“Wyatt…” I start.
My voice cracks.
He immediately looks like he’s about to back up, to give me space, to retreat before I can hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “That was too direct. I should’ve… I just…”
“No,” I blurt. “No, don’t. It’s not too direct. It’s… it’s kind. It’s…”
My chest is so tight it hurts.
And then the panic arrives.
Because Wyatt is standing in my kitchen asking me on a date like I’m a normal woman who knows how to be wanted.
But I’m not.
I’m the woman who kisses her neighbor in a hallway like she’s losing her mind. I’m the woman who has men looking at her in ways she doesn’t know how to handle.
I’m the woman who has been doingsomethingwith Jesse for approximately five minutes and already feels like she’s been struck by lightning.
My heart stutters.
My mouth opens.
And because I’m apparently determined to be the most awkward person alive, I say the first thing my brain throws at me.
“I’ve been kinda sorta dating Jesse.”
The silence that follows is so thick it could be poured into jars and sold at the market as Mortifying Pause Honey.
Wyatt’s face goes still, like his mind is processing new information, slotting it into place, adjusting the entire structure around it.
“Oh,” he says.
It’s soft.
Too soft.
My stomach drops through the floor.
“I didn’t—” I rush forward, words tumbling so fast they trip over themselves. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I do mean it, but it’s not… it’s not official or anything. It’s… we…”
My face is burning.
I can’t stop talking.
Wyatt blinks once.
And there it is. Wyatt Tucker, the calm vet, suddenly looking like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
He slides one hand into his pocket, then pulls it out again like it doesn’t belong there.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
I flinch at the calmness. It’s worse than if he reacted.
Because calm means he’s absorbing it.
