“Well, she said she’d wait. Promised, actually, that she’d wait. I believed her.” He’s looking down at his coffee now, not meeting my eyes. “Eight months into that tour, I got an email. She’d met someone else. Someone who was there and not halfway around the world getting shot at. Someone who could give her a normal life.”
“Oh, Wyatt, I’m so sorry.”
“The worst part wasn’t even that she left. It was… it was that I understood it. I mean, on some level, I really got it. Being with someone in the military is hard. The deployments, the uncertainty, the fear. And I was different when I came home. Quieter. Harder to reach. I don’t blame her for not wanting to deal with that. But it still hurt.”
He finally looks at me.
“When I came back here after I got out, I tried dating. Tried keeping things light and casual. Told myself it was better that way. No promises. No expectations. Nobody gets hurt. But it turns out I’m not built for casual. When I care about someone, I’m all in. Which means I get hurt all in, too.”
I set my coffee down, my hands suddenly shaking a bit. “And you’re telling me this because…”
“Because last night on that deck, I almost kissed you. And I wanted to. Gosh, Eleanor, I really wanted to. But then I went home, and I couldn’t sleep because all I could think about was October and the fact that in a few months, you have to decide whether you’re staying or going back to Atlanta. And if you’re going to leave, I’m trying to protect myself. I’m not doing a great job of it, clearly, since I’m sitting at your kitchen table right now bringing you coffee and biscuits and telling you things that I don’t tell people.”
He runs a hand through his hair.
“The thing is, I already care about you more than I should after such a short time. And I know that if we keep going down this road, if we keep having these moments and almost kisses and late-night conversations, I’m going to fall for you completely. And then when October comes, and you decide Atlanta is where you belong…”
“It’ll break your heart.”
“Yeah.”
His honesty is devastating, but it deserves equal honesty in return.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do in October,” I say quietly. “A few weeks ago, I couldn’t wait to leave. Two weeks ago, I was counting down the days, even. But now…” I look around the tiny apartment, thinking about The Rusty Spur downstairs, about riding mechanical bulls and singing karaoke, and feeling like more of myself than I ever have. “Now I’m not sure I want to leave. But, Wyatt, it’s not the same thing as being sure that I’m staying.”
“I know.”
“And it’s not fair to ask you to wait around while I figure that out, to risk your heart on a maybe.”
“No, it’s not fair,” he agrees. “But here’s the thing. I don’t think I can stay away from you. Even knowing how this might end, even knowing I should be way smarter about this, I don’t want to keep my distance. I just don’t know if I can handle going all in when I don’t know if you’re staying.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“So what do we do?” I ask finally.
He thinks about it, really thinks about it.
“What if we just take it slow? Like, actually slow. Not ‘saying we’re taking it slow while having intense moments on the back deck’ slow.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Well, what does that actually look like?”
“We date. For real. Like normal people. I take you to dinner, we go to the movies, and we spend time together without the pressure of figuring out the rest of our lives. We get to know each other without this intense, all-consuming thing we’re doing. And we don’t…” He gestures vaguely between us. “We don’t complicate it until you know what you want, until you’ve decided about October. Because, Eleanor, if we cross that line and kiss each other and then you leave…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d even recover from that.”
The honesty in his voice breaks my heart a little, but he’s right. He’s protecting himself, and I can’t blame him for that.
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll go on dates. We’ll get to know each other. Maybe we’ll hate each other. Who knows?”
He laughs.
“And you’re okay with all that?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I laugh. “Last night I was ready to jump in with both feet, but this morning, I think I want to protect you from me, which is a very weird feeling. But I think you’re right. We need to know. We need to be smart about this.”
“Well, smart isn’t nearly as fun as reckless,” he says with a small smile.
“No, but it’s probably better in the long run.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb brushes against my knuckles. Even that small touch makes my heart race.
