“‘Course.” He nods, his own face growing pink as if embarrassed. “But can I at least know your name?”
“Beatrice. Uh, Betty. Everyone just calls me Betty.” A heavy breath releases from me as I clutch the tablet in both palms in front of my thighs.
“See ya around, Beatrice.” Then he’s back out the door, following the newly graveled paths to the cabins that sit behind the Miller house.
From the side windows, I can watch him until he disappears inside the cabin at the end. I allow myself to get lost in my mind, thinking about the handsome cowboy out back. He’d seemed kind enough. Maybe I should have been bolder and told him to use it anytime. Maybe it would make me forget that Nash has never and will never want anything to do with me.
But I can’t.
I’ve tried—countless times. Even Ryan, a man I was planning to marry, couldn’t erase Nash from my heart and mind.
Every boyfriend who dumped me, knowing they weren’t the man I was thinking of when they held me at night or we had sex, could tell you so. It was always him. Always fucking Nash with that winning grin burned on my soul.
So I let myself think of Ward. Of possibilities, as a wide grin stretches the corners of my mouth when the front door opens.
“Betty?”
An audible gasp leaves me, my eyes gaping at the man before me. Good grief, did my thoughts summon him or something? “Nash? What are you doing here?” I immediately stand, my mouth pressed into a straight line as I stare into those blue eyes I’ve been lost in my whole life.
“I’m staying here,” he answers dryly. No inflection. No emotion. Not even a proper hello.
My heart fractures a little more, and my hope withers and dies.
It’s not like I didn’t know he was a guest this weekend. I did. And I purposely sent him an extra email with his cabininformation ahead of time to avoid moments like this. “You already have your cabin information.”
He steps closer, his woodsy scent wafting up my nose. It’s a fight not to inhale deeply. Not to fist his shirt and breathe him in like I’ve always wanted to. “Yeah, but I was hoping you could make a switch,” he mutters.
“Oh, why?”
He’s suddenly another step closer, and the multicolored hues of his eyes become clear.Don’t stare, Betty.“I really wanted the first cabin at the end. Quieter. More privacy.” His tone hasn’t changed since the moment he walked through the door. I can’t recall a time he has ever been so dry with me, but I’ve also never seen him so worn down.
“Privacy for what? The women you plan on bringing back with you?” My hand clamps over my mouth. There’s no chance the universe will answer my wish and erase the last five seconds. My body heats with the flames of embarrassment as Nash’s eyes gape wide, not just in shock but with mirth dancing there.
“No,” he chuckles. “The young rodeo guys like to party. I like to sleep.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. I, well, yeah. Cabin 1B. The code is seven-five-three-seven,” I quickly blurt out, tumbling over my words. Anything to get me out of this situation as fast as possible.
Something flashes in his eyes as I relay the numbers. It’s the same stare we’ve shared in the last few encounters we’ve had. Our lips part, and our breathing shifts as if we’re both going to confess, then one of us breaks eye contact, and the moment is over.
Today it’s him.
“Thanks.” He tips his head to me before reaching for the front door. “If you need a ride to the Thirsty Pony tonight, you come find me.”
“I won’t. Beckett will be here.”
“Beckett?” Nash spins back to face me. “Damn, I haven’t seen him since…” A genuine smile stretches wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling, aging him just before he finishes his statement. The night I ruined everything.
Studying Nash’s face now, I’ve never thought about how time has changed us because it wasn’t just his looks I cared about. I’ve always seen Nash as the eighteen-year-old boy who checked on me in the middle of the night, but he’s forty now. Neither of us are those same children anymore.
“Well, you’ll see him at the bar tonight. Sorry, but I have work to do. You have my number if you need anything.”
His jaw flexes, eyes casting down to where my chest pumps heavily. “Yeah, Betty. I do.” Then he’s gone, too.
I scrub my hands over my face, not caring if I smudge the soft nude eyeshadow or my mascara. How am I going to survive an entire season with Nash here all the damn time?
If only I hadn’t confessed. Not that it would have changed a thing. I’d still be here, pining after a man who doesn’t want me.
Rolling my shoulders back, I make a choice.
