Come Home to Me

“What picture?”

“The one I found in a magazine while I was waiting for him to help me.”

“What magazine? Martha Stewart Living?”

“A Ralph Lauren paint brochure.”

She pivoted to face him. “You bought designer paint? But...there’s no way I gave you enough money for that.”

“It came close,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not worried about the difference. I wanted it to make a statement, and it does.”

“I would’ve been happy with something much simpler. You’re already donating the labor. Why go to the added expense?”

He held her gaze. “It’s my way of telling you I’m sorry, Presley.”

So she’d guessed right. Apparently, she knew him as well as she thought she did, and since he’d brought up the subject himself, she no longer had to search for a way to approach it. “I don’t hold you responsible for anything, Aaron. How could I? You never made me any promises.”

“But the last night I saw you...”

“Don’t mention that night.” She shook her head. “I don’t even want to think of it.”

His expression grew even more sympathetic. “It was that bad?”

The days she’d spent with the man who’d provided her with drugs in Arizona were mostly a blur, and she was grateful for that. She could hardly believe she’d been through the degradation she did remember. “It’s over. There’s no reason to dwell on it.”

“I feel like it’s my fault.”

“Because you didn’t love me? You can’t make yourself love someone.”

Lines formed on his forehead. “It’s not as if I didn’t care about you. And your mother had just died....”

“That was my problem, not yours.” But she was lucky she’d survived those first few days after leaving Whiskey Creek, lucky that what she’d done hadn’t damaged Wyatt. Only after she’d decided to keep him had she found the will to fight for a better life, to look after herself for his sake. Without him, she might never have changed.

“Maybe if I’d reacted differently, you wouldn’t have taken off.”

She would’ve had to do something. “You reacted honestly. That’s more important. And you were right. I had no business bothering you in the middle of the night.”

He grimaced. “Except that when your world falls apart, you should be able to wake someone you’ve been...intimate with.”

“No. I understood the rules.”

“The rules?” he repeated.

“How you really felt about me. Moving on had to happen one way or another. How else could our...arrangement have ended?”

“More gently.”

He seemed to feel sincere regret, so she smiled in an effort to ease his conscience. “I’m okay,” she said. “Stronger than ever.”

With a jerk of his head, he indicated all the tools Riley had left behind. “And with prospects.”

“I’ve finally arrived,” she teased.

“So...are you going to date him?”

“I think so.”

“Really.”

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

He raised his hands. “Of course not. Riley’s the best Whiskey Creek has to offer.”

She didn’t join in his sarcasm; she didn’t feel it was fair to Riley, who’d also done a lot to help her today. The reception desk was only partly finished, but she could tell it was going to be far nicer than anything she could’ve built. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“Tomorrow. He’s bringing Jacob to help him finish up.”

“I’ll have to put his pie in the fridge, then. Or maybe drop it off at his house—if Cheyenne will let me borrow her car.”

“I’d let you take mine, but I don’t really care if he gets a pie.”

“You don’t like Riley? Since when?”

“He’s fine,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if his indifference was real or feigned.

She pulled the stroller closer. “I made you a pie, too. It’s not much but...I wanted to thank you for painting.”

When she tried to hand it to him, he made no move to accept it. He just stared at her as if he was still hoping to tear off the polite mask she was trying so hard to keep in place. “You used to like my apple pie,” she added lamely.

“I liked a lot more about you than your pies, Pres.”

Suddenly, she was no longer grateful they were alone. The same privacy that allowed them to talk without being overheard made other things possible, as well. The spike in her pulse suggested several alternatives—all of them physical—and she knew that would only enslave her again.

“That’s nice of you to say,” she responded.

“Quit being so damned courteous,” he snapped. “I’m not just stroking your ego!”

He was getting irritated, and she understood why. He didn’t see any reason they couldn’t resume the relationship they’d had before. But that was impossible. Even if she didn’t have Wyatt, why would she settle for someone who couldn’t love her?

She’d rather spend the rest of her life alone. “I should explain something.”

He placed both hands on his lean hips—the very picture of a disgruntled male. “What?”

“I know why you befriended me in the first place. I saw it on your face when you came up to me at Sexy Sadie’s. You deserve credit for that.”

“Credit for what?”

“For reaching out to someone who had no one else. My mother had cancer. Cheyenne was wrapped up in her friends. It was...a dark time for me, and I think you could sense that.”