby! You don’t know what you want in life. You still need to figure out who you are.”
“Don’t feed me that bullshit. I’ve wanted you for ten goddamn years, and that hasn’t changed once. So don’t tell me I don’t know what the fuck I want or who I am. I already know.”
Her silence hit him like a confession, and suddenly, everything made sense. She was deflecting and pushing this all off on him, but he wasn’t the issue. She was. Despite having shown her over and over again that he loved her just as she was, she was still fumbling around, trying to find her footing.
“But maybe I’m not the one who needs to be looking.” He knelt in front of her once again and wrapped his hand around her ankle, willing her to glance his way, but she never did. “I love every single facet of you—therealyou. You’re brilliant and creative and bossy and opinionated and talented and so fucking strong. But if you can’t see it, I can’t force you to.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and he reached up and swiped it away. Wanted nothing more than to kiss away her hurt, and he probably could. Could kiss his way back into her life, fuck them both until they felt better. For a little while, anyway. But then they’d crash when it was over, and she’d be worse off after it.
So instead, he rubbed his thumb along her exposed ankle and put as much emotion into the simple touch as he could. “I’m not givin’ up on this, Rory. I won’t give up on us. No matter how long it takes to prove that to you, I’m gonna do it. So, you take as much time you need. When you figure it out, you know where to find me.”
Rory sat on her front porch swing, glass of wine in hand as she rocked in time to the quiet call of the whippoorwills. In recent days, this had become her routine while the girls were at their daddy’s. As soon as she got home from work—either town hall or a job site—she’d slip out on to the porch and camp for the rest of the evening simply because it made her feel close to Nash in the only way that was safe for her heart.
It didn’t help that she saw touches of him in every corner of her house. In the newly refinished kitchen cabinets. In the absence of the rooster wallpaper. In the crown moulding he’d helped her put up. Her home was finally something to be proud of, and not a room inside had been untouched. Every wall was painted the exact color she wanted, and she’d painstakingly picked out the smallest details in every nook and cranny.
Her home was perfect, even by her incredibly high standards. But the funny thing was, it’d felt more like a home months ago when it’d been in shambles simply because Nash and her girls had filled it with laughter and love.
She’d screwed that up, though, and she didn’t know how to fix it.
It’d only been four days since Nash had shown up on her front porch, acting like more of an adult than she’d been. Than she’d ever given him credit for. He’d been calm and rational when she’d felt like she’d gone off the damn rails.
He’d been right, though. She didn’t know who she was, and she had no business being in a relationship of any kind until she figured that out.
She ran her thumb up and down the screen of her phone, debating with herself if she should reach out to him. She wanted to. Desperately. The only problem was she had no idea what she’d say.
You were right.
I’m sorry.
I’m a mess.
Please forgive me.
Please…please wait for me.
Instead, she pulled up a group text between her, Will, and Mac. They’d stayed with her the night of Gran’s party, after they’d taken her home from The Willow Tree. All three of them had piled into Rory’s bed as they’d laughed and talked and stayed up until all hours of the morning watchingFixer Upper.
Nothing had been solved—she hadn’t had a sudden epiphany on how to make things work between her and Nash, but she’d felt…peaceful. Surrounded by her sisters, she’d felt peace.
Here, alone, swaying on the porch swing Nash made for her while her daughters spent the night with their new, expanded family, she didn’t feel an ounce of it, and she needed to. Just a bit.
What are y’all up to?
She stared at her phone, hoping at least one of them would text her right back. After several minutes with no response, she blew out a deep breath, set the device next to her on the cushion, and took a long drink of her wine. She closed her eyes, dropped her head back on her shoulders, and forced out everything but the sounds of her home. Grasshoppers and whippoorwills and mourning doves and…a motor?
Rory lifted her head and glanced toward the noise, squinting in the waning light. The sound got louder until a small white golf cart whipped around and skidded to a halt in her driveway, a plume of dust billowing behind it.
Will tumbled out, gripping the side of the cart and looking like she was about three seconds away from vomiting all over the driveway. “Were we in some kind of timed race I wasn’t aware of? Holy shit, Mac.”
Mac stepped out and rounded the front of the cart, carrying a six-pack of beer. “I got your ass here safe and sound, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” Will mumbled as she climbed the front porch steps.
“I didn’t realize I was cartin’ around such a delicate petal. I’ll get you a helmet for your next ride.”
