It’s been a week, and I’ve avoided her as much as I know she’s avoided me. It’s been fucking hard. I wanted to knock on her apartment door, just to see her face, then head back home once I’d gotten my fix, but that wouldn’t have helped mend what felt almost broken.
Putting distance between us is what we both needed, especially if I’m not who she wants. I need to move on, but I need to lay it all on the table before I do.
Collecting the pre-made picnic basket off my passenger seat, I head toward the barn at Wingrove Estates.
The air is cold tonight. Winter is slowly approaching, so I’ve opted for warmth and comfort over style, throwing on grey sweatpants, a white tee, and a light blue denim jacket with a hood.
Taking advantage of the big, open, empty space, I sit down the thick, grey and white plaid blanket, taking out a bottle of sparkling wine with two champagne flutes, when I hear the sound of the heavy, wooden barn doors being pushed open.
There she is, looking cute as hell while she cautiously walks toward me, fingers intertwined over her stomach, forcing her eyes to remain on mine.
She’s wearing a long, yellow, flowy dress and a denim jacket (of course) with her hair down with a slight wave. She makes my heart stop, yet pound dangerously fast, every single time I see her, as though it’s the first time, and she has no idea.
I really need to get my shit together.
She isn’t going to make it easy to move on, but if I can’t have her, I need to figure out a way to be okay with letting her go.
Again.
"I want to apologize," we both say in unison, sitting face to face on the blanket.
She’s playing with her nail cuticles, visibly anxious, as I try to stop my heart from hammering against my ribcage, hoping like hell she can’t hear it.
"What areyousorry for?" She smirks, taking a sip from her champagne flute, and I feel the tension in my chest ease, no longer rendering me anxious.
"A lot of things, actually, but mostly for punching Austin. I’m not a violent person, Herring, and you know that. Seeing him be aggressive toward you made me feel an overwhelming urge to protect you," I say, knowing she doesn’t need my protection, but deserves my honesty.
"I can handle Austin," she replies, all but confirming my thoughts. "But he did deserve it." She sighs.
"Will you tell me what happened between you guys?" I ask, her body stiffening as she slowly places her glass down on the ground.
We briefly spoke about it over pizza with Bea and Laney, but I mostly heard that he’d cheated on her and she only found out at his sister Megan’s wedding.
Taking a deep breath, she sits up a little straighter before going into detail about their relationship behind closed doors.
From college, where he was too preoccupied playing video games or getting drunk with his roommate—who she never really felt safe to be alone with—, Austin’s poorly thought-out proposal, tainting her favorite holiday, right down to his three-year affair that resulted in a baby on the way, that his family knew all about before she did.
This guy really had Cassandra Herring wanting to spend her whole life with him, and he just threw it away.
"Wow, Herring. I’m so sorry," I say, briefly placing my hand on her leg before bringing it back into my lap, unsure what lines are safe to cross.
Shaking her head, she waves her hand in the air before picking up her almost-empty glass.
"Don’t be. He did me a favor." She smiles softly. "But now it’s my turn to ask." She pauses, tipping the last of her wine down the back of her throat, pouring herself a fresh glass, topping mine up.
"I’m an open book. Ask away," I say, and suddenly, I don’t feel ready for whatever questions she’s going to throw at me.
"What happened betweenyouand Austin? You guys were best friends then, suddenly, enemies?" she says and yep, the one question I didn’t know how to answer now lingers in the air.
"I racked my brain for such a long time, but always came up with nothing. I tried to get it out of him while we were in college, but all he told me was thatyouwere the bad guy and that I needed to drop it." She scoffs, and I laugh out loud. "The irony, huh?" she remarks before taking another sip. I stare at her in awe, even if it’s just for a moment.
The alcohol has made her cheeks a soft cherry color, the spray of freckles across nose and apples of her cheeks are even more obvious, with not an ounce of makeup to cover them, and her hazel eyes are so honed on mine, waiting patiently for me to spill my guts.
Having nothing left to lose, I decide to leave it all out on the table, recounting everything my memory will allow.
"Prom is coming up," I say to Austin as we head toward my car after training.
"You got a date yet?" he asks before slamming the passenger side door. He has a beamer in his driveway, yet still chooses to hitch a ride in my mom’s old pickup truck daily.
