Page 62 of A Fighting Chance

“Sure,” I say, not entirely sure it’s a good idea but willing to roll the dice.

She takes my face into her hands, cupping my cheeks and staring at me. “Gentry, I…”

I wait, but too many seconds pass. “What?” I ask her, my voice low and urgent.

“It’s nothing,” she says, shaking her head, and it’s painfully clear that whatever she was going to tell me, she thought better of it.

Nothing serious.

“Come on.” She takes me by the hand and pulls me all the way up to my bedroom.

My feet feel like they’re moving especially slow as I watch her walk in front of me. The twist of her hips as she moves drives me wild. But I won’t have sex with her.

Not this time.

Maybe not ever again.

The last time we made love, it was cloaked in happiness.

Never mind. That was a lie.

Still, it’d been a joyous occasion, enjoying each other the way we had. But if we were to do it again, the memory of it would only be tinged with sadness, with longing. With the knowledge that she didn’t feel the same way. I’m not sure I want that.

I close the door behind us and sit on the edge of my bed, where I pull my boots off. From the corner of my eye, I see her pulling her tank top over her head and unsnapping her bra. She lets it fall to the floor. She kicks off her running shoes, then peels out of her pants, leaving only her panties on.

She turns to me, tilting her head to the side, silently questioning why I’m not undressing. And then, “What’s really wrong?” She walks over and kneels in front of me.

I really don’t need her kneeling; that’s not helpful. I brush my thumb over the edge of her bottom lip and force a smile. “Nothing,” I say. “I promise.”

I start to unbutton my shirt and she takes over, pushing it from my shoulders. Then she tugs my T-shirt over my head. I stand, and she stays kneeling, while I push my pants down my legs. She reaches for me, but I take her hands in mine, pulling her up and embracing her.

We curl up on my bed and I wrap around her as tightly as I can. I get as close to her as our bodies will allow.

From her position, she keeps pressing her backside into me, inviting me to make this a sexy nap.

But I resist.

I press my lips to her shoulder, inhale her honeysuckle scent, and actually fall asleep.

Twenty-One

Lyla

I standin Harper’s cabin, spraying the kitchen window with glass cleaner and wiping it down. I offered to clean it for her during the day since she and everyone else have jobs to do to run the farm. Plus, cleaning has always been my go-to for when I’m stressed. Anytime I have a surge of panic or anxiety, I know the very next weekend I’ll be cleaning all the way down to the baseboards.

I move to the next window in the dining room and begin spraying. Gentry has all but ignored me for the last two days. He hasn’t been his usual self. I can’t put a finger on it. And we haven’t had sex, either. Or any hot moments that felt like they might lead to sex.

What’s happening?

I don’t like this uneasy feeling in me, caused by the growing distance between us.

Doesn’t he understand how much I want to savor these last few days before I have to leave?

Doesn’t he understand how much it’s hurting me?

Just then, I hear the front door of the cabin open and Harper walks in—a much needed distraction from my own thoughts.

“Oh, hi,” I say. “Have you come to check on the progress I’m making?” I ask, as I gesture around the space. Overall, I’m pretty impressed with myself. I’ve already finished the kitchen and dining room, and swept and mopped all the hardwood floors on the first floor. I was currently going back around to get the windows before moving upstairs.

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