Slow Burn Cowboy

The reasons being that Gage had been responsible for a terrible accident that Rebecca had been in when she was a child.

Lane didn’t possess that kind of capacity for forgiveness. But she had to admit that theirs was a rare case. Where both of them had been lost in the past, continually punishing themselves for something neither of them was truly at fault for. So in the end it was better they had let it go.

Lane just couldn’t quite fathom how they had let it go with each other.

More power to Rebecca, though.

Nothing had proven more clearly to Lane that she still had an iron grip on the past than Cord’s recent resurgence.

“Crap,” Alison said suddenly. “I was going to bring a couple trays of chocolate croissants that I had left over in the bakery. Can someone help me carry them?” Alison was looking meaningfully at Lane.

“Sure,” Lane said.

“Be right back,” Alison said, leading the way out of the small coffee shop.

It was dark outside, and the streetlamps—made to look like old-fashioned gas lamps—were lit, casting a bright orange glow on the sidewalk. Most of the cars were gone, and the ones that were parked up against the curb likely belonged to people who had walked down the street to Beaches, Copper Ridge’s fanciest restaurant.

Or they had all done a park and ride to Ace’s bar or brewery.

Lane tugged on her sweater, pulling it closer to her skin. Once the sun sank into the ocean, nights were cold and invariably a bit damp when the mist rolled in off the sea. “I thought you might need a little bit of reprieve from those who are one half of a happy couple,” Alison said, her tone dry.

“Is it that obvious?” Lane asked, keeping step with her friend, then pausing while Alison unlocked the door to the bakery.

“Not really. I just assumed you might feel like I did. Come on in.” Lane walked in behind Alison, the room cast in darkness, the tables and chairs inky shadows on the light wood floor. The bakery case was empty, as were all the display cases that were normally full to the brim of pastries and breads.

“I really do have a tray of croissants,” Alison said, setting her keys on the table before heading into the back. Lane lingered in the main dining area for a while, and then followed her friend.

“Admittedly I’m a little bit of a relationship Scrooge,” Lane said, leaning against the kitchen door.

“I’m a lot of one,” Alison returned. “Here,” she said, handing a wide bakery tray laden with croissants to Lane. Then she turned back into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later holding her own. “See, I’m not a liar. I just have a convenient memory.”

They both walked back out into the dining room and Alison set the tray down for a moment so that she could grab her keys.

“Do you think you’re ever going to date again?” Lane asked.

She couldn’t see Alison’s expression, but she had a feeling it was a frown. “I don’t know. I like being by myself,” she said finally. “Nobody gets to tell me what to do. Nobody makes decisions about what I’m going to wear or where I’m going to go. I lost myself in Jared. So deeply that I never thought I would find me again. I wasn’t even sure who I was. It took so long to resurface. To let go of all that fear, that baggage... I don’t know. The idea of sacrificing any of my freedom just seems crazy to me.”

Lane chewed on her bottom lip. “I totally understand that. But sex.”

Alison laughed. “Yeah, that’s a whole separate issue.”

“Have you... You know, since?”

Alison shook her head. “No. Like I said, it took a long time to sort out my own stuff. So, for the time being I’m committed to... Sorting out my own stuff. In every way that applies.”

Lane thought back to all of the tension from earlier. To what had happened with Finn. How she had felt jittery and hollow, and needy in a way that she hadn’t really associated with wanting sex before.

She grimaced. “I guess that’s why some industrious person created vibrators.”

Alison laughed uneasily. “I don’t have one of those.”

“Seriously?” Lane rocked back on her heels. “Doesn’t every woman have one? Every red-blooded single American woman with a career and not enough time for a man?”

“Not this one,” Alison returned.

“Me neither,” Lane admitted. “Which I always thought was weird. Because according to every romantic comedy I’ve seen in recent years we should all have them.”

“Vibrator hype,” Alison said. “I would rather have the real thing.” She shook her head. “Of course, I’m much more likely to get a vibrator than an actual man.”

Lane sighed heavily. It had been a long time since she had dated anybody. Which translated to it being even longer since she’d had sex. More than a year. Way more.

“I think that’s my problem,” she said finally.

“You have a problem?” Alison asked.

“Not a big one.”

But for some reason, those words forced every incident that had gotten under her skin in the past few days into the forefront of her mind. From getting a glimpse of Cord on the news to every touch, every flash of strangeness and every lingering look that had occurred between herself and Finn.

Suddenly, they felt insurmountable. Like pebbles that had been stacked on top of each other and turned into a giant mountain.

“Just enough of one?” Alison asked, wrapping her arm around Lane’s shoulders and drawing her into a quick hug.

“Yes. Just enough of one.”

“If you ever want to talk about it... I’m kind of the master of the unpleasant topic that everyone would rather ignore.”

“Is that what you feel like? Like you have something big to deal with that nobody wants to talk about?”

Alison lifted a shoulder, then went and picked up the tray of pastries. “It’s complicated. Because sometimes I feel like I can’t escape it. Like everyone looks at me and sees someone weak or damaged. Even someone that deserves contempt. Because I stayed for so long. Sometimes I want to pretend it happened to somebody else. I want to pretend that my life started when Pie in the Sky opened. That nothing else happened before then. Other times...”

Her words reached inside Lane and grabbed hold of her stomach, squeezing her tight. She related to that more deeply than Alison could possibly realize. That desire to talk about the horrible thing that defined who you were, and the desire to make it go away, fade into the distance, vanish into nothing.

That big thing that defined everything you were, that was necessary, because you wouldn’t be standing on your own two feet without it, but that you despised more than anything else.

“If you ever want to talk,” Lane offered, “you can always talk to me. Don’t feel like you can’t. I know that I don’t...that nobody wants to make you talk about something that could be painful. But if you want to you can tell me. You can tell me whatever you need to tell me about him. I don’t judge you for staying.”

Alison set the tray back down on one of the tables with a clatter, and then, she wrapped both of her arms around Lane and hugged her close in earnest. “Thank you,” she whispered finally.

Lane wrapped her arm around Alison, then set her tray down with one arm, freeing up the other. And while she hugged her friend, she felt like a fraud.

Because Alison was being raw, was being vulnerable, and Lane had nothing but mountains of secrets that she didn’t share with anybody. Her past had happened outside of this little town, and here she was insulated from her downfall, with Copper Ridge acting as salvation.

For Alison, it was both. The source of her pain and the source of her relief. Everyone had witnessed both.

For Lane, there was escape.

And even though part of her wanted to tell Alison everything, there was another small, selfish part of her that couldn’t bear to bring the past any further into Copper Ridge than it had already come in the form of Cord McCaffrey on a TV in Ace’s bar.