“Okay,” Rusti says just as I’m pulling into my driveway. “I’m done.”
“Finally.”
She laughs. “What did you do today?”
“Well …” A rush of warmth flows through my veins as I glance back down at the coffee cup. “I picked up Wade, and we drove out to the property by the lake.”
“You did not.”
I grin. “I most certainly did.”
“So,” she says, reading more into it than there is, “you’re seeing him a lot lately. What’s up with that?”
“We’re just working together.”
“Uh-huh.”
I struggle against a shiver shimmying through my body. “We have fun together. I’m not sure he’d agree,” I say, laughing, “but he’s funny in a not-funny way.”
“Okay. Keep going.”
With a lingering glance at his cup, I climb out of my car and into the early evening air.
“I don’t have a lot to keep going about,” I admit. “Our time together is mostly me poking at him and him trying to ignore my provocations. And some time talking about the house design and whatever. It’s fun.”
I can hear Rusti’s wheels turning. The fact that they are moving—that she’s thinking something is going on between Wade and me by what I said—springs my anxiety into action.
“There’s nothing there,” I tell her. “Not like you’re thinking right now.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes. I am. Completely.”
“The last man you talked about … Well, it was so long ago that I’m not even sure who it was. The teacher, maybe? The dude who worked at the sawmill. Maybe him.”
Looking at the sky, I remember both those men who I dated briefly months ago. They were both nice men, just lackluster in almost every way that mattered to me. They weren’t motivated. Neither of them valued anything that mattered. Worst of all, neither of them was particularly creative.
“We don’t need to talk about this,” I say as I walk up the sidewalk leading to my porch.
“Maybe we do.”
“No, we can talk about you and Zack, but I have a working relationship with Wade Mason. That’s it. That’s all.”
She inhales slowly as if she’s considering that.
I consider that too.
As amused as I am when it comes to Wade and as alive as he makes me feel, it’s a little crush at most. I can’t deny he’s gorgeous, and there’s little point in trying to convince myself that I don’t look forward to seeing him. But I’m not stupid enough to think there could ever be anything between us or that I should ever even consider it should the opportunity arise.
Between working through this house—an event that everyone and everything says is one of the most stressful things in a person’s life, my budding relationship with my grandfather, healing my heart after my mom’s death, and growing my business—how would I have time to even consider a relationship?
And how, and why, could I risk my heart when I’m just feeling strong again?
“I’m way too smart to get involved with him.” I unlock my door and step inside my house. “Guys like that break my heart. Catnip, remember? Because I remember, and I won’t forget it.”
My words are true. They still sting.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rusti says. “I hear you. I just wish you didn’t feel that way. I’d love to see you in love. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you like that before.”
“I just haven’t met The One … unlike you, maybe,” I say, twisting the conversation away from me. “Are you seeing Zack again?”
“Tonight. He’s bringing over dinner so we don’t have to go out.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It better be. I got someone to cover my shift tonight in hopes it will be a lot of fun.”
We chat about her job and how she’s ready to do something different before she cuts our talk short to grab a shower.
I set my phone on the table and fix myself a glass of sweet tea.
My spirits are muted.
What I said to Rusti was true—all of it. But saying those things out loud, even though I already know them to be true, hits differently.
It’s so easy to forget all of my problems when I'm with Wade. I find myself flirting with him, mainly laughing at him but with him too. I don’t think about all the reasons I need to keep my guard up. There isn’t a moment when I consider if what he’s saying to me is for my benefit or his, and I don’t find myself feeling lessened or put into a box and sat on a proverbial shelf.
I’m sure all of that is apparent to Rusti. But it doesn’t mean anything.
It can’t.
My phone rings, and I pick it up, answering it without looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Well, hello, darling,” Grandfather says. “How are you?”
My heart pounds in my chest. I lick my lips. “Hi, Grandad. I’m good, thank you for asking. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m good. I haven’t heard from you in a good bit, and I thought I would check in and see how things were going.”