“He did. He was just too afraid to do it himself.”
I’m quiet for a moment, staring down at my food. When I look up, Rowe’s watching me thoughtfully. “What is it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Some men don’t know what they have. They think that love is a drama—or it’s all high-riding emotions, that initial thrill and nothing more. But that’s not what love is. It’s the settling of the emotions, the depth of knowledge, the ease of it all that makes it worth it. It’s being with someone day in and out, loving them through the good and bad until you finally fall into that comfortable place.”
“Yeah,” Rowe whispers. “I guess it is.”
The air between us shifts, and my heart throbs. It feels like it’s cracking. That just being around Rowe Wadley has broken something open inside me.
She looks up at me with those doe-brown eyes of hers—eyes that brim with sadness.
Her dad died. Her boyfriend dumped her. This woman has spent years having her heart shredded by those she loved.
I’m not staying around, either. In two months, I’ll be gone, abandoning her like everyone else.
She smashes the empanada wrapper between her hands. “Ready to be locked up in the shamper?”
I give a curt nod. “Lead the way.”
As I follow her, I make a decision right then and there: Even if I want her to like me, she can’t.
Rowe Wadley must not, under any circumstances, fall for me.
And I must not, under any circumstances, fall for her.
