I was falling for him so fast, everything around me was a blur.
It was mind-boggling. We weren’t even dating! In the past when I’d developed feelings for someone, it had taken a while. And those feelings had stemmed from times spent together enjoying common interests rather than intense physical attraction. For heaven’s sake, it had taken me six months to sleep with Tripp! And I’d never even had a one-night-stand, let alone an extended fuckfest with someone not my boyfriend. I’d never had an extended fuckfest, period!
And last night had been insane. I could still hear him telling me to act like a greedy little slut—was it terrible that it turned me on so much? How had he known that’s what I’d needed—permission to act that way with the lights on, while he watched? That’s what had made me nervous. Prior to that we’d always been in the dark, and letting that other side of me take over hadn’t seemed so daunting. I’d gotten stage fright, especially since I wasn’t that experienced with oral sex to begin with. But I’d wanted to do it for him. I wanted to make him feel good in every possible way.
And the things he did to me… I stopped walking for a moment. Put a hand on my stomach. Caught my breath.
Everything felt different with Jack. Now I knew what Jaime had been talking about when she said things like mind-blowing physical chemistry. And since I’d gotten a taste of it, I didn’t want to let it go.
It wasn’t just physical either. Not anymore. When I thought about the way he’d opened up to me last night, sharing something with me he’d never told anyone else, shedding tears in front of me, making himself that vulnerable…God, I just wanted to hold him and kiss him and cry for him, make everything better for him, make him happy.
But how?
I’d been hoping he might stay over again, especially since he’d said he’d slept well in my bed the night before, but I hadn’t wanted to pressure him. I’d asked, he’d said no, I dropped it. He’d revealed so much of himself to me, he probably needed the time alone to come to terms with that. I understood that about him, and I’d learned not to push his buttons that way—he snapped and pulled back when I tried to get too close, almost like a skittish horse.
So after kissing him goodbye, I’d said goodnight and climbed into bed, hugging the pillow he’d used the night before. Sleep eluded me for hours, which I spent replaying every moment of the day and night in my mind, struggling to keep my feelings under control, and choking up all over again when I thought about what he’d told me.
By morning I had to face the truth.
I had feelings for him, and I didn’t want this to end.
I wanted there to be a way for us.
Was it out of the question? People dated long distance all the time, didn’t they? Two hours was practically nothing! I could work from anywhere most of the time, and I liked this little town. It didn’t have designer shops or three-star restaurants or glamorous salons, but Main Street was charming, the beach was uncrowded, and the farms were beautiful. I could even start riding again! Being with the horses the other day reminded me how much I’d missed it.
As I waited for highway traffic to clear so I could cross, I thought about an even bigger problem than distance: Jack didn’t want to get married again. Didn’t think he could love someone again. Didn’t want to let go of his past. Part of me thought I was crazy to even worry about getting married, since I’d met the guy less than a week ago, but another part of me insisted.
Look how intense things were between us after just five days. What if we started dating, and things continued to go well? Did I really want to invest time and energy and feelings in someone who didn’t want what I wanted in the end? And I was almost thirty—I didn’t want to wait that much longer to start a family. If there was no chance of that, what was the point?
As I hurried across the two lanes and started up Pete and Georgia’s drive, I saw that wedding band on Jack’s finger, heard his voice in my head.
I know what I had. And it doesn’t happen twice.
My heart dropped. How on earth could I argue with that?
Jack was right about the Oliver house in many ways—it needed a lot of work, including a new roof, but Brad was right, too. Like all aging beauties, it had great bones beneath layers of dust, mold, peeling wallpaper, flaking paint, smelly carpet, and rot. It would take time and money and loving care, but it could be restored.
Georgia was beside herself as we walked back. “I knew it. I knew I’d love it that much.” Brad and Pete were up ahead, Cooper in his dad’s arms.
I smiled at her. “It could be great. And so easy to bump out the back wall, extend the kitchen.”
“Pete and I have been talking about making it a bed and breakfast in addition to a restaurant,” she said.