When I realized staring at Duane Winston’s muscled back and fine ass wasn’t helping matters, I stood, zipped my jeans, heaved a confused sigh, and crossed to where I suspected my shirt lay discarded.
He wanted me just as much as I wanted him, that much was clear. It was also clear we’d entered into a pattern of behavior. His withdrawal here, and in the supply closet of the garage, and at the edge of the lake, and backstage at the community center all pointed to the fact that Duane Winston wanted me—badly—but was trying to be noble. Or, something akin to nobility.
I tugged on my shirt and heaved another sigh, marinating in the oddness of the situation. When my previous boyfriends were intent on pushing me further than I was willing to go I broke things off. But with Duane, I felt like maybe I was pushing him. I didn’t want to push him. In fact, the thought of pushing him made me feel wretched. I wanted us to move together.
“You’re a siren who doesn’t need to sing.”
I turned my head at the sound of his words, cutting through the soundtrack in my head. Duane was facing me now, his muscled arms crossed over his delicious bare chest. His expression told me he was exasperated—with himself, me, or the situation in general—I had no idea where his ire was directed.
I gave him a smile I hoped communicated my regret for being pushy, but also communicated my hope that the date wasn’t over yet. “Is this your way of telling me I’m too sexy for this picnic?”
Some of his exasperation melted away and he huffed a short laugh, but then he sobered almost immediately. His focused gaze grew earnest. “Jess, doing this right, it’s important to me.”
I nodded once, faced him, and mimicked his stance. “I surmised as much when you brought flowers for my momma.”
I saw his chest rise and fall before he continued, taking a few cautious steps toward me. “I think we’re suited.”
“So you’ve said.” Something like panic tugged at my heart, and I was afraid of where this conversation was heading.
“But like you said in the car, we don’t know each other anymore, not really.”
“I get it,” I said on a rush, because I did get it. I did.
And yet...
But then he admitted quietly, “I want to know you.”
… I want to know you.
I blinked at him; stared dumbly, really.
Those words penetrated some wall—around my head and heart—I didn’t know existed. He came to a stop directly in front of me, his arms still crossed over his chest as his eyes roamed over my face, and they held reverence, hope. His expression and tone were distracted when he added, “And I want to be known.”
That’s what did it, his quiet admission. I realized I was being self-centered. And, more than that, I felt torn. Now he was forcing the issue, crossing self-preservation boundaries I’d drawn without meaning to, I was going to have to be completely honest as well…and damn it all, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want our time together to end before it even started.
I had a plan: save money, gain teaching experience, leave Green Valley. Duane’s clear-as-day intentions and my unpredictable, growing feelings were not part of the plan. His desire to court me was not part of that plan. Marriage and picket fences were not part of that plan.
I think I must’ve flinched or winced, because Duane straightened, and even though he didn’t move, I felt him draw away. I knew at once he was misinterpreting my reaction, so I unthinkingly reached for his arm and stepped into his personal space, beseeching him with my gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head at my blind selfishness, realizing I should have been upfront on Wednesday, when he’d asked me out originally. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re so right, and I’m…I don’t know how to say this without being completely honest so, here goes: I moved home with a plan. I’m back with my parents and teaching at the school, but that’s all temporary. I’m here, in Green Valley, for less than two years, tops. Just long enough to pay off my loans and save enough money to move on. I’m not ready to settle down, I don’t think I ever will be. I want to see and experience things. I have wanderlust and it consumes me. If I had the money, I’d leave tomorrow. I thought…I guess I didn’t really think. I just like you so much and I…” I couldn’t finish my thought because my voice caught.
As I spoke Duane’s eyes widened, then narrowed; their usual internal brilliance seemed to dim, fade, as it was replaced with a severe disappointment that completely pierced my heart. Then his expression hardened into understanding; and finally bitter, guarded withdrawal.