Page 113 of Don't Take the Girl
"Yeah, anything else?" I ask, running back inside so I can rush back out. I've been on pins and needles ever since I got home, my anxiety practically eating me from the inside out. I'm so damn nervous about this conversation, but I know it needs to happen. I take all of ten seconds to collect the condiments before returning to the backyard, anxious to see Laney.
I'm just setting the carrier down on the table when the hairs on the back of my neck perk up, my body feeling her before I see her, and my heart instantly starts racing. I release a long, steady breath, attempting to calm my nerves, before straightening to greet them.
My hand grips the back of the chair I'm standing closest to when I see her. It's only been a few days since I've seen her, but it feels like a lifetime. Fuck I've missed her. She's wearing a new sundress—or at least I think it's new. It could just be the hue the setting sun casts, or maybe it's the glow of pregnancy changing her skin and the way the breeze catches its hem, but it's different. She's different. Her hair still falls in soft waves past her shoulders, the same thick mess of blonde that I've spent countless hours with my fingers tangled in, but it's the way she tucks a strand behind her ear that has my chest constricting with the memory of the last time I made that same gesture on the floor of what is supposed to be our new home.
This isn't the Laney who used to sneak out at midnight and curl up next to me on a blanket in the backyard. This isn't the girl who collected my clothes to keep me close. This is the Laney who's been finding reasons to shut me out. But God, she is still devastating, still the same woman who makes me forget my own name with a sideways glance.
Walking beside her with a six-pack of beer is Trigg, and flanking her on her right with a bowl of salad, her mom, who'd been saying something in her ear as they walked down the back porch steps, keeping her from looking my way until now, until she's feet away, the distance between us half of what it was. Her brown eyes connect with mine, and even at this distance, I can seethe way the pie dish trembles slightly in her hands, so slight I might have missed it had I blinked. That has to mean she's nervous too. That means something, right? I can't be sure. What I am sure of is that this tension between us somehow feels sharper in the clear air with nowhere to hide.
She's ten feet away now, close enough that I can see the way she is biting her lower lip, the same tell she's had since we were kids, the one that meant she was working up the courage to say something that scared her.
"Hey," I say when she reaches the table, walking straight for me with the pie dish clutched in her hands.
"Hey," she says with equal measure of unease.
A heartbeat of silence stretches between us as we drink each other in for the first time in days, the space crackling with electricity, all our unsaid words, everything we've broken.
"Let me take that," I say, grabbing the pie dish from her hands and placing it carefully on the table between the mason jar candles and the plate settings. When I turn back, the breeze shifts, carrying the scent of shea butter to my nose. "You used the butter?" I say, grasping for something—anything—to break the tension between us.
"I did. Thank you for getting it for me..." She twists her hands nervously at her front, fingers knotting together. "And for all the other stuff."
Behind us, the sound of my father's laughter drifts over from the grill where he's talking to Anastasia.
"I want to take care of you," I say, taking a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance she's put between us. I want to hold her in my arms, kiss away all the pain I caused, smooth her hair back from her face the way I used to. If she'd just let me hold her, half the battle would be won.
"I know you do," she says before averting her gaze to Trigg, who stands rigid, thoroughly engrossed with whatever is on his phone across the table. "Where are you sitting?"
"I suppose here," I say, lifting my hand from the chair it's resting on.
"Okay, then I'll sit here." She pulls out the chair beside mine, its legs scraping against the brick patio.
"You're going to sit next to me?" The surprise in my voice is filled with cautious hope.
With the distance she's put between us lately, this closeness is both welcomed and disorienting. I don't know where her head is. Is she ready to let go and move forward, or is this something else entirely?
She looks over her shoulder, at my father plating the wings beside the grill, before finally giving me her eyes. "I figure I should be sitting next to you when we tell your father I'm pregnant."
"Oh," I say, unable to hide my disappointment.
She doesn't want to sit next to me because it's me. It's business. Strategic positioning for the conversation that will change everything. When I went to lunch earlier, Trigg filled me in on her plan for tonight. Our baby will be a reason to add an heir to the land title. If Dad talks to his brother about adding his grandchild, then Baylor can also add Trigger.
"And I want to sit next to you," she says, stepping into me to slide between our chairs and stealing the breath from my lungs. Her proximity is intoxicating.
God, she has no idea what that admission just did to me. My goal tonight was always clear: get my girl back. Watching her walk across the lawn, I thought maybe I'd disillusioned myself with the ease of the task. I'd make it happen regardless, because I know this is all my fault, and winning her back won't be easy. It's not the first time she's put me in the doghouse for getting shit wrong, but I'm grateful she's tossing me a bone, because I'm done with safe distances and cautious steps. Hearing her say she wants to be close, feeling the gravitational pull between us that she's finally stopped fighting, changes everything.
I'm not chasing her anymore. We're moving toward something together.
"Laney—" I start, only to be cut off as my father and Anastasia join us at the table.
"Is everyone ready to eat?" my dad says as he sets the tray full of wings beside the burgers in the center of the table.
"Yeah," I say, flustered. I didn't get the chance to say more to Laney, but the night is young. Pulling out my chair, my eyes fall on Trigg, who's sliding a chair out across the table. "Dad…" I pull in an unsteady breath as I take another leap. "This is Trigger Ha?—"
"I know who he is." He waves his hand as he takes his seat. "You think I wouldn't recognize my own nephew?" he says as Trigg and I share a wide-eyed, bemused expression.
"Wait, you know who I am?" Trigg asks cautiously.
"Yes." My dad puts his napkin in his lap, as if this conversation isn't anything of significance, unaware that Trigg and I have been discussing ways to introduce him to my father and bring up making an addendum to the property title for months.
