Page 18 of Almost Perfect
“Of course. Someone’ll swing it by tonight, and I’ll text you with the time for dinner. Again, no pressure there.”
I smiled, genuinely appreciating his kindness. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t until after I shut the door that I registered that “someone’ll swing it by” comment. That hit me about the same time I remembered the dinner would be at Wyatt’s house, with Wyatt, and I had no desire to see the man, much less be in his space.
A text from Jenna pulled me from those thoughts. I snuggled down to chat with her, but she’d only sent a short “love note” as she called them, reminding me she was there. And just like I’d done every other day since arriving, that small show of concern caused me to dissolve into tears yet again. I should’ve funneled that sadness into a workout or something productive, but I’d done that for months.Years. And I just didn’t want to anymore.
So I cried.
Hours later, I woke to the sound of a knock on the door and blearily stumbled toward it. When I jerked it open, I blinked a tall, ridiculously handsome man into focus and immediately, my stomach flipped.
“Sorry to—” Wyatt stopped when our gazes connected. “E-everything okay?”
“What? Oh. Yes. Fine. Thanks.” I probably looked insane with puffy eyes, or maybe puffy entire face, and whatever madness my hair had nested itself into while I’d slept.
His eyes swept down my body, then shifted to the doorframe, finding something absolutely fascinating there.
Jeez, this guy could not handle a crying woman, could he? Even evidence ofhavingcried seemed to short-circuit his little cowboy robot brain.
“Warrick said you needed milk. And bananas. He wasn’t going to make it back up here tonight, so he asked me to bring them. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He held out a canvas bag.
“Thank you. I appreciate you bringing it by.” I took the bag and noticed the All Saints Ranch logo on the front in a cheery kelly-green print.
That was when he should’ve left—said good night or turned and walked away without a word. Really, either would’ve been about on par with what I’d come to expect. Instead, he set a hand on the frame of the door and ducked his head. We were still about four feet apart, me inside and him on the porch.
“I apologize for being rude. I hope I haven’t upset you and ruined your stay.”
Without his sunglasses and thanks to the porch light, I could see his eyes and the veracity there.
Touched, I brought a hand to my chest. How often did someone apologize like that—without excuses and purely…wait. Did he think I’d been crying like this after our little exchange about the snow?
“Thank you. But just to be clear, you’re not the reason I was crying. I have—I’m crying about other stuff.”
Cringe.Way to express yourself and sound like a completely stable person.
He raised both hands as if to say he was innocent of any and all things having to do with my crying. “I’m just making clear I realize I was rude, and that’s uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, accepting the apology before I even got the words out. “You’re forgiven.”
The cold quiet blanketing the little house, the yard and pathway beyond, and even my porch, rushed in and shrouded us. His breath swirled out in a chilly wisp from his lips, and he squinted ever so slightly like he was trying to see me better. Like something I’d said had surprised him.
“Thank you. And I hope you’ll come to dinner tomorrow. It’ll be good. We won’t bother you about your, uh, life. We can just feed you a home-cooked meal. Or we can package up a dish and bring it over if you’d rather.” He shifted foot to foot again and slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
I couldn’t tell if I made him uncomfortable or if he was shy, but whatever the case, he was trying. The whole tenor of this exchange, now that he’d apologized, was different than every other interaction except our very first—than any I’d had before, really.
I had to appreciate that, and I was glad he couldn’t feel the way my stomach clenched at the thought of a real home-cooked meal. I hadn’t had one of those in a decade.
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, Wyatt.”
As I hung my jacket and rushed to my bedroom, anticipation pumped through my veins. No longer exhausted from shoveling after the tears-induced nap, the oddly honest and raw interaction with Wyatt had me feeling something I hadn’t in ages.
It didn’t make sense that his apology would press this gold from stone, but it did. For the first time in so long. In years and years. I welcomed it with sweatpants on my legs and a blanket on my lap, staring into the fire. I greeted it like a friend I hadn’t seen in a decade, but who I’d longed for on a soul-deep level.
Inspiration arrived tonight, and I’d do nothing to scare it away. Pen in hand and notebook at the ready, I embraced it.
Welcome home.
EIGHT
