Page 160 of Come Break My Heart Again

“You have? Why?”

“Because …” I tuck my hair behind one ear. “Because I couldn’t let go.”

Keira nods slowly. “What did the letter say?”

“It explained some things. Why he ended our relationship. What he was thinking.”

“In areally sorry I broke your heartkind of way? Or anI’ll love you foreverkind of way?”

I swallow. “Both. The second one more.”

“Wow. I mean, I’m not that surprised. The way he acted at the bar when you … panicked. Waking up early to exercise your dog. The tension with Prescott? Not to mention what happened when he came over … it’s clear he still has serious feelings for you.”

“Maybe.”

“He turned down Ophelia. And Tuck swears he isn’t seeing anyone.”

“He spends a lot of time at Reese’s,” I say.

Keira shakes her head. “I asked Tuck about it. He swears Ryder and Reese are just friends. And Reese’s kid is always there.”

“She has a kid?”

“Yeah. A son. They’re coming tomorrow.” She takes a step closer to the door. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

I flick the overhead light off, leaving a lamp on for Scout. He’s finished his food, and he’s curled up in one corner of the crate Keira—or Tucker—left out for him. The Parkers used to have a Lab they’d bring here when Keira and her brother were younger.

Tucker and Ryder are waiting next to the front door. They’ve both changed as well.

Tucker is wearing a pressed button-down that makes Keira’s influence on his wardrobe obvious. I usually see him in T-shirts, like the navy one Ryder is wearing. Paired with khaki shorts, it’s actually one of the fancier outfits I’ve ever seen Ryder wear.

I feel Ryder’s eyes on me, so I avoid his gaze.

The same shyness from earlier has reappeared, a single shot of vodka not enough to banish it.

“Truck will be a tight squeeze,” Tucker says. “Let’s take the Rover again?”

“I can drive,” I volunteer. That’ll give me something to focus on besides Ryder.

Tucker nods and hands me the keys.

“It’s a tank compared to your car,” Ryder comments.

Finally, I look at him. “Are you calling me a bad driver?”

“There’s a dent in the rear bumper of your convertible.”

“When were youinspectingmy car?” I ask.

“Inoticedit the last time you were here,” Ryder replies. One corner of his mouth has curved up, like he knows I’m not really annoyed, just flustered.

“I can handle driving to the bar.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I was trying to benice.”

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