Her head tilts, and she regards me with a confused expression on her face. “How do you know?”
“Lights were on. Checked on you.”
Bailey clears her throat and reaches forward to take the bun. Ring still on her finger. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” I say, tucking my hands into my pockets. “Where are you off to so early?” I kick at the driveway, feeling like a teenager talking to his crush.
She’s quiet just long enough that it has me looking up at her to see what’s wrong.
“To the city.”
“Oh, yeah?”
She nods, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
“Can you wait five minutes?”
She sighs.
I can’t stop cataloging every move she makes. Like it gives me some insight into what she’s doing. What she’s thinking. When she’s going to let me come close enough to kiss her again. Leave a bite mark again.
“For what?”
“I’m heading in too. Can I catch a ride?”
It’s a moment when she could say no. There’s zero reason I couldn’t drive myself. Truthfully, I’d rather be the one behind the wheel, but I also just want to be near her. And if sitting in her shitty little truck while she gives me the cold shoulder is what I can get, then so be it.
I can also tell by the way she’s peeking at me that she’s curious about why I’m heading into the city. And the feeling is mutual.
Maybe if she’s stuck in a vehicle with me, it will force her to talk.
If nothing else, it will force her to listen.
41
Bailey
Summer: Have fun today! Send pics of the places you look at. And tell me which neighborhoods. I want to know literally everything.
Bailey: Okay. Thanks.
Summer: You alright?
Bailey: Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting you to text me.
Summer: Why not?
Bailey: Beau is the only person who texts me.
Summer: Well, now it’s Beau AND me.
Bailey: Thought you might be annoyed about me moving.
Summer: Why would I be annoyed at that?
Bailey: Uh, because I just started working for you?
Summer: I know a thing or two about going after what you want. I love to see it. Make that world your oyster, girl.
Beau pulls himself into the passenger seat and the air in my truck instantly gets harder to swallow.
He looks delicious. A plaid shirt, a mixture of greens and creams, with a khaki tee beneath. I can see the silver chain of his dog tags disappearing beneath his layers. Jeans. The leather boots I helped him pick out.
It’s cool this morning, and the nip of fall creeps across the flat fields around us. It gets hot midday, and then the temperature plummets in the evening.
I love this time of year.
Shifting into drive, I pull away from the house, trying to keep my eyes on the road rather than on him.
I miss him.
For three days, I’ve missed him. For three days, I’ve forced myself not to walk back into his house.
And not because I’m trying to punish him. I realized that on day two. This isn’t even about him.
It’s about me. It’s about my fear outweighing my desire. It’s about taking my own first steps to start fresh. Being able to know I did it on my own, without anyone holding me back, and without anyone giving me a leg up. I’ve been a victim of my circumstances for too damn long.
First, I got mad at how unfair my life was.
Now I’m getting even.
“What are you doing?” he asks after we’ve left the limits of Chestnut Springs.
“Driving.” My hands twist on the wheel.
“No shit. In the city, Bailey. What are you doing?”
My tongue darts out over my lips as I consider what I want to tell him. He’s so … overbearing, overwhelming, overprotective, and I don’t want him barging in on this day for me. He made it very clear the other morning that I need to leave town. That he wants me to leave town.
And him? He’s got a family. A home. Any job he wants—that he can casually pick up at the fucking gas station.
No, doing any of these next steps with him in tow would hurt too damn much.
“You can’t come with me.”
“That’s fine.” He settles back in his seat, thick biceps straining against plaid as he crosses his arms. “I have something I need to do anyway.”
Curiosity tugs at me. “What are you doing?”
I peek at him, and he grins. My stomach does this nauseating little flip. God. He’s so beautiful.
“Asked you first, sugar.”
My eyes roll. How a dumb joke about calling me sugar tits has turned into a term of endearment is beyond me. And yet, it makes me smile.