Page 119 of Tell Me Something True

He wasn’t sure he could.

Wasn’t sure he wanted to.

If only because by making things right, he might be making himself a whole new set of problems.

Opening an upper cabinet, Toby glanced at him. “Get out the milk, butter, and eggs.”

“Why?”

“I’m making you waffles,” Toby said, pulling down a container of flour.

“I don’t want your pity waffles.”

Another lie.

But he’d limit himself to two. Three tops.

Then he’d take the rest home and eat them later.

“They’re not pity waffles,” Toby said, pulling out a container of sugar from the cabinet. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” Miles repeated, and yeah, he was gathering the milk, eggs, and butter as he spoke.

Pride only had so much hold on a man when he was hungry and waffles were involved.

“Celebrating,” Toby said again, shooting Miles a grin. “It may have taken over thirty years, but you finally realized one of life’s most important lessons. Something the rest of us figured out years ago.”

Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

But as usual, what he wanted didn’t seem to matter. Not when it involved his curiosity.

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“That you’re not perfect. And no one who loves you expects you to be.”

Chapter 23

Verity stepped into the waiting area of McNabb’s Veterinary Clinic and wished she was the type of person who could see something she didn’t want to deal with, turn on her heel, and walk away. Just like that. No worries. No recriminations.

No pride poking her to turn her butt around and deal with it anyway.

It didn’t help that all her life her brothers had told her she was strong and smart and capable and could do the hardest of hard things.

Like that had done her any favors.

She never should have agreed to stay late to help with a dog who’d had a run-in with a porcupine.

Because she knew the dog that had been brought in.

And his scowly, tattooed, grouchy owner.

Reed sat on the floor with Titus, his back to her, his upper body bent over as he stroked his dog’s back. His hair was down, the wavy strands loose around his shoulders. He must have come straight from working at the garage because he had on a pair of grease-stained gray coveralls, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his tattoos and the play of muscles in his forearms.

Watching him without him knowing was nice. Easier for her to keep her feelings in check.

And by feelings she meant the anger, resentment, and absolute humiliation that filled every fiber of her being when she thought about him telling her he wasn’t interested in her, wasn’t attracted to her, and then had gone and hooked up with another girl. Something the girl’s less-than-subtle Instagram post—including a picture of a shirtless Reed—had made more than clear.

So, yes, she meant those feelings. Not the pesky ones that popped up every now and again when her defenses were down. Ones that tried to tell her he wasn’t so much bad as he was broken.

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