Page 45 of With Us

Forcing a smile as doubt took over, I nodded and pushed off him to stand. “I’m going to grab my bag.”

Walking outside, I gathered my things, and my thoughts, letting the cool air clear my head. I heard the door open and close, the lock clicking in place seeming to echo in the quiet.

“Ready?” Theo asked from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Yeah,” I said softly.

Liar.

Theo

In my line of work, I’d gotten good at reading silences. The heavy one that had settled in the car as I drove Dahlia home wasn’t a comfortable one. It wasn’t a strategic one, or an awkward post-date one, either.

It was the kind of silence someone forced when they had a secret they were worried about spilling.

And based on the fact she’d positioned herself as far from me as she could, meaning she was so close to the door she was almost running outside, it didn’t take a genius to tell it wasn’t good.

“Want me to put on the radio?” I asked, making her jump.

Wide eyes turned to me as she shook her head. “No.” She paused, softening her voice. “No, thank you. My, uhh, head hurts a little. Too much sun and water,” she rambled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Or maybe it was the drinks. Not that they weren’t good. Please tell Tina and Julie they were delicious.”

I jerked my chin up, clenching my jaw as I rubbed across it. I had no clue what the hell had happened in less than an hour, but I was going to find out.

“Dahlia—”

“There’s my building,” she pointed out, too much relief in her voice.

Coming to a stop, I turned to her, but she was already halfway out the door.

I threw my door open and stood. “Whoa, slow down, Dahlia. What’s going on?”

She stopped, but didn’t turn to face me fully. “Nothing. I’m just tired. Goodbye, Theo.”

Making it around the car in record time, I grabbed her wrist and stopped her as she neared the door. “What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just late.”

My brows lowered when she lied to my face. “If you’re going totryto end things, at least be honest instead of running away.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“So you’re not ending things?” I asked pointedly.

“No, I… Well—’

“Which is it, Dahlia?”

Her eyes went to the side, avoiding mine. “It’s late and—”

“Are you ending it or not?”

“Yes! Okay, yes, I am.” Inhaling deeply, Dahlia looked up at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think things are working out.”

“Why?”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Why don’t you think things are working out?”

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