I reach back and squeeze it, trying to ease it as best as I can. “It can get messy, though. What if ... what if someone gets hurt?”
What ifIget hurt?
I’ve thought about it before, but I haven’treallythought about it. Is that what I’m really afraid of? Trying and it not working out again? I think that might scare me more than I’ve ever let on.
“Do you have any intentions of hurting her?”
“What? No. Of course not. I like her. I ... I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“For starters, she’s a wedding planner, and I don’t believe in marriage.”
He laughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s what every divorced person says. It’s like getting drunk for the first time—you swear you’re never going to do it again, but there’s a ninety-five percent chance you’re full of shit.”
Fine. Maybe he has a point. I know a lot of divorced people who swore they would never remarry, and now they have. Is that what’s going to happen to me too?
Do I evenwantthat to happen?
Before all of this started, my answer would have been an automatic no. I would have adamantly said I don’t ever want another seriousrelationship. I don’t ever want to be tied down to another person again. I don’t ever want to not be enough for someone.
But now ... fuck, I already feel like I’m enough, and I know it’s because of Odette.
I’m not saying I’m ready to walk down the aisle or anything, but now I’m notnotsaying it couldn’t be a possibility in the future either.
That might be a little much, and I might be getting ahead of myself, especially since I don’t even know what this thing is between us. But maybe I’m not as closed off to the idea as I thought.
And I know she’s the reason why.
My eyes drift toward her yet again, and all I see is a person who makes me laugh. A person I like to spend my time with. A person Iwantto spend my time with. Someone I could miss. Someone I could sleep on the couch for.
Someone I could . . .
No.
I push away that thought before I can even finish it. This is just fun. This isn’t serious.
That same ache I’ve been getting in my chest for a week or so now comes back, and I rub it, trying to relieve the twinge.
My dad pats me on the back. “Just remember, son, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
I nod, then sling back the rest of my cider.
Dad and I work on the steaks, shooting the shit about mundane things, his feelings about his upcoming retirement, and how I am doing with renovating the barn. We don’t talk about what might or might not be happening between me and Odette again.
Eventually, we all gather around the table, perfectly grilled steaks and plenty of sides laid out for everyone, and the conversation turns to the wedding yet again.
I don’t get as annoyed over that as I did before. It just makes sense at this point, especially with the wedding being a week and a half away.
“So, Odette, do you have a date to the wedding?”
My ears perk at my mother’s questioning, and I glance up just in time for Odette to flit her eyes my way briefly.
I’m sure she’s remembering Izzy insisting we go together too. If only my sister knew what was happening between us now ...
Odette shakes her head, patting her lips with her napkin. “I don’t, no.”
“What? Even your mother does.”
