Page 81 of Keeping Kaitlyn

Anything, Sunshine. I’ll give you anything you want. All you have to do is ask.

“No,” I tell him quietly. “Never.” Looking away from him for a moment, I feel my chest tighten while I struggle to figure out a way to describe the way I felt when I was with Went. The way hemademe feel. “Being with Went was the first time in my life that I ever felt free. He made me believe that I was capable of anything. That how I felt and what I wanted mattered.”

Ryan makes a flat, neutral sound in the back of his throat like he’s trying to decide if he believes me or not. Before I can press the point, he looks at me. “The two of you are having dinner tonight?”

“Yes…” Wincing slightly, I chew on my lower lip for a second. “I know you’ve been taking him a lot lately but do you think?—”

“Stop.” Now he frowns at me like I just spit on him. “Just because you’re not going to be my nurse anymore, that doesn’t mean we’re not…” Still frowning, he struggles to land on a newword to describe this new, undefined territory we find ourselves in. “We’re family. That means I’d do a hell of a lot more for you than watch your dog. We all would.”

“Okay.” Nodding, I struggle to breathe past the sudden tightness in my chest that seems to take over, every time one of them reminds me that I belong. Standing, I coil Mook’s leash and set it on the seat I just vacated. “Our reservations are at eight. I have no idea where we’re going but I’ll try to make it an early night.”

“He can sleep over.” Ryan says with a smirk that tells me he knows exactly how tonight is going to go, even if I don’t. “You can come get him tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Giving him another nod, I start to back my way down the porch. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

After giving Mook some love on my way out, I walk back to the center where I spend the next several hours working the front desk, manning the phones and juggling Henley’s interview schedule. Most units are up and running and resident applications have been pouring in. Within a few months, this place will be full of veterans who’ll exchange living at the center for working here and in the community.

See, Kait. Maybe Ryan doesn’t need you anymore but there are other people here who will. Maybe you don’t have to leave, after all.

My phone buzzes in my desk drawer and I dive for it, rather than argue with myself over whether or not leaving Boston is the right thing to do. Pulling up my texts, I see that it’s a message from Went. Holding my breath, I take a quick look around to make sure I’m alone before I open it. Aside from a few people, filling out applications, a few more using the computer lounge, and a three-on-three basketball game on the indoor court, I’m alone. Holding my breath, I click through to Went’s text and findmyself slightly disappointed when it’s just a message without an accompanying dirty picture.

Looks like Went isn’t the only pervert in this equation.

Went: I’ll be there to pick you up in an hour.

Looking at the clock on my phone, I see that it’s after six.

Shit.

Me: Okay, I’ll be ready.

Went: Everything I know about women’s fashion, I learned by force. I hope the dress and shoes are reservation worthy.

Me: They are. How’d you know my sizes?

Went: I asked Henley.

Smart. She’d know, considering I’m in her bridal party and it’s a safe bet she already knows everything since Conner figured it out.

Went: Is it weird that I’m nervous?

Reading his text, I feel my heart double tap against my chest because this is the Went I remember. The Went who was honest and open with me. The Went who wasn’t afraid to tell me the truth about the way he feels.

Me: No, it isn’t weird. I’m nervous too.

Went: Good.

After collecting clipboards from hopeful applicants and closing down my computer, I hurry upstairs to make good on my promise. I’ve never been great with make-up but after a quick shower, I manage to blow dry my hair before adding a little blush, mascara and lipstain. Thanks to Henley and the practice spa day she took her bridesmaids to last week, my fingernails and toes are painted, even though my hands are still rough from years of farm work.

Who cares? It’s not like you’re going to hold hands.

Looking at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, I smooth my fingers over the slim, fitted skirt ofthe dress Went left for me. Even though he was smart enough to clip the price tag off before having it boxed, the label is designer. I know seeing how much it cost would’ve given me heart palpitations.

I don’t think it’s the price of the dress that’s giving you heart palpitations.

Turning away from the mirror, I take a quick look at the clock, just as there’s a knock on my front door.

It’s seven o’clock on the dot.

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