Fall With Me (Sugarland Creek, #3) (27)

My cell rings, knocking me out of my thoughts, and when I see Warren’s name, I pick it up without a proper greeting.

“Which planet is outta sorts right now makin’ everyone extra crazy?” He’s into that astrology shit, so he’ll know.

“Um…Earth?”

I bark out a laugh, grabbing a beer from my fridge. “Touché.”

“Should I even ask?”

“Just a rough day. So what’s goin’ on?” Taking a seat on the couch, I lie back and rest my feet on the coffee table.

“Maisie just showed up at my door.”

I choke down the liquid I just swallowed and quickly sit up. “Excuse me?” I cough out. “Maisie? Your ex-wife, Maisie?”

“Yep…” He sounds distressed. “Except, she ain’t my ex-wife. We’re still married.”

“I’m only on my first beer, so I know I ain’t drunk and heard ya wrong. Y’all didn’t get divorced?”

“She wanted to. I didn’t.”

“She coulda filed without you. There’s laws or some shit that’d allow her to get one even if you don’t sign,” I respond.

“I know. And yet, she didn’t.”

I take another swig of my beer, relaxing against the couch again. “So why is she back? Did you tell her about Angela’s parole hearing?”

“Not yet. She’s engaged and needs me to sign so she can go marry another man. Doesn’t want him to know she’s been married all this time, so she needs me to sign and get it finalized quietly.”

The hurt in his voice makes me want to drive the two hours north to hug him. But it wouldn’t solve anything. Maisie is his first and only love.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Warren. What’d you say?”

Blowing out a breath, he replies, “I said no and slammed the door on her.”

I try not to laugh at the ease with which he says those words, but I can’t stop myself. “I can only imagine how pissed off that made her.”

“Shoulda heard her screamin’ at me and poundin’ on the wood. Really fired her up when I blared my music and turned off all the lights in the house. Pretty sure she woke up my chickens.”

“Jesus Christ.” I shake my head, chuckling. “But it’s been like what, seven years? Why do you wanna make her stay married to you? She has her own life seven hundred miles away.”

Last I knew, she opened her own literary agency in New York City.

He’s silent for so long that I worry our connection dropped, but then he finally speaks. “Because she’s the love of my life. The only woman I’ve loved or will love. How can I just let her go?”

I swallow hard because what I’m about to say isn’t what he’ll want to hear but what he needs to.

“Maybe it’s time for you to move on. She’s livin’ her life. You should be, too.”

He sighs. “I wish I knew how.”

He changes the subject before I have the chance to respond.

“Talk soon, okay?” I say after we get through talking about the drama revolving around Ellie. Might as well share my sad dating life so he doesn’t feel alone.

“You got it. See ya.”

Once we hang up, I stare at my screen for a few minutes before deciding to take my own advice about moving on and do what I said I’d never do—download a dating app.





What does your dream girl look like?

A prompt at the top of Cecilia’s profile asks and before I’m allowed to message her, I have to answer the question.

But it’s a loaded one because it’s not what my dream girl looks like, it’s who she is as a person, what her work ethic is, and how she treats her friends and family. It’s more than her looks and although I need that attraction to be there, too, it’s not the only thing that forms a connection for me.

In retrospect, I have no reason to like Ellie as much as I do. There are her looks that would appeal to any man, but it’s watching her drive and relentlessness to succeed day in and day out that intrigues me. And if I’m being honest, her immediate distaste for me was a turn-on.

Maybe I am a masochist.

Not in the physical sense, but in the way she bluntly tells me off, and yet, I seek out any reason to be near her.

It’s a sickness, honestly.

In my early twenties, most women I gave attention to jumped at the opportunity to hook up with me. It was strictly built on looks and how much alcohol we drank. Nothing real or beyond one night.

But now here I am, forcing myself to kick this bad habit of mine to find more than that and someone who doesn’t hate my guts.

What a concept.

So I answer Cecilia’s question as truthfully as I can without sounding like a sap, and moments later, she replies.

Cecilia





I bet your cowboy hat would look better on me.





I should’ve expected that from the profile picture I used of me wearing one.

Landen





Yeah? Guess there’s only one way to find out.





For the next four hours in between laundry and cleaning my place, we text back and forth. She’s funny and easily keeps up with my flirting. I laugh more than I have in months and it feels good to be connecting with someone who doesn’t want me dead.