Her blue eyes meet mine across the room.
“We stayed up all night talking. It’s not a big deal, Wyatt.”
She says this as if I’ve never encountered a straight human woman in my life.
We stayed up all night talking. Yeah. Exactly. And thatisa big deal.Irecognize how big a deal it is, and I’m a man. So I can only imagine the fantasies swirling through her mind right now. She’s probably designing the wedding invitations in there.
But sure, if she wants to be dishonest, then so will I.
I shrug. “You’re right. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Then why were you avoiding me today?”
“I wasn’t. Just thought we might need some space to do our own thing today. So neither of us would read too much into what happened.”
“You mean me,” she says darkly. “I’mthe one who’s going to read too much into it, right? Because I’m some naive idiot who now thinks you’re in love with me because we spilled our guts to each other last night.” Her lips curl in a frown. “Trust me, I amwellaware that you don’t want me, okay?”
Jesus.
My chest tightens.
I want you.
The confession burns my throat, but I refuse to let it escape. If I do, I’ll never be able to take it back.
“I know you’re not in love with me. And it’s hilarious to even think it, right?” Bitterness laces her tone. “So funny, right, Wyatt? Just like when I was sixteen and stupid enough to have a crush on you. You laughed then too.”
“Blake—”
“No,” she interrupts. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. I was a joke then, and I’m a joke now. It’s fine.”
Misery clamps around my throat. She thinks I see her as a joke?
At the table, Blake throws down her puzzle piece and pushes the box away. “You know what? I think I’ll turn in too.”
As she tries to bulldoze past me, I reach out and grab her hand, stilling her.
“You’re not a joke,” I say, my voice low, rougher than I mean for it to be. “You’ve never been a joke.”
She stares at me, eyes hard, then offers a tight shrug and brushes my hand off. “Could have fooled me.”
She disappears upstairs, and a moment later, I hear her bedroom door latching shut.
Fuck!
Since I got here, all I’ve done is piss her off and hurt her feelings. I should just go back to Nashville, let Blake enjoy Tahoe without my broody, complicated ass dragging her down.
We spend the rest of the night in our respective rooms. I shoot off some texts and watch a tutorial about classical guitar, because why not. Around midnight, when I’m about to try to force sleep, I hear stomping in Blake’s bedroom, followed by stomping in the hall as shestomps past my door and stomps down the stairs. Someone’s trying to annoy me, it appears.
I assume she’s getting something from the kitchen, so I tense up when I hear the sharp beep of the alarm disengaging. That sounded like the back door.
Where the hell is she going?
I stay in bed for a moment, telling myself she’s probably just going to sit on the dock and look at the stars again. But I hate the idea of her out there alone. Which is stupid, because she’s an adult, and it’s not like this lake is crawling with psycho killers, other than possibly the Spencers.
Still, I climb out of bed, because I know I’ll never be able to sleep now.
I quietly go downstairs. The back doors are closed, but the alarm is off, and the doors are unlocked. I step onto the deck, but I don’t see Blake down on the dock. All the loungers are empty. Worry pulls at my stomach, tugging harder when I suddenly catch a flicker of motion against the black sky.
