Page 98 of Where You're Planted

“I just…wanted to fix the worst of it before I had to say something.”

“But then you wouldn’t have needed to say anything.”

Tansy felt an unsettling wave of déjà vu. Jack had said nearly the same thing about the grant, that he wouldn’t have needed to admit he’d applied for it if he hadn’t been selected as a finalist. As angry and hurt as she was, she understood his decision to withhold that information. In every other possible scenario—if she’d gotten to the final round, if he hadn’t, even if they’d both been rejected—she wouldn’t have held the application against him, nor his silence about it, as fiercely as she was holding it against him now.

Briar hopped off the bed and came to swing Tansy’s arms around like she was one of those windsock figures at a car dealership. She felt about as discombobulated. “Can we have pizza for dinner? Pleeeeease?”

Tansy looked to Charlie, notentirelyto assure him that she fed Briar balanced meals most of the time, but a little bit. Shealso owed him a real conversation, though. Which meant…“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked.

Charlie barely got out the word “Sure” before Briar flung one of Tansy’s arms free to grab one of his, tugging them both around erratically and into each other. “This is the best day ever!”

They ate their pizza straight out of the box on cushions on the living room floor. Tansy and Charlie were occupied by Briar straight through brushing her teeth, putting on pajamas, and reading a book—an illustrated encyclopedia of South American reptiles, which would have taken hours to get through if Tansy hadn’t put a stop to it.

Maybe it was the disruption to their usual routine or the excitement of Charlie being here, but Briar forgot to ask for their nightly disaster check.

Tansy turned out the light, assured her she could come to Tansy’s room if she needed to for any reason, and squeezed her feet on the way out. After saying his goodnight, Charlie met Tansy in the kitchen, where she was shoving the empty pizza box into the trash can.

She turned to apologize for not having a couch just as he asked, “So what’s going on with work? I saw a tree on the building when I pulled in.”

Tansy sighed. With all the other drama, she’d managed to forget the tree. “It fell this morning. The soil has been oversaturated from rain.”

“I guess it’s a good thing they haven’t started renovating yet.”

Tansy laughed through her nose.

“What?”

She supposed there wasn’t much point in maintaining her mask of relentless positivity now. “I don’t think they’re goingto renovate. In fact, I think they’re going to close the branch altogether.”

“Damn,” Charlie said. “Really?”

Tansy leaned on her new countertop, which Jack had helped install yesterday—butcher block instead of the quartz she’d wanted, but it was infinitely better than no counter—and sighed again into her hands. “It all kind of came out today, so I’m—” She was going to say she was still reeling from the news, but suddenly his hand pressed into her upper back and slid up her spine to squeeze her neck comfortingly, and she froze. It wasn’t that different from his greeting hugs, the ways he made casually friendly contact with her, but standing alone with him in her kitchen, it hit her all wrong.

“What does that mean for your job?”

“Um. I don’t know,” she said, distracted. “Probably a transfer to another branch. Or I’ll have to find something else. Charlie—”

His other hand got in on the action, and now he was massaging her shoulders, cutting her off with a sound of sympathy when he found the knots that permanently lived in them.

She pushed up to her full height, willing his hands to fall away.

Instead, she felt his body at her back, closer now as he said, “Move back to Dallas.”

“What?” Tansy whirled around, bumping her shoulder into his chest so hard it knocked the breath out of him.

He steadied her, cupping her shoulders and then her face. “If your job here is ending…” He trailed off, swiping his thumb across her cheek. The touch, and the entitlement behind the touch, like eight years and so many mistakes hadn’t happened at all, sent a white-hot jolt through her. “You barelyhave anything to move,” he was saying, his eyes on her mouth and his face lowering. “It’s the perfect time.”

She pushed his hands away. With the island at her back, she had to squeeze sideways to put space between them.

His cheeks flared with embarrassment, definitely not misunderstanding her rejection, and he fidgeted with his shirt cuff. “Sorry. I—”

“I can’t,” she stuttered. “I don’twant—”

He rubbed his forehead. “I got swept up with dinner and bedtime. All three of us. It was—”

“I can’t do that with you again.”

“I’m sorry. Shit.” He shook his head. “Why not, though?”

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