Tangle (Dogwood Lane 2)

I get off the bed. Walking to the window, I peer out into the neighbor’s backyard. “I think . . .” I force a swallow. “I think I could really like Trevor, Claire.”

“I know, buddy.”

“And I think . . . I think if I don’t go on this trip, he and I can stay friends. And if I go, things might change between us, and I’ve never had something with a guy that felt normal after things got serious.”

“But is that what you’re worried about?” she asks gently. “Losing him as a friend? Maybe it is. And if it is, that’s great. But if it’s not, I do think you need to be honest with yourself.”

I turn to face her. “It is. Partly.”

“Do you think he doesn’t like you in the way you might like him?”

His smile rips through my mind, accompanied by his laugh, and I feel it light me up from the inside out.

Does he? He without a doubt wanted to kiss me. The way he looked at me as he leaned down, my breath captured by the intensity of his gaze, leaves me frazzled just thinking about it. I’ve never felt wanted, needed—craved—more than I did in that moment on my porch. But that means he wanted to be with me. Not that he wanted me. When I pair that with the truths he’s shared about his feelings on love, I have my answer.

“No,” I admit, my voice shaky. “I think he does like me like I might like him. But I also know that doesn’t matter.”

Hearing that out loud is sobering. The words seem to hang over our heads, not disappearing into the past like some words do.

I blow out a breath, trying to rid myself of the heaviness of the moment. I go back to the closet and sort through the clothes. Shirt after shirt goes by, none of which I really see. All I can see is Trevor’s face lowering to kiss my cheek. All I can feel is the way my heart wants me to let it happen even though it knows the pain of the inevitable destruction.

“I don’t think you give the guy enough credit,” Claire says.

“It’s not about credit. It’s about what he’s told me from the start he believes and wants and accepts as his truth, and all those things don’t mesh with mine.” I yank a mustard-colored dress off a hanger and add it to the suitcase.

“Are you falling in love with him, Haley?”

“No,” I say, my head snapping to hers. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I don’t want to get to that point because he doesn’t even believe in love. Not like I do. Not like you get married and build a family and dedicate yourself to that.”

“But . . . ,” she prods.

My shoulders fall. “But he’s pretty great.”

“Yeah. We’ve known that from day one.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

Claire gets to her feet, a look of resolve on her face. “Here’s what I think you do: Go to Nashville. Have a blast. Follow your heart but don’t lose your head.”

“Right.” I groan. “He looks at me or stands too close, and I just want to forget my heart and head and let my body take over.”

“Can’t blame you there. But,” she says, grabbing the bag of popcorn and putting the clip back on it, “I also know you’re smart. And super strong. And whether you know it or not, you’ll do what’s right for you.”

“I haven’t always done that.”

She considers this. “No, you haven’t. One word: Joel.” She laughs. “But you’ve changed lately. I like this new you.”

We exchange a smile before she takes the mustard dress out of the suitcase and puts it back on the hanger. “You aren’t taking that. It makes you look ashy.”

“I love that,” I say, breathing in a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, and I love you.” She puts it back in the closet. “So back in the closet it goes . . .”

I lug the suitcase up and set it on the bed. It’s loaded to the max with a little of every color, fabric, length, and degree of sophistication I own. “I, once again, have no idea what to wear,” I say, remembering dinner at the steakhouse. I wince. “I’ll be damned if I show up to a place with his ex, or exes, and look like crap.”

Oh, God. What if there is more than one Liz there? What if several of his past cling-ons are there? He’ll have slept with all of them.

I can’t do this.

“I’m not sure you could look like crap. And that’s probably what he thinks too.” Claire tosses my hair like I’m a child. “Stand up.”

“Why?” I ask as I get to my feet. “You know, maybe I should call this off.”

Claire takes my hand and walks me to the mirror over my dresser. “Look at yourself.”