My stomach pitches, my steps slowing.
I can’t avoid him. Words need to be said.
I walk over to him, stopping a few feet away. Sparky rubs in between his legs, and I pull him back, then undo his leash and tell him to go to the porch. He licks his paw, gives me a sniff, and then prances up the steps and goes inside the cat door I put in.
Twisting the leash between my fingers, I take in Ronan. He’s changed into Nike shorts, an old shirt, and sneakers. There’s no hat, and his hair waves around in the light wind. His arms hang down his sides, an uncertain expression on his face.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “Sabine said you went for a walk.”
“Yes.”
He straightens up off the tree and walks to me. “I wanted to tell you about the new offer, but school wasn’t the right place—you were focused on the pep rally; then the reporters showed up . . .”
I nod. “I get it.”
“The Stanford thing . . . I called Hite and took myself off their list. It never felt right.”
“But New York does?”
His hand brushes at my hair, his fingers rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Their quarterback coach, Dixon, has terminal cancer. They kept how serious his diagnosis was under wraps. When I found out he was sick a while back, I assumed it was temporary, because that’s what they told everyone. I didn’t dream they’d come to me. I don’t have any experience on that level and . . .” He drops his hand and rubs the back of his neck. “You probably don’t want to hear all this.”
“They’ll need you right away.” I know how football works. I also realize that on the NFL level, he’ll have to devote his life to it, especially since he doesn’t have experience. He won’t have time for a relationship with a girl in Texas.
“I’m flying out tomorrow to meet them. Nova . . .” His fingers skim down my arm. “This isn’t easy for me—”
“You wanted no entanglements. That was the plan, right?”
He tenses. “That was the plan, yes, but that’s not what happened.”
“You told me exactly how this would end. With you leaving.”
He takes me in his arms, his movements slow, his eyes soft under the glow of the streetlights. “You have every right to be angry.”
The smell of him lulls me, and I press my face into his chest, my hands clenching his shirt. “Yes,” I say shakily. “I promised myself I wouldn’t be, that I knew this was coming eventually, but I just thought . . .” That a job he wanted wouldn’t come for a while? That he’d fall just as madly in love with me as I am with him?
My arms go around his waist, and we lean against each other.
I close my eyes and think about the good things, how he left me a rose on my first day at school, how he took care of me when I was sick. He’s a wonderful, kind man, and I’m losing him.
I place my cheek against his chest, and he rests his chin on my head. “I never planned on you. I never imagined this could be . . .” He stops, his voice unsteady.
“What?”
His hands tighten around me. “I’m terrified of so many things. Leaving you. Not leaving you. I’ve dragged you into this relationship, and I’m hurting you—the last thing I want to do.”
I nod.
“Nova, look at me.”
I lift my face to his, and our eyes cling.
“You said you were half in love with me that night in New York—but I was half in love with you too. The fierce way you wore that outfit, how you didn’t care what anyone else thought, the way we clung to each other . . . I was drunk—I was, okay, I know—but you had so much joy. Maybe, I don’t know, you gave me back some of mine or at least some hope that I could get my life back. In an indirect way, you’re the reason I ended up in Blue Belle. How’s that for fate?” Not waiting for a reply, he presses his forehead to mine. “I swore I wouldn’t ask, that I wouldn’t put you in this kind of situation, but would you consider coming with me? You and Sabine.”
My eyes fill with water. I’ve thought about this since the moment I found out. If he’d ask me—and what I’d say. “This is her home. I followed Andrew to UT. I almost followed him again the second time. Following a man? It’s not who I am anymore. I never planned on ending up here, but . . .” I pull away and clasp his hands, threading our fingers together. My eyes linger over Mama’s rosebushes, Lois’s apple trees, the home where I grew up. I think about Sabine, about singing songs with her in our kitchen, about Caleb and Toby and Bruno and Milo. I think about Sonia and Skeeter and Lois. They’ve become my family. The longer I stay, the deeper those threads will grow, bloom, and then flourish.