Of course he did, because this is Copper Creek. Word probably spread before Gary’s Mercedes even left the parking lot.
“From Dolly?”
“From half the town.” He lets the door close behind him and takes a few steps closer, but still keeps his distance. “So it’s true? You told him no?”
“I told him no.”
Something in his expression shifts, maybe relief or surprise. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as his way of buying time to figure out what to say next.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you say no? Three and a half million dollars, Eleanor. That’s big money.”
“I know what it is.”
“So why?”
I look at him, standing there in his worn jeans and flannel shirt, guarded and careful, trying not to hope. And I realize he needs to hear this. Not for the bar, not for Copper Creek, but for him.
“Because he was wrong,” I say, “about all of it. He said I don’t belong here, that I’m playing at being a small-town bar owner, and that people like me don’t stay in places like this. And I realized something. He’s right that I’m not who I was in Atlanta anymore, but he’s wrong that I don’t belong here.” I stand up, needing to move to get the nervous energy out of my body. “I belong here more than I ever belonged there. And yes, this place is messy and complicated, and I have no idea what I’m doing half the time, but it’s real, and the people are real. This,” I gesture around The Rusty Spur, “is real.”
Wyatt takes another step closer. “And what about us?”
The question hangs in the air like a thick fog.
“That’s real too,” I say quietly, “and I wasn’t willing to sell that for any amount of money. But I don’t appreciate the pressure you put on me. It was very hard to pull my feelings for you… for us… out of the equation so I could make a decision. The whole point of all of this is to make my own decisions, Wyatt. To stop living the life other people want for me.”
He closes the distance between us in three long strides, and suddenly his hands are cupping my face, and he’s looking at me with those blue eyes full of something that makes my breath hitch in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “for what I said the other day about you looking for an exit. It wasn’t fair.”
“You were scared.”
“I was terrified because I’m…” he stops and swallows hard. “I’m falling for you, Eleanor. Have been since you rode that mechanical bull like you never had fun in your whole life. And the thought of you leaving and of selling this place and going back to Atlanta?—”
“I’m not going back to Atlanta.”
“You’re staying?”
It’s the question, the one everyone’s been dancing around.
“I don’t know about October yet,” I admit. “I don’t know if I can make this work long-term or if I can actually run a bar. If I could build a life here. But I know I’m not selling, and I want to try. And I know…” I take a breath and gather courage. “I know I’m falling for you, too. That scares me more than anything Gary Allen said.”
A smile breaks across Wyatt’s face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “Because I was really hoping I hadn’t screwed this up completely.
“You didn’t screw it up. I did. I should have told you about the offer right away.”
“We both messed up.” He leans his forehead against mine, and we stand there breathing the same air. “But we’re okay?”
“We’re okay.”
“Good, because I’d really like to kiss you right now, but I’m trying to respect the whole ‘taking it slow’ thing we agreed on.”
