“Can I say something without it being weird?” she asks.
“Half of the things you say are weird.”
She chuckles. “Fair.”
“What do you want to say?”
“First, I want to preface this by saying that I did a couple of shots of tequila at Markie’s before coming here.” She slows her movement until it’s nearly at a stop. Then she pulls away and stares into my eyes. “I’ve missed you, Hart. That’s not fair for me to say, and I know that. But it’s true.”
A lump settles in my throat as I peer down at her. Her beautiful, heart-shaped face and button nose. Freckles that splay across her cheeks like stars in the sky. The mole just above her lip that she hated as a child, but somehow makes her perfection a bit more believable.
“You’re right,” I say, as she fiddles with the hair at the back of my neck. “That’s not fair of you to say.”
“And it was fair for you to come out here in front of half the town and make Derrick leave?”
My jaw tenses. She traces the edge with a fingertip, moving back and forth slowly in my arms. It’d be heaven if it wasn’t its own version of hell.
I try to slow the beating of my heart and clear my brain of the fog clouding my thoughts. Because she’s not ultimately wrong. I had no place, whether I could justify it or not, to interrupt her evening. And the fact that I did, without so much as a thought, defeats any argument about missing me that I could make.
“I’ve missed you, too, Mira.” I try to force a small smile but can’t quite make it happen. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Her smile fades slowly.Painfully.
I try to hide the bitterness of my words and make it seem like simple banter—to take the sting out of them for her benefit. Sure, they kill me. But the hole in my chest has somehow become ordinary. It’s a factual part of my life.Thisis a factual part ofbothof our lives.
She’ll always be the girl who can’t sit still, and I’ll always be the guy who can’t leave. And the pain from that reality never ceases to hit hard because nothing can change that. It’s in our DNA. It’s who we are.
Our dancing slows as the weight of my question settles between us. It’s a rock wedging more than our bodies apart—a question that severs any closeness we might have been creating. Her eyes search mine with a quiet desperation, like if she looks hard enough, maybe she can find something to hold on to.
Her hand tightens against my shoulder, and my palm presses against the dip of her back. The air is hot, as if the room has taken a breath and is waiting to see if we’re going to push or pull against each other.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing like hell that things were different. But I’ve made that wish countless times, and it never comes true. There’s no sense in wishing for it anymore.
Fighting a lump in my throat, I swallow as a burn erupts in my chest.
“See you around, Mira,” I say softly.
Her lips part as if she wants to speak, like she almost wants to fight me on this. I step back, out of her orbit, until I can no longer sense her heartbeat or smell her perfume. Then I turn, balling my hands at my sides until they’re wrapped around the steering wheel of my truck.
Leaving may look like I’m giving up, but staying? That feels too much like surrender.
CHAPTER
SIX
Hartley
“It’s good to see you, too, Violet,” I say, accepting a hug from Ms. Crowder. She squeezes me a bit too long, her frail arms shaking as she clutches my biceps. “Do you want me to walk you to the piano?”
She pulls back with a wide smile. “It’s hard to refuse that offer, but a few stragglers are coming in behind you, and I want to be here to welcome them since Pastor Reed’s running late for the service this morning.”
“All right. Take care.”
“You too, honey.”
I take a program from the basket beside her and make my way into the small country church.
Most of the pews are filled as I head to the spot where I’ve sat most Sunday mornings in my lifetime. Bobby sits behind Brooks, Audrey, and Brooks’s mom to my right. I try to pass without making eye contact with Brooks, but it’s like he’s waiting for me. His grin is too devious for God’s house—too full ofquestions about me walking out of Patsy’s last night—but that’s never stopped him before.
