The thought makes me feel physically ill. She and Garrett were together for years. They have history. What do she and I have? A few weeks of confused feelings and one almost-kiss next to a Christmas tree?
“You can answer it,” I say, gesturing toward her pocket. “If it’s important.”
“It’s not,” she says firmly, but her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to check the message.
“Look, I just wanted to clear the air, you know?” I hear myself saying, all my carefully planned words evaporating. “Make sure things aren’t weird between us. Because you’re important to me. As a friend. A really good friend.”
There it is again.Friend. I’m saying the exact opposite of what I want to say. But the ghost of Garrett is suddenly sitting between us on the couch, and my courage has vanished.
Cheyenne’s face falls almost imperceptibly, but I catch it—the slight downturn of her lips, the way her eyes dim a little. “Right,” she says. “Friends.” She stands abruptly, smoothing her hands over her jeans. “Actually, I should probably head home. Jhett’s been alone all day, and I need to let him out.”
“Oh.” I stand too, feeling helpless as she gathers her things. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got my car.” She picks up the book I gave her, holding it carefully against her chest. “Thank you again for this. It’s perfect.”
“You’re welcome.” I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “So, I’ll see you ... when?”
“New Year’s Eve, right?” she says, already moving toward the doorway. “Genna mentioned a rooftop party?”
“Yeah, New Year’s Eve.” I nod, following her to the foyer where her coat hangs. “Let me help you with that.”
I hold her coat as she slips her arms into the sleeves, and for a brief moment, we’re standing close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral and warm that makes my chest ache. She turns to face me, buttoning her coat, her eyes meeting mine for just a moment before skittering away.
“Merry Christmas, Dylan,” she says softly.
“Merry Christmas, Chey.”
And then she’s gone, the door closing behind her with a quiet click that somehow sounds ... final.
I stand staring at the door, listening to her car start in the driveway.
“Smooth move, idiot,” I mutter to myself, leaning my forehead against the door.
I had her. I had the perfect moment to tell her how I really feel, and I blew it. All because Garrett—freaking Garrett—decided today was the day to try to win her back.
What if she goes back to him? What if she’s on her way to see him right now?
The thought makes my stomach churn. Garrett didn’t appreciate what he had when he was with her. He hurt her. But they have history, and history counts for something.
I push away from the door and trudge back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. My eyes land on a small glint of silver on the cushion—the dog charm from Chey’s bracelet. The clasp must have come loose when she was gathering her things.
I pick it up carefully, the tiny silver dog sitting in my palm like an accusation. Like physical proof of how badly I’ve messed up.
This is exactly why I’ve never allowed myself to get too close to women. This—this ache in my chest, this sinking feeling that I’ve lost something precious before I even really had it. It’s easier to keep things casual. Easier to be the carefree bachelor everyone expects that of me.
Caring hurts too dang much.
I close my fingers around the charm, feeling its edges press into my palm. I’ll have to return it to her at New Year’s, I suppose.
If she even wants to see me after today.
If she hasn’t already gone back to Garrett by then.
The thought sends a fresh wave of something hot and painful through me. Jealousy? Fear? Both, probably. And something else—something that feels alarmingly like ... heartbreak.
Which is ridiculous.
You can’t break what you’ve never offered to anyone.
