Page 79 of Hard to Love

“But you said you have a list a mile long to get done today.”

“I did. I do.” He shrugs and looks over to where a bunch of kids are digging in the sand and throwing it at each other. “But I looked out the window and saw you down here in this very sexy hat”—he reaches out with his free hand and tugs on it— “and I figured that work could wait and a walk with a beautiful woman couldn’t.”

Is it silly that my stomach flutters at his words? That I’m flattered he took a pause from his work to come down here and spend time with me? Is it even sillier that my cheeks hurt from smiling so hard that he did?

This man makes me feel good. About myself. About my future. About the day-to-day. I’ve never experienced that before.

Sure, I had my dad there day in, day out, pushing me to be an incredible tennis player.

But it’s almost like Finn has been here day in and day out, showing me what it feels like to be a woman. With his words and his actions and the glances across the room.

“Oh, you make my heart go pitter-patter,” I tease to cover my sudden inability to speak.

He just squeezes my hand and swings them as we keep walking. The silence is comfortable between us, not forced or awkward, and yet there is a weight to it.

“What is it, Sanderson? You’re silent but you’ve got a lot to say.”

He chuckles. “You leave in ten days.”

And there it is. What we’ve been avoiding. What we have kissed and slept our way around without actually saying out loud.

“I do.” I give a measured nod.

“Do you think that you’re ready?”

For the briefest of seconds, my heart falls. I thought he was talking about me going because he was going to miss me, not because his agent hat is on and he’s thinking about me professionally.

I clear my throat of the sudden emotion swelling there and nod to give myself a second. “Yes. I do. I think I’ll be able to compete.”

“I think you’d be able to compete even if you hadn’t been training as hard as you have been. That’s just you.”

“It is.” I give a soft smile and steal a glance at him from beneath my hat before looking back at the sand in front of us. “But I think I will be able to perform well, meaning I’m going in there confident in where I’m at.”

He nods but doesn’t speak for another beat. “I’m going to miss you.”

Tears well in my eyes for some reason and I’m not quite sure what to do with this odd sensation in my chest. “Me too.”

Tell me you wish I could stay.

Tell me you want to make this work somehow.

Tell me something, anything, that expresses how you feel when you look at me.

“It’s been a fun run, hasn’t it?”

I laugh to release the sudden nerves racing through me. “It has. After we got off to a rocky start.”

“And then there was the infamous strip poker incident—”

“—very funny—”

“—but I think we’ve more than made up for it.”

“We have.” My smile is bittersweet, sad even. I feel like we’re choosing our words cautiously.

Because he’s not going to tell me he wants me to stay.

Because he doesn’t want this to work somehow.