ROSALIE
Me: We need to talk. I can explain.
The textI sent on Saturday sits on my phone, still unanswered and mocking me two days later. As soon as I left the diner, I drove by his cabin, but he wasn’t home. I called him a few hours later. By Saturday evening, I was annoyed. Sunday, I was angry. Today, I’m just sad.
I messed up. I did, and I deeply regret my choices. I should’ve told Jackson about Clint. It was a mistake to ignore it, and the damn thing nearly blew up in my face. But is he really so angry that he won’t talk to me? I get that my actions hurt him, but he could at least hear me out. It’s not like he can stay mad at me forever. Hell, we aren’t even technically dating.
Though, that doesn’t feel true. Just because we haven’t defined things doesn’t mean there aren’t expectations. If I found out he was seeing another woman, I’d never want to talk to him again.
My fingers hover over his contact, and I consider calling again, or sending another text. But no. I set the phone down and lock the screen. If he needs time and space, that’s exactly what he’ll get. Iwon’t beg. We’re adults. If he can’t communicate, then we have no hope of a future anyway.
Anger bubbles to the surface, fueling my indignation all over again. I vow to put him and this stupid situation out of my mind, and focus on my job. But that doesn’t last. I see him in everything I do.
Shelving books, I come across a non-fiction title on fishing. I picture him on the lake, patiently showing Edward how to cast his line.
Cleaning up the children’s section later, I tidy the display filled with books on back to school. I remember our shopping trip, and how for a moment, we felt like a real family, the three of us. How that night, he spent time washing and folding my son’s clothes so I could come back from book club with one less chore on my plate. Everything was so good. Better than I ever imagined. Better than the books. It can’t be over already, can it? I squeeze my eyes shut so I won’t cry.
Even now, working behind the desk, I have to stop myself from imagining his tall frame strutting toward me, a toothpick resting between his lips the same way it did that night a year ago in a bar.
I blink. Then blink again.
Holy shit.
The library’s glass front doors open and a tall, gorgeous cowboy comes walking inside.
I’m either losing my mind, or Jackson Wilder just entered the town library.
I straighten behind the reference desk, my heart beating inside my chest with alarm. No, it’s excitement—or maybe both.
He strolls up to the desk, his gait casual, and flashes me one of his signature grins. Which is confusing, because he’s supposed to be mad at me.
“Jackson.” I try to keep the longing from my voice, but I’m not sure I succeed.
He dips his chin, holding on to the brim of his cowboy hat.
“Rosalie.”
I wait for him to say more. He’s obviously here with a purpose.He’s never set foot in this building before. But when he doesn’t say anything, I cross my arms on the counter and ask him the question I ask all library patrons.
“What can I help you with today?”
His gaze runs down my body, and the corner of his mouth lifts with a naughty smirk.
“So many things. But I need help finding a book.”
My heart sinks with disappointment. Maybe he isn’t here to speak with me at all.
“Of course. What book?” I ask, remaining professional in spite of the fact my heart is ripped in two.
“A subject matter.” He rests a hand on the resource desk and leans forward. “A topic I want to research.”
“Okay.” I turn my chair and rest my fingers over my keyboard, ready for his request.
“Do you have any books on relationships?”
My eyes dart to his.
“Monogamous relationships, specifically. Do you have anything like that?”
