“Saige,” I warn her, on the verge of a real and true jealous rage. She has to know she can’t mess with me like that.
She continues to laugh, but I have to say it’s contagious. I fight back an angry smile and shake my head. “That’s not funny.”
She sighs, looking only slightly apologetic. “I know, but I wanted to see what you’d say.”
“I want the honest answer,” I tell her and cock my head to the side. “I think that’s only fair.”
Her laughter subsides quickly. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. Maybe like five months ago? Before I moved here.”
“Who?” Maybe I have no right to know, but I can’t help myself. The idea of someone else touching her fills me with rage. I don’t want anyone touching her other than me.
She looks hesitant. “Really? We’re going there? It’s not like you know him, and it’s not like it’s going to happen again.”
I don’t like that answer. I don’t like the thought of anyone else touching her, but she’s right. It was before she even met me. “Fair enough.”
She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “So back to the original question. What exactly are we doing here, Holt? You have me packing overnight bags, and holding my hand in the park, and—”
“Let’s just go with it,” I tell her honestly. “Let’s not label it.”
She sighs, but nods and squares her shoulders. “Okay, but just so you know, I’m not going to fall in love with you, Holt Hamilton. It’s never going to happen. We can end this here and chalk this up to a night of crazy drinking. We can walk away with no expectations for more, and no hard feelings.” She swallows hard. “So if you’re looking for a girlfriend that turns into a fiancée that turns into a wife, we’d best just end this here, because that’s not me. I’m not that girl.” She sits back in her chair and exhales a long breath. She’s said her peace. She’s afraid to love. She’s afraid to get hurt.
And while I feel for her, understand where she’s coming from, I can barely contain my smirk. “We’ll see about that,” I respond, pushing my chair back from the table. Standing quickly, I grab my dirty dishes and walk away.
I’m rinsing plates and stacking them in the dishwasher when I hear her enter the kitchen.
“Are you mad at me?” She asks and cringes.
I grab the towel off the counter and dry my hands. Tossing it on the counter, I turn around to find her standing in the entryway. “Not at all.” I pretend like we didn’t just have a conversation where she said she’d never be my girlfriend.
She moves toward me with concerned eyes. “Then why did you get up so quickly? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, Saige, you didn’t.” I sigh in frustration.
“Then what’s wrong?” She keeps her distance, pressing her palms flat against each side of the doorway, filling its space.
“No regrets,” I say. She twists her lips, and her forehead crinkles in confusion. I sigh again. “I’ve let too many dreams, too many opportunities, too many people slip away because I didn’t grab on and hold on to them when they were presented to me . . .”
She waits for me to finish. When I don’t say more, she responds, “Sooooo . . . what does that have to do with what I said?”
I look away from her and out the window, reminding myself that she’s twenty-three. She has her entire life in front of her, and here I am beginning to fall in love with the one girl I should have stayed far away from.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just don’t count us out so quickly.” I pull my lips into a tight smile.
“Then don’t move too fast,” she says quietly but firmly. “You’ve practically moved me in here after one night, although it was a good night,” she quips. “Just don’t rush things, okay?”
I hold back a smile and fall a little harder for her. She’s fierce and independent and everything I never knew I wanted.
“Deal.” I smile smugly.
Looking triumphant, she pushes herself off the doorjamb and walks across the kitchen to me. Sliding her arms around my waist, she presses her cheek to my chest. “Let’s hug it out,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Hug it out,” I repeat and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly in return. “Do you want me to take you home?” I ask her, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head.
She looks up at me, her green eyes twinkling under the bright kitchen lights.
Please say no.
“No sense in doing that,” she says, answering my silent prayers. “I’m already here with an overnight bag. But tomorrow night,” she looks at me pointedly, “I sleep at home.”
Thank you, Jesus.
“What about Tuesday night?” I ask jokingly, but I don’t push it.
She chuckles. “I’m staying with Rowan on Tuesday, but maybe I can pencil you in for Wednesday.” She winks at me.