“Exactly.” Mari’s expression softens. “And Shepherd seems to understand that. I think he’s giving you space to be certain, not just reactive. You’ve said before he keeps reminding you that you don’t owe him anything. I’m sure he didn’t want it to look like he was asking for payment for fixing your shower.”
“When did you become such a Shepherd expert?” I grumble.
Mari gives me a patient smile. “I’m not. I’m a people expert. And I’ve seen enough men in my life to know the difference between someone who’s not interested and someone who’s trying to be careful with your heart.”
I stare into my coffee cup like it’s a magic eight ball about to give me a secret message. “Maybe.”
“Just think about it from his perspective,” Mari continues, leaning forward. “You’ve been through a lot. You’ve been skittish about getting close to him. And now suddenly you’re standing there in his shirt, basically inviting him in. He probably doesn’t want to take advantage of a vulnerable moment.”
“I wasn’t vulnerable,” I protest, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
“Weren’t you?” Mari raises an eyebrow. “New place, cold shower, borrowed clothes? That’s a lot of vulnerability for someone who likes control as much as you do.”
I open my mouth to argue but close it just as quickly. She’s right, and we both know it.
“Fine,” I mutter. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”
“That depends.” Mari studies me over the rim of her mug. “What do you actually want from him?” The question hangs in the air between us, deceptively simple yet impossibly complex.
What do I actually want from him?
“I…” My voice trails off as I realize I don’t have a ready answer. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Mari says, her eyes softening. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”
I fiddle with my coffee cup, turning it in circles on the table. “Fine. I like him. A lot. More than I should.”
“And why shouldn’t you?”
“Because he’s…” I gesture vaguely with my hand, trying to encompass everything that Shepherd Haynes is. “He’s him. And I’m me. And those two things don’t usually go together in the real world.”
Mari leans back in her chair, studying me. “You know what your problem is?”
“Please, enlighten me,” I say dryly.
“You’ve already decided how this story ends. You’ve convinced yourself it can’t work before you’ve even given it a chance to begin.”
Her words hit me like a slap. I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. “I’m just being realistic,” I finally say.
“Realistic?” Mari scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “What’s realistic about deciding someone is too good for you before they’ve even had a chance to prove otherwise?”
I wince. Her words cut deeper than I want to admit.
“Look,” she continues, her voice softening, “that man gave you keys to his house, Sutton. His house. He gifted you an heirloom teacup because he knows you collect broken things. He offered you a car because he doesn’t want you stranded.” She leans forward, eyes intent on mine. “Those aren’t the actions of someone who’s just being nice. Those are the actions of someone who sees you and cares about you.”
My throat tightens. “That’s what scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because what if he sees too much?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “What if he sees all of me and realizes I’m not what he thought I was?”
Mari reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Then he wasn’t the right person. But sweetie, what if he sees all of you and stays anyway? What if he sees the broken pieces and loves them too? What if he stands right beside you while you put yourself back together rather than trying to fix you or change you on his own?”
I stare down at our joined hands, my vision blurring with unshed tears. It’s the question I’ve been avoiding, the hope I barely dare to entertain.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.
“No one does,” Mari says with a gentle smile. “That’s the point. You figure it out together.”
