“West.”
“It’s a gift.”
“You’ve done enough,” I shout, and then feel heat claw into my cheeks.Shit.Shit.Shit.This is not how I wanted this day to end.“I’m not charity.”
His face falls and a line forms between his brow.“Charity?”
God damn it.Now my throat is thick, and tears are springing to my eyes.“Not that I’m not grateful, I am.I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done and I’m so happy to call you a friend but ...I don’t ...this isn’t ...fuck, now I’m crying in my favorite place.”
“I’ve never heard you swear,” he says, almost as if it’s an afterthought.“I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I just ...I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”
“I’ve never once thought that.I wouldn’t think that, Dais.”
I nod and sniff back my tears.“I know, because that’s the kind of person you are.You give everything of yourself.”
He pulls me against his chest, and god damn does it feel like my new favorite place on earth.“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, they really don’t.Most people go through life giving so little of themselves you wonder how they sleep at night.”I sniff and glance up at him.“But not you.”
“Shit, don’t let my siblings hear you say that.I’ll never fucking hear the end of it.”
“I think everyone thinks more highly of you than you do of yourself, West.”He gently swipes his thumb under my eyes, collecting my tears.It would be so easy to fall in love with West Winchester, which is exactly why I have to try to distance myself from him.West deserves a love of his own, a child of his own, a first-time mother and bride, and that is not me.I can never cross that line with him, because I already gave my heart to a man who shredded it into a million pieces.It’s not fair to hand him the leftovers and ask him to love what’s left.
“Such a lovely, couple.”An elderly woman stops her buggy alongside ours, and for a moment, I get caught up in the way I feel about that word applied to West and me, and then I shut it down before my heart can get ideas.
“Oh, we’re just friends,” I say too quickly, but I don’t miss the way his throat bobs in my peripheral.
“I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“No, ma’am, you thought wrong,” I say and set the onesies back on the table, then I push my buggy away before either of them can say anything more.
“Excuse us, ma’am,” West grumps and follows me, but I stay aloof for the remainder of our shop, and feign being tired the second he helps me unload the groceries.
Putting some distance between us is for the best, but when I’m sitting on my couch alone hours later staring at the empty spot West occupied last night, the distance between us feels so wrong.
