My eyes snap to hers. “It’s not an act.”
“Then what is it, Luke?” There’s fire in her voice now, anger mixing with hurt. “Because in that elevator, you weren’t the guy who snaps at neighbors and hates Valentine’s Day. You were kind. You made me laugh. You held me when I was scared and you looked at me like—”
Don’t say it.
“—never mind.” She shakes her head, and I can see her shutting down, protecting herself. I know the feeling all too well. “Clearly I read that completely wrong.”
Tell her. Tell her she didn’t read it wrong. Tell her you haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since she knocked on your door last night. Tell her that kiss felt like coming up for air after drowning for two years.
“You did.” The lie comes out easily. Too easily.
She nods slowly, backing away, and I can see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes.
No. Fuck. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.
“Well. Thanks for fixing the elevator. And for the reminder that not every guy who kisses you actually means it.”
The words are a knife between my ribs, but I deserve it. I deserve worse.
She turns to walk away and every instinct I have is screaming at me to stop her, to pull her back, to tell her the truth. “Molly.”
She stops, her back still to me, and for one second I almost do it. Almost tell her I’m a fucking coward who’s terrified of feeling anything real again.
But then I see it in my mind; Molly, a year from now, looking at me the way my ex did. With pity. Or worse, with nothing at all.
Better to end it now.
“Have a great day at work, Luke.” Her voice is steady, but I can hear the tremor underneath.
She walks away, her shoulders rigid, and I stand there like a fool, watching her go.
I yank open my truck door and climb in, slamming it harder than necessary. My hands grip the steering wheel, and I rest my forehead against it for a moment.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I start the engine, the truck rumbling to life, and force myself to back out of the parking spot. I don’t look at her walking back to the building. I don’t let myself watch her wipe at her face.
I drive.
But even as I pull onto the main road, I can still taste strawberries. Still feel the way she melted into me, the softness of her lips, the trust in her eyes before I shattered it.
“It was a mistake,” I growl low, trying to convince myself. But when my fist smashes against the steering wheel, I know—I fucking know—the only mistake I made was letting her go.
Hopeful Romantic
Molly
“So,hewasadick, then…sweet? Sounds like trouble to me,” Brent, my brother’s boyfriend, chimes in from his place by the display case, helping box orders. Mitch was wise enough to ask him to help us out this morning with Jodie being out sick.
“He’s not trouble,” I protest, cashing out another customer. “He’s…complex.”
“Red flag,” Mitch says from the ovens, pulling out another batch of sugar cookies. “Remember what you said about Nathan being ‘complicated’?”
I frown. Why would he bring that up right now? “That was different.”
“How?” Brent asks, tying a perfect bow on a heart-shaped box. “Nathan was emotionally unavailable and stringing you along. This guy literally yelled at you yesterday for delivering an invitation.”
I hear his concern, I do, but I have this thing where I can’t help but see the good, give a chance or two, not judge a person by a first, or second, impression. And I could see it in Luke’s stern gaze; he didn’t mean it. And he didsmilewhen I threw caution to the wind and asked if he would come to the party tonight.
