“Hey!” I shove his arm gently so as not to make us crash. “That’s not fair.”
“Read ’em.”
“No.”
He side-eyes me.
“It’s embarrassing,” I say.
“Why? You’re a brilliant, grown-ass woman who knows what she wants. How is that embarrassing? It’s admirable. It’s brave. And personally? I think it’sfucking hot.”
I shift in my seat to alleviate some of the pressure building in my core. “I’m glad. But it’s different when you have to say them aloud. I mean …. You do it. Tell me something on your whimsy list.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, teasing him. “Everyone has a list of things they wish they could do or that they could change about themselves. Most of the time, those lists just live in people’s heads.” He considers this, narrowing his eyes as he watches the road. “So, tell me one thing that you wish you could do or change about yourself, then I’ll read you my list. In its entirety.”
There’s probably not a chance he’ll play along, which is fine by me. I don’t want to read him my list anyway. But as the seconds pass and he runs a thumb along his bottom lip as if in thought, I start to wonder if I might’ve played a little too close to the sun with this one.
Tapping his fingers against the side of his leg, he sighs before turning to me. His eyes are crystal clear pools of jade, and they land on mine with a deliberateness that steals my breath.
“I’d hope that one day I’d see someone look me in the eyes and love me with no regrets.” He swallows. “That’s all.”
My eyes widen as he looks away.
I didn’t think he’d answer at all, let alone give me something so real or so raw. My heart aches for him—the pain I saw briefly before it disappeared beneath his practiced smirk and mischievous eyes once again.
What does that mean? Why does he feel like everyone who loves him does it with regrets?That’s so awful. I want to reach across the truck and slide into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck … but I can’t. And, even if I could, I shouldn’t.
“Satisfied?” he asks, grinning.
“Not yet, but I have high hopes for you.”
He chuckles. “Your turn. Read ’em.”
I groan, taking out my phone and pulling up my Notes app. I find the right file and remind myself that he’s already read these. This is nothing new.Just breathe.
“Okay, I’ve already checked off a couple of these,” I say, scrolling through the list. “I’ve done a few spontaneous things, and I’ve eaten in public alone, which was not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. No one stared or laughed. Who knew?”
“It sounds like you spend a lot of time around a lot of assholes, if you ask me.”
I shrug. When I’m not in Nashville, that’s true.
“And you can check the learning to flirt one off, too,” he says. “I have no clue why you don’t think you’re good at it.”
“Because it doesn’t feel like I’m good at it. Anyway, moving on … I need to learn to be okay with disappointing others, even if it’s with myself. And I need to cut my hair.” I place my phone on my lap and stare at Brooks’s profile. “I’ve wanted to cut my hair for two years and wanted to try bangs for longer than that. But every time I get the nerve to do it, I see a meme that says, ‘Ifyou’re having a bad day, the answer is never bangs.’ So, I don’t do it.”
“Okay, what else?”
I know what he’s waiting for, but I’ve deliberately skipped those. I’ll do those last. If he’s making me read these aloud, then I can make him wait until the end for his payoff.
“Self-defense, but I could technically mark that off. And I want to stop being so sweet.” I sigh. “I’ve been reduced to a one-dimensional word.Sweet.” I go back to the app and rattle off a few more things as I work my way down the screen. And then I get to the end—to the good stuff. “Does this count as a one-night stand? It kind of is but kind of isn’t.”
“Count it.”
We turn left onto a road that’s freshly paved where trees hug both sides. It feels like we’re driving into a magical realm with no houses or people except the white cottage in front of us.
“I’m not counting it,” I say, intrigued by our location. “I’ll find a one-night stand in Nashville.”
