"Anytime."
We're still holding hands. I can feel her pulse racing against my palm, see the rise and fall of her chest.
"Troy," she whispers.
"Yeah?"
"I—"
She doesn't finish. Just steps closer, rising on her toes, and I know what's about to happen. I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her hand tightens around mine.
I lower my head, my free hand coming up to cup her cheek—
And she pulls away.
"I can't," she says, stumbling back a step. "I'm sorry. I just—I can't."
"Ainsley—"
"I need to go inside." Her voice is shaking now. "I need to... I'll see you later."
She turns and runs into the house, leaving me standing alone in the garden with dirt under my nails and frustration coiling tight in my chest.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the back door. Then I exhale hard and drag a hand through my hair.
Okay, I think. That's it.
I've been patient. I've followed her rules, kept my distance, let her set the pace. But this? This circling around each other, this almost-but-not-quite, this fear holding her back?
It ends now.
If I don't make a proper move. Don’t show her that this thing between us is worth the risk, then we're going to keep dancing around it forever. And I didn't survive fourteen years in the Army and a bullet just to spend the rest of my life wondering what if.
Tomorrow, I'm done waiting.
Tomorrow, I'm going to show Ainsley Boothe what she means to me.
And this time, I'm not letting her run.
Chapter 8
Ainsley
I've been overthinking everything.
Not just overthinking—catastrophically, exhaustively, relentlessly overthinking. Every single moment from Sunday plays on a loop in my head like a highlight reel I can't turn off.
Troy's hands in the dirt, and him listening to me talk about Grandma without looking at me like I'm broken. Him telling me about his dad, his voice going rough around the edges. The way he leaned in close when I was showing him how to water the pepper plant, so close I could smell his soap and feel the heat radiating off his body.
And then the almost-kiss.
God, the almost-kiss.
I can still feel it—the moment I rose on my toes, his hand cupping my cheek, our faces inches apart. The way my entire body hummed with want and terror in equal measure.
And then I ran.
Like a coward.
