Right. Talk to her. I can do that.
I push off from the bar and start making my way through the crowd. She hasn't moved from the doorway, just watching me approach with those expressive eyes that show every emotion—nervousness, desire, regret, hope.
I stop in front of her, close enough to catch that subtle scent I remember from last night. Close enough to see the freckles scattered across her nose. Close enough to notice that her lips are slightly parted, like she's trying to find the right words.
"Hi," she says finally, her voice soft enough that I have to lean in to hear it over the music.
"Hi," I repeat, and I'm probably grinning like a fool, but I can't help it. She's here. She came back.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here," she continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. "Actually, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't be. But also hoping you would? If that makes sense?"
"It doesn't," I say honestly. "But I'm glad you're here anyway."
She bites her lip, and fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is. "About last night—"
"You don't have to explain."
"No, I do." She takes a breath, meeting my eyes with obvious effort. "I owe you an apology. For running out like that. It wasn't fair to you, and I'm sorry."
"You don't owe me anything," I tell her, meaning it. "You said you couldn't, and that's enough. I'm not the kind of guy who pushes."
"I know." Her lips curve into a small smile. "You let me go. That's... that's why I came back, actually. To explain. And to..." She trails off, color rising in her cheeks.
"To?" I prompt, stepping slightly closer.
"To see if maybe we could start over," she whispers. "Properly this time."
Chapter 5 - Harper
I can't believe I'm here.
Can't believe I walked back into this bar after what happened last night. Can't believe I actually said those words—*start over*—to a man whose name I don't even know. A man who had his fingers inside me less than twenty-four hours ago.
What the hell am I starting over? What is there to start?
The words came out before I could process them, tumbling from my mouth like they had a mind of their own. But now they're hanging in the air between us, and I can't take them back. Can't pretend I didn't just ask this stranger for a second chance at... what? A relationship? A hookup? Something in between?
He fingered me in a bathroom. That's all that happened. We don't know each other. He doesn't know my name, doesn't know where I'm from, doesn't know about Derek or Jessica or the wedding that didn't happen or any of the spectacular mess that brought me to this tiny Montana town.
And I don't know anything about him except that he has magic fingers and a smile that makes my knees weak.
I should leave. Should apologize for wasting his time and go back to my motel room where I belong. Because what kind of pathetic woman shows up at a bar trying to reconnect with a man she ran away from, only two days after calling off her wedding?
But he's looking at me like he's happy I'm here. Actually happy. His dark eyes are warm, that devastating smile is wide and genuine, and he hasn't looked away from me once since I walked in.
When's the last time a man looked at me like this? Like I'm someone worth smiling about?
Not Derek. Derek looked at me with obligation. With tolerance. With the expression of a man who'd settled for what was convenient rather than what he wanted.
But this stranger, this player who probably has a different woman every weekend, is looking at me like I just made his entire night by walking through that door.
And maybe I'm pathetic for wanting that. Maybe I'm an idiot for being here at all. But God, I deserve this, don't I? Deserve someone who looks at me like I'm worth looking at. Deserve to feel wanted instead of tolerated.
Deserve to feel something other than the crushing humiliation that's been my constant companion since I walked in on my fiancé balls-deep in my best friend.
"So," he says, that smile still playing at his lips. "How do we start over?"
I open my mouth, then close it again. "I... I don't actually know."
