Eve’s tears twisted his gut and reminded him why he’d stayed away from her for so long in the first place. No matter how hard he tried, he was bound to hurt her. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, so why start a journey that was doomed to fail?
“You didn’t misread anything, Eve. The time we’ve spent together has been amazing. It’s only reinforced everything I’ve tried so hard to fight since meeting you.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
He let out a long, frustrated breath. “I’m a casual guy. I like to keep things nice and simple, and things between me and you can never be simple. We’re too good of friends for this not to end up messy, and I don’t want that. Do you?”
“God forbid things getmessy. I mean, how could two consenting adults who have strong feelings for each other ever deal with cleaning up a mess?”
He winced at the sarcasm dripping from her words, masking her anger. “That’s not what I—”
“Mean? Seriously, I’m tired of the excuses and the bullshit. I can help you clean up whatever mess is pinning you in this god-awful place of fear.”
He squeezed his eyes shut as the need to fully confide in her clawed at his chest. But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t make himself unload the ugliness that had been his life.
The sound of something falling to the floor snapped open his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
Eve stood behind her plate, which she’d tossed on the floor. Food splattered off the side, bits of potato clinging to her pant leg. “Life’s never tidy. Not the bad parts, not the good parts.” She strolled over to the tub of butter sitting on the counter and dipped her finger inside.
“Eve, stop.”
“Stop what?” She smeared the butter on her forehead and down her nose then crossed to him and dotted what was left on his chin. “Stop being messy?”
“Damn it, Eve. This isn’t funny. My life isn’t something to laugh at and make light of. If I say I can’t handle this—” He waved a hand between them. “Then just walk away and know I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“So chivalrous, but you don’t get to tell me to stop or to walk away or to forget all the beautiful things you said to me. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re not a liar. And you wouldn’t have told me we should see if we could make things work if you didn’t mean it.”
He wanted to argue, to push back, to claim he’d spouted nonsense earlier to make her happy, but he couldn’t get past the butter smeared across her cute little nose. Snagging the dishrag, he wiped her face clean. “You really want messy?”
“I really want you.”
An internal war waged inside him, but he was tired of fighting. Tired of holding back. And more than anything, he didn’t want to hurt Eve. Not ever, and certainly not like this—by hiding the broken pieces of himself.
“What brought me to Cloud Valley isn’t pretty. You’re right. Running away is something I’ve done for years. Not because I’m scared, but for survival. I don’t want to run anymore.”
She took the cloth from him and wiped off his chin then set it back on the counter. “I don’t want you to run, either. I’m here waiting for you, Reid. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything you’ve buried, but I hope you know you can.”
The kindness in her tone cracked his last walls of resistance. A lump lodged in his throat, and he rubbed the base of his neck in an attempt to loosen it.
“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning. “Do you need something to drink?”
“Water’d be nice.”
She reached behind him for a clean plastic cup and hurried to the faucet. “For this conversation, maybe we should stick with the wine.”
He winced, the silly joke another twist of the knife that never left.
Eve stilled, the sound of the water echoing off the sink. “You never have more than one drink, do you?”
“No.”
Shutting off the water, she carried the cup to him and waited until he drained the water to speak again. “I assumed you didn’t want to overdo it in public, not when you were trying to establish your business. But even at my house, you didn’t touch that second beer.”
He set the cup down and took her hand, leading her past the mess on the floor to the sofa. He’d deal with cleanup later. Fornow, this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have standing in middle of the kitchen.
Once settled, he kept ahold of her hand. She grounded him, soothed those rough edges with her nearness. Made him want to unload his burdens so maybe, if he was lucky, he could finally set them aside and move past them.
“You’re right,” he said. “I never have more than one drink. Ever. My dad is an alcoholic.”
