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She huffs out a breath as though she’s annoyed with my pessimism. I have to say, I’m annoyed with it too. “Alright, well… sounds like you’ve made up your mind. If you want to put up prison walls to keep everyone out, that’s on you.” Her tone is more serious now. “Just remember to build some doors for visitors so someone can drop off your meds when your old and alone.”

I roll my eyes and pour the flat ginger ale in the sink. “Got it. Thanks, Agnes. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She hums under her breath with a lovingly judgmental tone and hangs up the line. I know she’s trying to help. She’s always trying to help, and truthfully, I appreciate it. I really do. I’d probably tell a friend the same thing. Hell, I know most of the world would give their left leg to go out with Buck Dalton, and they don’t even know how great he really is. I mean, a man thatlistens to your emotions like he genuinely gives a damn. That’s… nonexistent.

My heart pounds as I think about the night we met, the way he looks at me, the way he touched me down by the creek, about how badly I still want him, how much I wish he were here.

God, Agnes is right. I am making a prison.

I slide down onto the couch and stare out the patio window, studying the sad, pathetic reflection of myself.

Alone. On the couch. In the dark.

This is what you wanted, Opal. A job, a safe place to come back to, and a small circle of trusted friends. No love. No more love. I promised myself.

That said, my brain creates a world in that reflection. Suddenly, I see Buck next to me on the couch. I see his rough hand on my leg and a kiddo playing at our feet. I see a Christmas tree in the back corner. I see his guitar hanging on the wall. I see my expanded belly, pregnant with another one on the way. But most of all, I see a smile on my face. A real, genuine, warm, happy smile.

God, why do I always mess everything up?

I can’t call Buck now, not after I just made a huge mess of everything. Besides, I can’t call on this last-minute feeling either. I need to think about it, mull it over, really decide what I can handle. This year has been crazy. The last thing I need is to jump without thought. Then again, Buck is leaving on tour. I might not see him for a while.

Ugh, I might not see him for a while. What am I doing?

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, going through a pros and cons list in my head.

Pro, he’s really good with his hands. Con, he’ll have to go on tour without me.

Pro, he’s thoughtful. Con, the paparazzi.

Pro, he’s emotionally adept. Con… I realize quickly there aren’t more cons, and even quicker that the cons I do have aren’t really about him. They’re about his job. A job that’s really well respected and makes him happy. Not that any of this matters because I’m done with him and he’s done with me. We’ve already decided this.

Standing from the couch, I make my way back to the large farmhouse kitchen, complete with apron sink and window overlooking the fields. When I bought the place, I was looking for an escape, a place to hunker down and find myself. I guess that’s going well.

A knock hits the front door, causing me to jump back. It’s pretty late and I can’t imagine who’d be knocking. I didn’t even hear anyone pull up or see their headlights. It’s times like this I wish I had a gun or knew a little self-defense.

They tell every woman she should have a plan for this situation,but it’s a little late now… isn’t it?

“Who is it?” I bark, trying to sound like an angry, old man.

“It’s me. Open the door.” Within the first syllable, my body knows who’s outside, and every cell reacts accordingly.

A spark, a gut-wrenching pain, an ache to touch him, a throbbing for his hands on me. Air leaves my lungs for some five-star vacation while I stand in the doorway holding my chest, trying to make sense of why he’s back.

“Come on, open it up,” he continues. “You’re not done with me yet.”

I love the way he talks, the way he demands, the way he came back and didn’t give up.

My thighs ache as I reach for the knob and twist it slowly, opening the door to let the unseasonably warm air in with the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Good girl. Now here’s what’s gonna happen next.” He steps forward and swings the door closed, his gaze on mine ashe turns back his cap. “You’re gonna look at me, and you’re gonna tell me you want this.” He backs me up against the wall and wraps his hand around my throat. “Then, you’re gonna take off those clothes and you’re gonna let me admire you fully nude before you lay back and let me taste that sweet little pussy I’ve been fantasizing about for twelve months. Do you understand?”

I understand fully well, and I’m dripping wet.

He kisses my lips, lingering as he sucks on the bottom lip. “I need you, Opal, so we’re gonna have to figure a way to make this work. I’m not coming back here in years to find you married to some other man.”

For a brief moment, I picture Buck’s truck pulling out of my driveway, taking a hard left and never coming back again. I imagine never hearing his voice, feeling his hands, touching his skin, never having his babies, never having his guitars on my wall.

My heart aches. No, it’s doing more than aching, it’s torment. A special kind of torment that’s saved for feeling a love you can never have.

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