He grins. “You and me on a date.”
He doesn’t have a car, and he just got out of prison. A date might be kind of difficult. But I can’t say that. I’ll hurt his feelings. “What kind of date?” I ask instead.
“The kind where you and I spend some time together,” he says with a shrug.
“We’re doing that now,” I inform him.
“Well, damn,” he sings. “You’re right.” He looks around at the horses. “Next time, remind me to take you someplace nicer.”
I laugh. He smiles at me.
“That’s a beautiful sound,” he says quietly.
I look at Tequila and pat her behind. “Did you pass gas, girl?” I ask. I grin at him. “Sorry, but she can be kind of noisy.”
He smiles and rubs his chin. I bet it’s scratchy under his fingertips, and if I were another person, I would want to touch it to find out. “And she’s funny, too,” he says under his breath.
I smile and motion toward the door. “We had better get out of here before my dad comes after you,” I say. But I’m not worried about my dad. I’m worried about me. Because I like this man. A lot.
“Can I walk with you back to the house?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. He’s so damn cute. And he makes my insides quiver. I’m not sure the latter is a good thing.
I nod, and he steps up beside me and then opens the barn door for me. He holds the door open and lets me and Maggie through. His shoulder bumps mine, and I step away from him. He leans his head down close to me. “Do I smell bad?” he asks.
I lean closer to him and inhale. “Not that I can tell,” I reply quietly. He smells like citrus and outdoors, just like I remember from that night. And I want to bury my face in his chest and drink him in. But I can’t.
“Just checking,” he says with a laugh. “Every time I get close to you, you move away,” he says casually. But there’s nothing casual about the comment. Nothing at all.
I point to my chest. “I’ve been working all day…and messing with the horses. I was worried that I was the one who smelled bad.”
He looks into my face, and I can’t draw my eyes away. “You smell like lemons and raindrops.” He closes his eyes and inhales. “And all things innocent.”
I freeze. “That is where you would be completely wrong,” I say.
“You’re guilty?” he asks. “Of what?” His blue eyes narrow.
“Of trusting the wrong person,” I say quietly.
“I don’t want you to trust me,” he says. “I want you to be very, very wary of me. And every other man you meet.”
I inhale deeply through my nose. “No problem there,” I finally say. Most men fight with me to get me to trust them.
“I don’t even trust myself most days,” he says. I think he’s playing at first, but he’s dead serious.
“Why not?” I whisper.
“I’m not trustworthy,” he says quietly.
I pull a lock of hair from where it’s stuck to my mouth and lick my lips. He watches me closely. “I promise not to trust you,” I whisper.
“Good,” he whispers back, very dramatically.
We arrive at my door, and I turn to face him. “Thanks for walking me back,” I say. I lay a hand on my chest. “It was such a long way,” I say, trying to sound like Scarlett O’Hara. “I never would have made it by myself.”
He grins. “My job here is done.”
“Good night,” I say.
He closes one eye and looks at me with the other for a moment. “Can I kiss you yet?” he asks.
I shake my head, and my insides do that quivery little dance again. “No,” I whisper. “I’m afraid not.”
He whispers again, “Can I keep asking?” He grins.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I admit. He smiles. This time, it’s not playful. I think it’s all Pete. It’s all swagger and confidence.
He turns to walk away, calling, “Good night, princess,” over his shoulder.
“’Night,” I toss back. I look up and see my dad glaring at me through the kitchen window. “Dad,” I gripe, as he opens the back door for me.
“Was that Pete?” he asks. Maggie goes to lie at his feet.
I nod. “That was Pete.”
He gnaws on his fingernail. “Should I be worried?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” he breathes, and he deflates like a relaxed balloon. He leans forward, pulling my head toward his with his beefy arm. “Good night,” he says, kissing my temple.
“Good night, Dad,” I say. He turns and goes upstairs. I look out the kitchen window at the first man I have ever truly wanted to kiss. But I can’t. I just can’t. I know this is going to end badly.
Reagan
Sometimes I wake up with the weight of my memories draped over me like a heavy, wet, woolen blanket. One that weighs me down and makes it impossible to get out of bed. But today, I blink my eyes open and there’s no sticky blood on my fingertips and my lashes aren’t matted together from waking up with screams trapped in my throat.
Today, I wake up…hopeful. I don’t even know if that’s the right word for it. It kind of feels like Christmas morning. The one you experience even after you know Santa’s not real, but you anticipate the warm and fuzzy feelings that come with the holiday. You rip open your presents and watch your parents exchange gifts that mean something to them. That’s how I’m feeling today. And I’m not completely sure I like it.