I pull out my phone, and before I can overthink it, I open my email and find Gary Allen’s message. I stare at it for a long moment, at the promise of money and security and an easy out, and then I hit delete. I don’t need an escape hatch. I don’t need a backup plan. I just need to figure out what I actually want.
After riding a mechanical bull and singing karaoke and almost kissing Wyatt Rivers on the deck of a honky-tonk bar under a sky full of stars, I’m starting to think I might already know. But the question is whether I’m brave enough to choose it.
I finish my sweet tea and head back inside to lock up. The Rusty Spur looks different in the quiet, with neon signs casting colored shadows across the worn wooden floor and string lights still glowing warmly. I can almost hear tonight’s laughter, music, and cheers. This place is starting to feel like mine, like Mavis knew what she was talking about, like she knew exactly what she was doing.
That should terrify me. Instead, it feels right.
I lock the front door, make sure everything is secure, and climb the stairs to my apartment above the bar. It’s small, but comfortable, more so than my pristine Atlanta condo ever was. I get ready for bed, and sleep doesn’t come easily. I keep replaying the moment on the deck, the way Wyatt looked at me, the feel of his hand cupping my cheek, and how time seemed to stop just before his phone rang.
What would have happened if his grandmother’s toilet hadn’t started leaking?
I know what would have happened. He would have kissed me, and I would have kissed him back. And then what?
I roll over, punching my pillow into a better shape. This is why I can’t sleep. I keep asking “and then what” about everything. It’s exhausting.
Finally, sometime after 2 a.m., I drift off.
I wake to someone knocking on my apartment door. For a moment, I’m very disoriented. The light coming through the window is really strong, and I grab my phone to check the time. 9:47 a.m. I’ve never slept this late, ever. The knocking comes again, more insistent this time.
I stumble out of bed wearing my oversized T-shirt and peer through the peephole. It’s Wyatt, of course. My heart does that flip it does when I see him, but this time there’s an extra layer of nervousness. After last night and our conversation and the almost kiss on the deck, what do I even say?
I open the door. He’s holding two cups of coffee, as usual, and a white paper bag that smells like heaven.
“Morning,” he says, his eyes taking in my appearance, bedhead and sleep-wrinkled shirt, with obvious amusement. “I brought breakfast and an apology.”
“An apology for what?”
“For last night. For leaving right when—” He stops and shifts his weight. “Can I come in? We should probably talk.”
The words “we should probably talk” have never, in the history of the world, preceded anything good. But I step back and let him pass, suddenly very aware that I’m braless and that my hair probably looks like a disaster zone.
“Give me just one second,” I say, darting into the bathroom.
I splash a little water on my face, try to tame my hair into something that looks normal, and grab a cardigan to throw over my T-shirt. When I come back out, Wyatt has set the coffee mugs and bag on my small kitchen table and is standing by the window, looking out over the mountains.
“What’s in that bag?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and airy.
“Biscuits from the diner. Dolly told me they’re your favorite.”
I sit down at the table and take the coffee he offers. He’s made it exactly how I like it. Wyatt sits down across from me, but he doesn’t reach for his own coffee. He just looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“So,” I say, wrapping my hands around the warm cup, “your grandmother’s toilet?”
He lets out a laugh. “The timing was unbelievable. The flapper valve was stuck. Water was pouring all over her bathroom floor. Took me an hour to fix it and then clean up the mess. But she’s okay. Mostly annoyed that I wouldn’t let her help clean up. You know, she’s very independent.” He pauses. “She also asked exactly who I was in such a hurry to get back to.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her I was closing the bar. She didn’t believe me for a second. You know, my grandmother has a built-in lie detector.”
I smile. “So you’re a terrible liar.”
“The worst.” He finally picks up his coffee and takes a sip.“Eleanor, we need to talk about last night, okay?” He takes a breath, like he’s gathering up his courage. “You said you wanted me to stop pulling away, and I heard you. But I need you to understand why I’ve been keeping my distance. It’s not because I don’t—” He stops for a moment. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you about why I’m so careful, why I’m so not good at this. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“There was someone before. Her name was Laney.” He says the name like it still leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. “We were together for over two years. Got engaged right before my second deployment.”
My stomach tightens. I feel a strange sense of jealousy. “What happened?”
