Page 49 of Chosen

“Does she still live in Roanoke?” I whispered my question, as I glanced around the room, wondering if Damon’s sudden confession had been inspired by a Lisa sighting.

“No. She left Roanoke for greener pastures,” he replied. “And by that, I mean she wanted to go to grad school and found a pretty good program a few states away.”

“Good for her?” My response came out unsure. “I mean, that was a good thing, right?”

“I think all of it was a good thing.” Damon shrugged. “Even though it hurt like hell to watch my marriage fall apart. It didn’t matter that we weren’t right for each other, and we both knew it. People still acted like it was the worst tragedy in the world. It was such an awful feeling.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Damon. I really am.”

“It’s all right.” Damon shrugged again. “I’ve gotten over it. The worst days were when I thought I could’ve done something different. That it was my fault that we didn’t have that spark between us—”

“It wasn’t your fault, Damon,” I interrupted him, quickly resting my hand on top of his. “Sometimes, people just aren’t compatible. Not everything is built to last.”

“Yeah, but what if it just keeps happening?” Damon let out a joyless chuckle. “Lisa wasn’t the only one I couldn’t find the spark with. After her, it just seemed like I was built for a string of relationships with nothing to them. Like I was just a lone wolf who sometimes needed the company but could never keep it for too long.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person,” I murmured. “Maybe you’re not meant to settle down until you find someone to complement your whole nature guy thing.”

“My nature guy thing?”

“Yeah, it’s a balancing act.” I smiled. “Maybe you’re a lot like your parents and just need the yin to your yang.”

“Like someone from the city, you mean?” Damon asked, his palm gently gripping my hand.

“Like whoever you think is right for you,” I answered.

For a moment, Damon and I locked eyes, like we were gazing deep into one another, trying to see past our chests and into our hearts, into our souls.

But then, the waitress was back with our drinks. We moved away from each other, our hands disconnecting as we leaned back in our seats.

“Ready to order?” she asked, as she set the drinks down on the table. After a quick perusing of the menu, Damon and I placed our orders, and once again she disappeared toward the back of the restaurant. We went back to small talk once she was gone, like we hadn’t just been on the verge of something so much deeper, my mind still reeling with the way Damon had looked at me a few seconds ago…

Like I was the only person who mattered in the whole world.

14

DAMON

Something had shifted between us last night.

There was a moment at the restaurant, a moment where I knew that Sam felt the same way I was feeling, like there was something more between us. I regretted not saying anything about it right then, but I didn’t know what else there was to say. It was obvious that there was a spark between us, and it was up to us to either act on it or let it fizzle out.

And God, did I want to act on it.

I went on a run in the morning to clear my head, passing by trees and bush. It was always a beautiful time to run in Roanoke, when the birds were chirping, and the sun was a kiss against my skin instead of a full-on burn. Even the air smelled better in the morning, providing more encouragement to get outside before it was too late in the afternoon.

I needed to tell him how I felt.

The answer came clear as day as I continued on my run.

But how?

I was a lot less clear on that part, the words still not coming to me naturally. There was even more pressure on me since I was about to confess how I felt to a writer, someone who probably always knew the right thing to say and how to say it.

Fuck.

I stopped in my tracks, bringing my hands down to my knees as I took in deep breath after deep breath. I wasn’t interested in embarrassing myself in front of Sam, getting tongue-tied and blurting out how I felt instead of a romantic confession that would blow him away. I just wasn’t sure how to make the jump from amateur hour to slick and professional, the kind of thing he would’ve been ecstatic to tell his friends back home about—

Shit. Back home.

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