“Wrong how?”
“Not sure, really. I wasn’t into the same things he was. He couldn’t understand me, and I can’t say I blame him. Everyone in my family, they’ve all done the same sorts of things. I’m an outlier.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s all right, but she didn’t much understand me either. I think it was a relief for her. We all get along better now, see each other a couple of times a year for a dinner out or something. They’ve both said they’re sorry for how it all happened, but I don’t think they’re sorry it did. My dad’s got one of my cousins in at the ranch now, and that makes him happy. They still don’t invite me back.”
“Jasper.” Her voice is full of sadness. Way more than event planner lady.
“I wasn’t an easy kid. Once I knew what I wanted—I’d do anything to get it, break any rules he set, no matter how mad it made him. I was determined.”
“You’re still like that. Determined.”
“Best and worst thing about me. That’s what Ben says.”
“I don’t see how it’s the worst thing.”
I give her a look that says,yeah, right. “I almost ruined my friendship with him—withyou—so I could start the firm. I was so determined for us to get out on our own I couldn’t see straight.” After a few years at Beaumont, I’d felt like I was twitching every day under the thumb of my various bosses, like being back on that ranch.
“You figured it out, though. You apologized.”
I smile at her. “You helped.”
She smiles back softly. Looks down at the space between us.
“Back then, I guess I felt—I’d given up so much for my career. My family, my—” I break off.My feelings for you, is what I want to say, and I realize that this is why I was afraid of this conversation. I swallow. “I had to make it work, getting out of the non-compete. I had to get us out on our own, be in charge of myself. Or else—what had all that suffering, all that loss been for?”
For a few seconds neither of us says anything, and in the silence I realize—that’s the best way I’ve ever explained it, what came over me a couple of years ago. I ought to call Ben, make sure I tell him, too. We’re okay now, me and him, but I owe him more. Those first couple of years away from the ranch especially—at the college my dad had so hated the idea of—Ben had been my family.
I feel her shift, her feet curling slightly into the cushion before relaxing, and I know she’s working up to something.
“Is that why the kiss was such a bad idea?” she finally asks, almost a whisper. “Because of the risk to the business? To everything you’d sacrificed for?”
I look over at her, my heart kicking up into an uneven rhythm. This night, even more than last—the darkness, her quiet voice and everything I’ve just told her, those ridiculous pajamas she’s wearing—it’s so close to those fantasies of my sad, secret heart. The borrowed tree is the starlight; her soothing voice is the silence. She’s the softness, no matter what she’s wearing.
“You’ve always said,” I begin, gripping my thigh too tightly, feeling my restraint dull second by second. “You’ve always said things can go wrong when—”
“I know what I’ve said.”
I look over at her, see her lips compressed in frustration, determination. As much determination as I’ve ever had.
“That night, when we stopped, you seemed like you regretted it. You looked . . . startled.”
“Iwasstartled,” she says. “Weren’t you? Did you expect it to be like that?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I mean, I didn’t expect it to happen. But I expected it to be like that, if it ever did happen.”
“You did?”
“Kristen. I always did.”
She blinks. She’s shocked, I’m sure, but I’m not taking this back, not now, not with the way she’s looking at me. The day’s blown over me, like a drift of the snow outside. Unstoppable. Covering and muffling everything that keeps me away from her.
“Remember what I told you aboutmyChristmases?” I ask her, my voice low, and she nods. Both of us have leaned in, closing the space between us.
“Making trouble,” she whispers, and I think I can feel the puff of breath on my lips.
“Let’s do that, now,” I say, almost against her lips—andGod. Thank God.
