At this point, I’m fucking gutted about her leaving. I want to see her, badly. I feel like shit about making an offer on Pier Seven and not telling her.
I wonder if June turning her down is my fault.
There’s so much that’s been left unsaid, undone, between us.
But what am I supposed to do—turn around and ask June to lease the building to Sierra instead of selling it to me?
I can’t give up that building.
But I’m fucking deeply conflicted.
Because I don’t want to give her up, either.
Not my choice.
I keep trying to remind myself that it’s her choice to leave Orchard Cove. That she has a life back in the city. That our relationship hasn’t evolved beyond sex anyway.
But I know I’m fucking lying to myself.
I like her more than I ever thought I would.
And that’s nothing but a mistake.
She left after we had sex in my bed, while I was sleeping, without a word.
And after we had sex in her cottage, she asked me to leave.
Last night, when I walked her home, she didn’t even kiss me or invite me in.
She’s asked me, more than once, to reassure her that we’re still enemies. Making a game of it, maybe, but definitely trying to keep me at a distance.
She’s told me, loud and clear, the way she wants it.
This is just sex.
I’m leaving.
This isn’t my home.
I don’t know why it’s so fucking hard for me to accept it.
When I leave the bar just before closing, the beer and cider garden is still fairly full. Layne’s band, the Imposters, are closing out the festival with a finale show on the main stage.
The warm but bittersweet romance of Blue Rodeo’s “Try” drifts through town as I make my way through the festival crowd.
I’m planning to drop by the cider house for closing. But when I walk by Pier Seven on my way to the beach walk, I hesitate. There are still a few customers inside, lights twinkling in the windows, and I glimpse Sierra behind the counter. She’s laughing at whatever her friend Sophie is saying to her.
And I feel happy for her, even as my heart fucking breaks.
Jesus Christ. I’ve got itbad.
The lights along the pier are on, and past a group of teens hanging out halfway down, I glimpse the lone figure standing at the end, just beyond the last light, silver hair floating in the night.
I walk out there and join her. “Giving some thought to my offer?”
June glances up at me. “Actually, yes.”
I lean on the railing next to her. Water laps at the wood beams below. Along the beach, people are gathering to get a good spot for the upcoming fireworks show.
