Justin stared at her, not quite able to believe that she was teasing him. Or that she hadn’t told him to leave. It was what he’d been expecting.
Maybe—just maybe—she’d listen to what he had to say. If he could find the right words, that was. He sure hadn’t during the time he’d been sitting in her driveway, wondering what he was going to say now that he was here.
“But I will hop in for a ride, if you’re okay with that?” She looked at him in question, waiting for his response.
Justin swallowed. Maybe he hadn’t really gotten out of bed and found her necklace. Maybe instead he’d just drifted off to sleep and was dreaming.
“Hop in.”
She started to climb in, then paused. “I’m going to put Daisy inside.” She looked uncertain. “Will you wait for me?”
Forever.
Forever?
Grateful he hadn’t said the word out loud, for fear she wouldn’t come back outside, he nodded.
She scooped up the dog, talked to her the whole way to the house, then let her into the screened-in side porch, closing the door and making sure the latch caught.
What was she saying to the dog? Probably warning her to send out a search party if she hadn’t returned within a reasonable amount of time.
He leaned back against the headrest, stared up at the sky, and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
Forever. That was what had echoed through him when she’d asked him if he’d wait. But she didn’t want the same things he did. Not just that, but she specifically didn’t want the things he dreamed of.
Would she ever?
If not, how far was he willing to go to keep her in his life?
How much was he willing to give up?
“You okay?” she asked, climbing in beside him and fastening her seatbelt.
“Not really,” he admitted, knowing he hadn’t been okay since their disagreement at the children’s museum. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere. Just drive.”
Justin started the engine and took off down her street. The wind noise made talking impossible unless they wanted to yell at each other.
He drove them down toward the river, through several sections of town, and kept driving until he realized he’d circled back to near her house.
Rather than go into her driveway, he pulled into the neighborhood park and killed the engine near the bandshell.
They’d w
alked down here and sat in one of the carved-out seats in the natural amphitheater built into the hillside and listened to bands on more than one occasion. Tonight the only light shining was the moon, but it lit the path down the hill.
“Walk with me?” he asked.
She hesitated only a second, then nodded.
He met her on her side of the Jeep, and then, knowing he might be slapped down, took her hand into his.
She didn’t pull away.
Her hand felt small in his—small, warm, soft, and yet capable.
She’d been hurt so badly. He couldn’t imagine how she’d felt being stood up at her own wedding. No wonder she refused to give anyone the opportunity to hurt her again.