Unless.
His contact info is right there. One call. One text. One word and this could be different.
But I don't know what word that is.
I don't know if I'm ready to say yes. Don't know if I can trust that Texas wouldn't be Tyler all over again---me giving up everything, him realizing I'm not worth what I cost.
But I know I'm not ready for this to be over.
I close the phone. Put it face-down on the porch step.
Biscuit whines.
"I know," I tell him.
He settles against my leg with a sigh.
The porch is cold. The night is quiet. Somewhere in town, Maggie's probably closing up the diner. Sophie's probably locking up the bookstore. Linda's probably at home telling her husband all about how Dr. O'Connor is a disaster.
And Dean has already made his choice.
His deadline was Thursday morning-yesterday.
I stay on the porch until the cold drives me inside. Until Biscuit gives up and goes to bed. Until there's nothing left to do but lie awake and replay every conversation, every touch, every moment from the lake to the bar to the fight in my kitchen.
I love you.
Come with me.
Build something with me.
Is that what he was asking? Or was Sophie right---did he just ask it badly?
I roll over, punch my pillow, and close my eyes.
Tomorrow, I'll drive to work. See patients. Pretend everything is fine.
Dean made a decision that changes everything.
And I'll be here. In Pine Valley. Safe.
Miserable.
But safe.
The next morning, I drive the long way to the clinic. The route that takes me past the turn-off to base.
The guard shack is visible from the road. Morning shift change. Trucks coming and going. Somewhere in there, yesterday morning Dean sat across from some officer, signing papers that sent him overseas or back to Texas.
My foot hovers over the brake.
I could turn. Right now. Drive through that gate and find him.
And say what? That I'm terrified? That I want him but don't know how to trust this? That Texas sounds like a dream and a nightmare and I can't tell which one is real?
The guard waves at me. Probably thinks I'm lost.
I keep driving.
