Page 77 of Country Charm

“Ummm, I disagree. I wouldn’t bring Dom home even if Hunter weren’t in the picture.”

“Ah, but he is, and you haven’t. In fact, you seem, rather put off by Dom. Even though he’s everything you usually like. Detached, easy, obviously only wanting to bed you and move on. A conquest for the both of you. He isn’t bad looking either. The only reason he doesn’t appeal to you now is because big Mister Brawny Man has stolen the show.”

“He’s not a lumberjack.” Georgie gives me aflat look knowing I’m trying to deflect the conversation, and it’s not working.

“Fine, when I was whoring about, maybe Dom was the typical target. Maybe I’m done with the game completely. Maybe it’s just time for me to be on my own for good.”

She huffs next to me and turns to look me directly in the eyes. She reaches over and plays with my hair for a moment.

“If that’s what you honestly think you need, I won’t argue with you about it. I just want you to be happy. Really happy. Not living every day just to be alive. I want you to live each day knowing it’s good and tomorrow can be better, that yesterday was already damn good, even if it was kind of bad. I want you to get to feel that. If being alone is that for you, then I support it.” She snuggles deeper into the bed, and I know she’s not going back to her room for the night.

“I love you,” I say with ease.

“I love you, too.” With that, I see her let herself go; she softens and lets sleep take her. It will only be a few minutes before she’s out like a light.

I roll over onto my side and grab my phone from the bedside table. Opening it, I see my message to Hunter before he punched my coworker across the face, and a new message following it.

Me: All things aside–a kiss sounds like the right remedy to me too.

Country Charm: Harrison has the farm tomorrow, so I’ll wait for you if you can spare me a minute. I really am sorry.

Shit.

This is too complicated for me; I have bitten off more than I can chew when it comes to Hunter Hill. The worst of it all is a part of me wants him there when I get home.

A sliver of me wants to hear what he has to say and then curl up and read a book in silence together, after a hot round of makeup sex, no less. I can make part of that happen, but the rest just isn’t in the cards for me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Hunter

Waiting for Cassidy is torture. I know damn well I scared her. My brute force isn’t what pushed her over the edge, though. I could tell when she and I were standing outside the bar, while I was sitting on the bench, that she felt something different. I could tell she knew I wasn’t just a fling. Forcing this realization on her works against me.

I’m sitting on her lounger in her front room just waiting to hear from her, or for her to walk through that door. The girls have brunch this morning, and I’m guessing that can take quite a while, especially with the big day only a week away.

I imagine this room to look a lot like the inside of Cassidy’s mind. Chaotic but organized in a way that she completely understands. Each book or series is specifically placed so that she can find it immediately, but it makes no sense to me.

I get up from the chair and begin to browse. I find a grouping of books together and read each title. I pick up one I don’t knowand scan the synopsis. I move down a few books and repeat the process.

Cassidy may be the only person I know who has read most of the books in her home. I can tell by the worn pages, the occasional broken binding. Not once do I find a crease from a folded page. Not once do I find any annotations written.

From looking through even just a few, I can tell that Cassidy doesn’t like to mar the original work. There is a pile of books on the floor next to a shelf tucked away. They seem different from the rest, lonely in a way.

Each grouping has a purpose, and although I may not understand it, Cassidy does.

This seems to be true for much of Cassidy’s life. She makes things fit into categories in which she knows exactly what to do with them. Where do I fit in her life, if at all?

The books on the floor are a mix of authors and genres, with no rhyme or reason for their placement. I pick up the one on the top and flip through the pages, then I do the next. Something seems off about these books. They are different from the rest but somehow seem oddly familiar. When I get to the fourth book, it dawns on me.

The binding of the book is tight. The pages are crisp, without any signs of wear. The covers and corners are pristine and look like a possible remake or redesign. My mind reels wondering why I feel as though I have seen the titles and covers before, but it’s not easy to place.

I continue to look through the pile, and I know that these books are on a “to be read” list. They are untouched and that is what makes them lonely. Cassidy hasn’t flipped through the pages of these books even once, but I know she’s talked about them. Their names are familiar. It’s as if I have heard her speak in detail about a few of these.

It’s when I get toThe Alchemistthat I realize that this is not just any book. This is a book Cassidy loves. I get off my haunches, walk down her slim hallway, and make my way to her bedroom.

Her bed is made, and the room looks cozy but lonely. I didn’t sleep in her bed last night; it didn’t sit right with me to sleep in her bed without her. A man sleeping alone in his woman’s bed doesn’t seem to have the same appeal as her curled up in mine.

Her room has its fair share of books, but there is a rolling cart next to her bedside table that has a very specific purpose. They’re Cassidy’s best-read books; books the girl reads over and over again, and only seems to fall more in love with.

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