Shaye points at a door. “I saw him heading that way a few minutes ago.”
I smile at her. “I’ll look there. Thank you. And, again, it was a pleasure to meet you both this evening.”
I don’t wait around for their niceties. I just need to get away before my heart pounds out of my chest.
My steps are quick and measured as I head for the exit. Cool air blows in from the outdoors as I reach the open door.
I step onto the stone walkway. The breeze is crisp, and I cross my arms over my chest to keep warm. As I scan the area, there are a lot of revelers chatting, drinking, smoking cigars—but no Wade.
Lights glow faintly around the corner. My heels sink into the soft soil as I make my way to the side of the greenhouse. It doesn’t take long for me to spot him.
Wade is sitting on a bench with Rosie curled up in his lap. Her head lays on his chest, her body formed into a little ball.
The sight makes my heart clench. He tries so desperately to keep himself walled off from everyone. Yet at every turn, people clamor to get in.
Doesn’t he see that? Doesn’t he care?
He looks up at me. “She just hopped up here and fell asleep.”
“She looks pretty out of it.”
He nods. “I have no idea what to do with her. I think my mother was going to leave and take her home early. I think I heard that, anyway.”
“You could take her home with you since we’re leaving now,” I say.
He bites his bottom lip before looking at me. His eyes search mine for a long time.
I want to fight him, to prevent him from seeing the vulnerability in my eyes. I want to make a joke or blow everything off like I’m so good at doing.
But the fact that I am good at doing that hits me like a ton of bricks.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I don’t want to figure myself out. Not all the way.
“Dara?”
“Yes?”
He looks up at me through his thick lashes. “I made you feel a certain way tonight, and I—”
“Please. Don’t.” My cheeks flush. “It’s fine.”
He stands, the child still in his arms.
There is no confusion or trepidation in his features, no hesitation. He licks his lips and straightens his shoulders.
“I want to have a conversation with you,” he says, “but I don’t want to do it here.”
“We can do it in the car on the way home—no innuendo intended this time. Just, you know, to be clear.”
He fights a smile. “Fine. How do you feel about coming to my house tonight?”
“We can do this another time, Wade—”
“No.” The words are sharp. “I want to do this tonight.”
I’m not sure what do this tonight means, but I’m sure it doesn’t mean what I hoped it might when he picked me up. I’m also certain this is unnecessary. But at least if we’re at his house and not surrounded by the entire Mason family and half of Savannah, I can get my phone out of Wade’s car and call an Uber. I’ll just sit outside until I get picked up.
This is where I am in life. Taking the smallest wins.
“Okay,” I say, giving in.
His shoulders sag either from my capitulation or Rosie’s weight.
“Let’s find her parents and get out of here,” he says.
TWENTY-FOUR
DARA
Wade holds the door open for me.
We enter a mudroom that I’d bet has never seen a speck of mud in its existence. Then I follow him into the kitchen. A light glows beneath the cabinetry along the back wall. Moonlight streams in from a large rectangular window that hangs over the sink. Our movements are slow, deliberate, and aside from the occasional nod or exchange of routine conversation—we don’t speak.
It’s been like this the entire ride from the Gardens. Every minute that passes without any kind of inclination as to what he wanted to do tonight makes me think I’m going to lose my mind.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks.
“No. I’m fine.”
He nods and then disappears through an oversized archway that leads into the living room. Flames begin to dance in a stone fireplace. The shadows filter through the room, lending a romantic ambiance to the space.
I wonder if this was Wade’s intention or a coincidence?
I place my clutch on the white stone counter and glance around.
The kitchen is three times the size of mine. A matte black Viking range sits like the showpiece it’s meant to be, the brass trim shining in the low light. The range sits beneath a husky black hood with the same shiny trim.
Hardwood floors run from the mudroom as far as I can see. The same wood appears as thick beams overhead. The deep color contrasts beautifully with the white cabinets.
Soft footsteps catch my attention, and I look over my shoulder just as Wade walks back in. He shrugs off his jacket and places it on the back of a chair.