Page 19 of Back in the Country
He had sighed, somewhat defeated.“I just want her to have everything she could ever dream of, you know?”
I did know. That was the problem.
That wasstillthe problem.
Marlee wasn’t a child anymore, and I’d had two conflicting promises to fulfill—one to my best friend and one to his little sister.
I’d kept my promises.
Both of them.
Itstillguts me thinking of what happened after her twenty-first birthday. Marlee and I had never spoken of it again, and I knew we’d have to at some point but hell if I wanted to.
And isn’t that just all kinds of fucked-up?
Despite spending every free moment with her, I haven’t even asked her to be mine yet. We are together, no doubt, but I want the label—the title.
I am spiraling…but do I have to?
Sorren’s words are never far from my mind, but does he still think our small town isn’t good enough for his baby sister? Does he still thinkIam not good enough?
Again, it boils down to if it matters, and I’m still not sure. Maybe I don’t need to be but I am done making excuses. I am making changes. Ihadbeen making them before Marlee came back.
Maybe I’d been silently willing her to come back to me and hoping like hell I’d be ready to show her that I could make us a life here—thatwecould make a life here.
The smile that had been stolen by Hank’s sour mood ghosts across my lips. It is time to see a girl about a date, and this time, I am going to officially make her mine.
8
MARLEE
After the night at the field concert, Waylon barely let me out of his sight. I worked from home while he was at the garage, but once the quittin’ bell chimed, he hightailed it home to me. Some nights he’d work in the barn, but he always made time for us. It was nice.
That one night notwithstanding when he said he had to take care of something and was gone for hours, everything was pretty damn great.
Even then, he still came and kissed me goodnight despite gettin’ home well past ten. He looked exhausted but also invigorated.
I’d decided to let it go.
For now.
It’s not like he looked guilty, more like he was shy about whatever had taken him away from me.
Waylon hasn’t even really told me about his very obvious side business making custom signs. He asks me in general about work, but for some reason it seems like a touchy subject. There is this chasm between us, and I ache to cross it.
I sigh.
I am getting worked up for no reason. Waylon and I are simply getting to know each other again. We are going slow. We’ve gone on dates and watched movies, and we talk about everything and nothing.
Well,almosteverything.
Apparently, he doesn’t feel the need to get intoitand I don’t either. Not yet at least. We still aren’t having sex, and maybe that black cloud hanging over us is part of the reason. I am still wary.
I know that Waylon loves me. He hasn’t said the words out loud, but he tells me with the way he kisses me and how he holds me on the porch in the quiet Tennessee night. Maybe I need him to say it before I give in. Or maybe that is me being naïve again, thinking the words will erase all the hurt.
Seeing Waylon in his fitted jeans and T-shirt makes me want to climb his muscular body like a tree. I am ravenous for his touch and there has beenplentyof touching—on his part and mine.
The thing is that I’ve never been casual about sex. I know deep down that this thing with Way isn’t casual—nothing between us has ever been casual—but I want it to mean something. I wantusto mean something.
