“How about you mind your own damn business?” But I haven’t talked much about Jim since everything went down, and I guess I’m lonelier than I thought because I find myself saying, “And no, I haven’t heard from him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s better this way. To be honest, I’ve been so busy with y’all, I haven’t had much time to dwell on what happened.”
“You miss him?”
I ponder this for a second. “My grandmother asked me if I liked Jim for who he was, or if I liked him for what he was—a family man. Because I loved the idea of getting everything I wanted in one fell swoop. Love for the long haul, kids. A home.”
“Grandma Rose, always asking the hard questions.”
“Right? She’s the best. I don’t think I miss Jim. Do I miss the excitement that comes with the possibility of a future with someone? Yes. Yes, I do miss that. But I’m not, like, waiting by my phone to see if he’ll call or anything. Makes me think . . .”
Rhett looks up, our gazes colliding. “What?”
I look, and he looks, and the tension we’ve now named in the hope of bursting its bubble swells between us.
“Makes me think Jim wasn’t the one.”
“Bummer,” Rhett says, standing, not looking bummed at all. “I never took you for the sister-wife type anyway.”
“One of the things I’m not good at is polygamy.”
“Thank God for that. I sure as hell never wanted to share you, and anyone who does, well.” Rhett shakes his handsome head, and I’m not sure if I want to slap him across the face or tear his clothes off. “He’s a scumbag who doesn’t deserve your awesomeness.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I am getting sweeter, right? Being a dad?”
“You are,” I say, and I mean it. Our eyes keep meeting, and my pulse keeps thumping, and I have to get out of here. I have to go.
Rhett just makes it so hard to go sometimes.
“So tomorrow. Eight fifteen?” I reach for my bag and loop it over my shoulder.
Rhett taps the bottom of his fist on the counter, gaze still on mine. Stay, it says. Let me show you just how sweet I can be.
“Works for me. Here, I’ll walk you out.”
I head for the front door on unsteady legs, painfully aware of Rhett’s presence two steps behind me. He lunges for the door before I can get to it and opens it to the dusk outside. Still air, darkening sky, a symphony of crickets.
Summertime in the mountains at its finest. A reminder of what I love, what I want.
What I’m not willing to leave behind.
I pause on the threshold, and Rhett reaches up, settling his hand on the top of the doorframe in that I’m-so-hot-I’m-gonna-melt-your-face-off way of his. He’s a foot away from me, maybe more, but I still get the feeling of being surrounded by him, the scent of his body wash filling my head.
“Thanks.” I lick my lips, Rhett’s eyes following the motion. “For the apology. And for checking in on how I’m feeling. It’s great we can talk like this.”
“I always wanna talk with you, Amelia.” His eyes flick back up to lock on mine. “And look, I’m not gonna let some leftover teenage hormones hold us hostage here. I want you to feel good about this, okay?”
“Okay.” Desperate for a change of subject—I need space, time to think—I say, “by the way, I couldn’t help noticing the beers in the fridge.”
He blinks. “What about them?”
“They’ve been there since Monday. Hard to miss because there are so many.”
“Oh yeah. Yeah. Now that I’m gearing up for the season, I gotta be good.”
I smile. “You gotta be good for the season. Not for your son.”
He smiles back. “I didn’t say that.”
Maybe he really is changing.
Maybe I am too.
Chapter Twenty
Amelia
My grandmother is waiting for me when I pull into the parking lot outside the brewery.
Taking in her outfit—trendy leggings printed with pink and blue skulls, matching pink tank and visor—I smile.
She’s so damn cute it kills me.
“Look at you, Rose! Your pirate friends would approve of your legging selection.” I pull her into a hug and give her an extra tight squeeze.
Like she knows I need it, she squeezes me back. “How was your day, lovie? I’ve been thinking about y’all. That Liam, he’s a cutie.”
Rhett gave me permission to send Rose pictures of his son, so of course I’ve shared my favorites with her. Like his daddy, he’s pretty damn photogenic.
“He’s such a lover. The day was long but good. At school, I handle a lot more kids, obviously, but somehow being responsible for one is way more exhausting.”
“Of course it is.” Rose turns and starts walking toward the entrance, and I follow. “You have assistants at school. And part of your new job description is helping out around the house. That’s not something you have to do at Woodward—feed the kids, do laundry, cook. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”