Page 86 of Sunshine

Thankfully, he yields the keys to me without issue, and I head to the store to gather supplies before eventually pulling up in front of the cabin at the ranch. Wells isn’t there—I figured he’d be working—but I let myself through the unlocked door anyway and get to work.

An hour later, the front door opens, and my body tenses in the awareness of him. But I keep my focus on the task at hand. “Layla?” I hear him ask.

I brave a turn and find Wells already moving toward me, pushed-up sleeves along tan forearms, brows slightly bunched as a bemused smile splashes across his sun-soaked face. He’s been riding today; I can tell from his windblown hair and easy gait. He’s found a little relief in the one thing he loves most. The one place he’s wholly, viscerally himself. “Hi,” I say, suddenly insecure. “I hope it’s okay I let myself in.”

His eyes roam around the room, taking in the empty brown grocery bags on the floor and the food on the stove.And then his focus skims down my body, absorbing the simple cotton sweater and fitted jeans I’m wearing with my favorite embroidered boots. “Of course it is,” he assures. “Are you cooking me food?” he asks. As if the possibility is so out of reach and yet . . . here I am.

“Chicken and dumplings,” I confirm. “My mother’s recipe—it’s my favorite.”

“That so?” he teases, humming appreciatively at the pan on the burner.

“Mhmm,” I say back. My eyes catch on the way he looks at me, like I’ve just unlocked some new level of . . .this. . . so I busy myself with grabbing the salt and pepper to sprinkle over the gravy.

But he crowds into me, gently steering me back from the hot stove until my hips hit the island in the middle of the kitchen. He ducks his face down toward my neck and breathes me in. “Careful, sunshine,” he murmurs low. “I might get used to this.”

My blood thrums in response to how close he is, and I have to swallow the desire it’s igniting. “I um . . .” I close my eyes, focusing on the words I need to say. “I did it to thank you,” I force out. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

I see how his body flinches, and he slowly pulls himself back to look at me. “Thank me?” he repeats, confused.

“Yes,” I confirm.

The light in his eyes dims and he sucks down a deep breath. “Is that the kind of ‘thank you’ that comes right before a goodbye?” he asks, and my skin grows cold with the loss of the heat between us.

“My flight back to New York is coming up,” I concede. “I leave early in the morning, the day after tomorrow.”

A heavy disappointment splinters through his features, but he’s quick to wipe it away. “Oh,” he says, nodding like this doesn’t wreck him. “Okay.”

I set the wooden spoon I’m holding on the counter, and sigh. “It’s just school, Wells. I can’tnotgo back.”

“I’d never want to stop you from going,” he states firmly. “I think NYU is one of the best things you’ve done for yourself.”

Surprise catches in my throat. “You do?”

He nods. “Yeah, I do.”

I let that sink in. Everything it means to me.

Jason wanted me to follow him to Texas A&M, to shape my life outside of Saddlebrook Falls around him. And I can’t help but think that if I’d done it, he might not have ever cheated on me. I know it’s not a fair thought, that I can’t blame myself for his choices. But it’s one that’s taken hold at some point over the last couple of weeks.

If I had followed him, maybe his life wouldn’t have derailed.

Maybe he’d even still be alive.

But where would that’ve left me? Naively in the arms of a man who, at his core, would choose his own selfish tendencies over me?

And Wells . . . he’d still be harboring the weight of his secret. Suffering through so much, navigating a deep shame and a commitment to do the right thing.

“I’m not running from this,” I say, anchoring back into the moment. “I don’t want you to think that’s what this is about.”

His fingers reach to brush along my cheek before he pulls back, like a reflex he has to fight. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he says honestly, and it stabs me right in the chest.

“I’m not,” I say again with conviction. “But . . . I can’t denythe space will be helpful.” The admission flares brightly in my throat, uncomfortable and cramped. Because I know the implications of it.

If we do this, it’s going to mean something to me.

He nods again, face tight.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out without warning—he needs to know this isn’t about him. “I’m not saying it’s the end of . . . this. Just that I need a second . . . I need to think?—”

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