Page 54 of Tough Nut to Crack

My confidence is taking a hit because he's paying attention to me and telling me that he wants me, all the while saying he shouldn't.

I don't have a clue on how to deal with this situation, so I do what I've always done.

I walk away, grab my clothes, and leave the room.

I'm not surprised when he doesn't try to stop me.

Chapter 22

Mac

Yesterday was weird. Probably one of the weirder days I can recall ever having.

The morning was strange in Riley's kitchen, then the absolutely fantastic sex, both in the kitchen of my house and then the things we did in the shower, and then... everything just took a turn.

After Riley left the bathroom, I took a few minutes to dry off and get dressed, and by the time I made it back downstairs, she had her headphones in again and was working on removing the doors to the cabinets as if nothing had happened.

She didn't dance and sing like she'd done before, and I didn't question why the sudden change in her behavior. A therapist would probably label that as avoidant behavior, but I know better than to bother a woman when she's in a mood, despite it not sitting well with me.

She didn't say a word to me the rest of the day. She didn't engage on the drive back to her house, and the silence went on for so long that I felt that talking would make it even more awkward. She didn't wait for me to open her door, which made my jaw hurt from grinding my back molars together so tightly, but I stayed quiet.

She didn't slam the front door to her house in my face after unlocking it and stepping inside, but I knew better than not to consider that even a partial win. She disappeared down the hallway and never came back out of her bedroom.

She wasn't in the kitchen this morning, and I stood at her bedroom door, ready to lift my hand and knock so I could ask her if she wanted me to leave, but I didn't in fear that she'd say yes. I don't want to be gone. I don't want to walk away and never look back. There's a part of me that knows she's going to be someone important in my life, and I'm not thrilled at the prospect of her cutting me out before I can even determine what role we'll play ineach other's lives.

But then again, maybe I'm just insane. Maybe the great sex with her is nothing more than smoke and mirrors, a way of my body trying to convince me that she's the one for me.

My day continues to get worse when I drive down Main Street with thoughts of cupcakes from the bakery racing through my mind, only to see several work trucks outside of the Old McGee Theater. I stop in the middle of the road and watch as several crews of men pile out of the vehicles with an Austin-based logo emblazoned on the sides.

Mr. McGee doesn't even respect me enough to tell me personally that he chose the other company, but I guess I can't blame the man. It's not like I'm in any position to take on such a large job when my own house is still in shambles.

Knowing that still doesn't take the sting out of seeing people from out of town getting ready to work on the place. They didn't spend summer afternoons there trying to beat the Texas heat with a matinee, a bucket of stale popcorn, and a cold soda with their dad. They'll never treat that place with the respect it deserves, and although I should probably feel like it'll serve Mr. McGee right that they won't pay attention to the same level of detail that my company would, it only makes me sad.

I fully understand the bottom dollar. I know times are tough and will only get more challenging in this economy, but I also know that you get what you pay for. I very easily could've lowered my cost of the renovation to get the job, but I value my time, and anyone who respects me should value it as well.

My father worked himself into an early grave, giving everything he had to everyone in this community. It's up to me to break the chains of that same legacy by demanding the respect my skill level deserves, even at the cost of lazy construction from the city if that's the way folks want to go.

A horn behind me makes me pull my foot off the brake and slide it toward the gas, but it also draws the attention of several men in the crew, and I don't miss the smirks on their faces as I drive by while they read my business logo on the side of my own truck.

By the time I pull up in front of the bakery, I'm wondering if going to the bar wouldn't be better, but the damn place isn't open this early.

I pull in a deep breath as I shove open the door to my truck and exhale it when my feet hit the asphalt. I'm not one to let the shit that's bothering me fester, but at the same time, I don't know how to approach the shit that's going on with Riley. It's clear she has some self-esteem issues, and as much as that shouldn't be my problem, I can't help but think I should do my best to make her see just howlovely she is.

"You just going to stand there, or are you coming in?"

I look up, the voice breaking me from my thoughts, smiling when I see Cash Tucker, Lindell's police chief, standing in the open doorway of the bakery.

"Lost in my thoughts," I mutter as I approach, holding my hand out for him to shake.

His eyes immediately cast down the street toward the work crews in front of the old theater before they meet mine.

"He's a fool for not hiring you," Cash mutters as he releases my hand. "But Adalynn's cupcakes will make it all better. Have a good day, Mac."

"You, too," I say before stepping inside.

The scent of sugar, butter, and something a little spicy but nonetheless delicious hits me in the face, and a genuine smile tugs up the corners of my mouth.

"You look like a man on a mission," Adalynn says with a wide smile of her own from behind the bakery counter.

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