“Of course you’re not, Mouse. They deserve everything they’re getting. I just say give them some slack. They could have long given up, but they’re still trying. And you feel it yourself. They’re wearing you down. All I want to say is trust your gut. If you feel like you can trust them to open up again, rely on them. If youwantto have them back around, have them with you when you sleep, let yourself. Let them. Every little stone they pull out of your wall is earned.” Mac strokes his beard while talking, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say that much at once.
But what he’s saying makes sense.
Theyarewearing me down,even if I don’t like it.
“What he said.” Tally points at Mac. “You don’t have to make any decisions. Just go with the flow. Do what feels right for you. We have your back no matter what.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, fiddling with a napkin. “But forgiving them isn’t the only problem. I can’t and won’t choose. So what do they want from me? What are they fighting for? They don’t see that it’s no use anyway.”
Tally rolls her eyes before she leans in. “Back on topic, what happened this morning? Was he still there?”
“He was in the room, but he was waiting, sitting in the desk chair, dressed in his running gear. He asked me if I wanted to go for a run, and when I nodded, we went to my van, and I changed. We ran, not saying a word until we returned, and he left without a goodbye.”
It was perfect.
“Okay, what about Nash? And Hunter?” Tally digs for more tea.
I shrug. “Haven’t seen or heard from either of them today.” This only led to another day of overthinking, as I spent it alone in the van, hoping Saylor would pop in, which he didn’t.
Ugh.
“But there’s still time, right?” Tally grins, making Mac chuckle. “Come on, let’s get everything ready so we’re done when everyone’s finished working on the boats.”
Soon after, the first customers enter the restaurant. It’s Wednesday, so as usual, we aren’t busy, and the evening is slow. Maybe part of it is because it’s been raining heavily since after my run this morning. The sky is dark, and the wind is howling.
I hope Nash is okay.
Maybe thirty minutes before closing, the door opens again, and North enters, taking a seat at a table in the corner.
Tally steps up to my side and asks in a hushed tone, “Should I tell him to leave, or is that not necessary anymore since you invited him into your bed?”
Ha-ha.
“It’s fine, thanks,” I mutter, walking over to where North is sitting, aware he’s already watching me. I try hard not to stumble or show how fast my heart is beating.
He looks so fucking fine, wearing a black sweater with his wavy hair wet and disheveled by the weather. Some strands loosely hang in his ocean blue eyes, making me want to push them out of his face.
“What can I—” I begin in a professional tone, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t want anything, thank you,” he tells me in a neutral tone.
“Okay, why are youherethen?” I ask again, furrowing my brows. He looks at me in his oldare-you-denseway, which I might have missed just a little bit.
Begging North is nice, but bossy North is hotter.
Where did that thought just come from?
Bad Sloan.
“You can’t just sit here without ordering something. You’re taking a table from paying customers,” I try again, pressing the menu to my chest.
North’s gaze wanders around the restaurant, where two other tables are occupied, and eight more are empty.
I have to bite my lip to stifle a smile when his eyes return to mine, a glint of something there.
Amusement?
“Fine, what do you recommend?” he asks, his tone laced with a humor I’m not used to.
