Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Her brow furrows. “That feels vague as hell.”
“I know, but it’s not something I can really explain.”
“Well, how about you try?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Because I honestly think that if I disappeared for a full twenty-four hours, it would make it very fucking hard for you not to take it personally too.”
She’s right. With how attached-at-the-hip we’ve been the past two months, I would probably lose my mind if, all of a sudden, she went MIA for a full day. I’d think the worst. I’d scavenge the whole fucking town to make sure she was okay.
“Okay, you’re right. I can explain, but I refuse to fill your head with the dark shit that’s in mine,” I admit, quieter now.
She tilts her head. “So, what, you pull a Luke Danes and have some kind of ‘dark day’?”
“A what? A who?”
“Luke Danes. Gilmore Girls.”
“Are they from Red Bridge?”
That gets me the first smile I’ve seen on her face all morning. “No, smartass. He’s a TV character because it’s a TV show. Broody, emotionally unavailable, and wears flannel. Honestly, you’re doing a pretty good job of playing the part right now.”
“I don’t watch TV,” I say, a small smile on my lips to try to detour this conversation away from my fucking demons. “Too busy wrestling sheep.”
It doesn’t work, however.
Her brief smile fades and is replaced by something more fragile and vulnerable. “I know you don’t owe me an explanation, but…I’ve shared things with you. And I just thought maybe you felt comfortable enough to do the same with me…?”
“I do feel like I can, Breezy.” I swallow hard. “But this isn’t something I want to fill your head with.”
“I can handle dark shit, Tad.”
“I know you can, but…” I pause, completely unsure of what to say or do in this moment.
“But you still don’t want to tell me?”
“No. This isn’t shit I talk about with anyone.” Even myself. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, avert my eyes to the ground before lifting them to meet hers again.
For a long moment, she doesn’t speak. The air between us is cold enough to see our breath, but warm enough to burn anyway. Then she takes a step closer.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to tell me. Just… Can you promise me something?” she requests. “Don’t up and disappear on me like that again. At least…tell me it’s not a good day. Then I’ll at least understand, you know? Then I’ll at least know you’re safe.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it hits like a steel-toed boot to the gut.
I reach out, grip her hips, and pull her close until her chest brushes mine. “Spending time with you has made a lot of things better, Breeze. You have to know that. You’re…special to me.” I already feel like I’m telling her too much, revealing too much, but she deserves to hear it.
She looks up at me, and her eyes are a little glossy as they meet mine. “You’re special to me too.”
A tiny smile tugs at my mouth. “So special that you’ll forgive me for being an MIA asshat yesterday?”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
“You mean it?”
She nods, and that’s all I need. I lean in, pressing a kiss to her mouth—slow, grateful, still trembling with things I don’t know how to say. Things I wish I didn’t feel for her but still feel anyway.
When I pull back, she rests her forehead against mine.
“I probably should go check on Tom and Betsy.”
“I think that’s a good plan.” I smile. “Pretty sure Mabel was confused when she saw me out here but there was no Breezy to be found.”
“So, I’ll go play with them for a bit, and then you’ll make me some dinner as your final apology to me for being such an idiot?” she questions, and a soft chuckle escapes my lungs.
“I’ll even include dessert.”
“Okay. Yeah. That’ll definitely get you back in my good graces.” Breezy winks and heads for the pasture, where Mabel and her lambs are enjoying a little fresh air.
And I find myself watching her as she walks away.
A small, fragile kind of silence wraps around me, and my mind whispers, When are you going to realize that woman feels more like home than the farm, the house, or anything you’ve known in years?
But I don’t accept it. I can’t accept it.
Because Breezy Bishop doesn’t deserve to be attached to a fuckup like me, and I don’t deserve the chance to let someone down again.
30
Breezy
Saturday, March 20th
My phone buzzes against the blanket I’m pretending to knit.
Tad: How’s the headache, Betsy?
I smile as I start to type out a response.
Me: A little better. Though, I might try to take a nap soon. The twins doing okay without me?
Technically, I was supposed to “help” on the farm this morning. But I woke up with a borderline migraine and decided cold wind slapping me in the face wasn’t going to improve my condition.