Page 113 of All We Need

Seemingly persuaded, he resumes his duties.

The secondI’malone, a shaky breath leaves me.

I’ve got to get my head straight.Mydad might not be around anymore, but there are still other people relying on me.

Pulling out my phone,Itype out a text and wait.

Booth: Do you want to come over tonight?

My fingers tap against the side of my cell impatiently until her reply comes through.

She-Devil: I’m snowed under with work. Rain check?

Dejection settles deep in my bones.Whichis ridiculous considering we’ve been clear about the lack of strings in this arrangement.Yetsomething deep in my heart tugs sharply at the idea of not seeing her tonight.

I delete several responses before settling.

Booth: I’m holding you to that, beautiful.

Booth: Good luck with Martin tomorrow. Call if you need me.

Her reply doesn’t come through until hours later, when my eyelids fight to stay open.

She-Devil: Thanks

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep stirring my judgment.

Thanks.OneWord.That’snotAly.She’dusually reply with something sarcastic about not needing my protection.Ifshe’s mad at me, she makes damn sureI’maware.Thistext is passive and short.

I dismiss the irrational thought and put it down to the late hour.

Easier said than done.Itoss and turn in bed, overthinking everythingI’vesaid and done the last few days.Thisis where it becomes tricky withAly.She’squick to close up when she feels cornered, but she’s had the space to unpack the last few days.Shedidn’t push me away whenIturned up at the cabin, so why would she now?

Then my thoughts turn dangerous.Iimagine an alternative universe where this isn’t temporary.Ipicture her in my kitchen—no,ourkitchen.We’dargue about who does the dishes, she’dmoan sinfully over whatever she’s eating, and thenI’dworship her all night long.

The life we could have together is crystal clear in my head.Exceptfor one detail.Hereor there?

My dream girl versus my father’s legacy.

That’s now two dreams that will never come true.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

alessandra

Bubblespop on the foam of my untouched cappuccino.

A blinding headache pulses in my head, nothing to do with the lack of caffeine.

It’s 10:11 a.m. andMartin’sa no-show.

No call or text.

I could call, and perhapsI’mbeing petty, butIneed him to prove he wants to be here.

Which he isn’t.

AsI’mabout to get up and leave,Quinnskips over with a lot of pep in her step.Herbright smile wilts when she spies my drink. “Oh, is something wrong with your coffee?”

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