Page 63 of Peaches

A knot forms in my throat, so thick I almost gag.

My pulse thunders in my temples and I need something to focus on, something that will help.

I need something todo.

And then it hits me.

I walk back out the front door, my hurried steps carrying me beneath the darkening sky. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I take a deep breath.

I already know I’m going to hate myself for doing this, but of all of us, I’m the one who deserves it the most.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

OLIVIA

Rhett isn’t at the booth when I come out of the kitchen.

His soda still sits untouched on the table, the only proof he’d been there at all. For a moment I wonder if Sheriff Joe came back for him. Did he take Rhett in the few minutes I was gone? Could Rhett have done something in such a short amount of time that would somehow justify being detained?

My feet are moving in an instant, taking me out the front door of the café. I don’t see the sheriff’s car in the front row where I know it’d been parked, but I also don’t see Rhett’s bike, which means . . .

He left on his own.

My shoulders slump. Walking back inside, I think of the phone call he took at the table—I didn’t see who was calling, but if Rhett’s just suddenlygonelike this, it might mean there’s been some sort of emergency. I check on a few tables as I move back through the dining room, distracted enough that I’m honestly not sure if anyone asked for anything by the time I find myself in the kitchen again. I head straight for my purse where it hangs from a hook so I can grab my phone.

There are no new notifications, and I deflate all over again from the lack of communication. But if Rhett’s truly in some sort of emergency situation, he probably wouldn’t be able to reach out right away . . . right? It’s not like he can text or call while he’s on his bike—that would be far too dangerous. I decide to text him a quickAre you okay?before tucking my phone inside my apron pocket and forcing myself back to work.

Teresa’s holding a food ticket at the expo window, looking at me with a warm smile. “Hey kid, table four’s food has been sitting here for a few minutes—want me to take it to them?”

I eye the two plates, one with Mark’s chicken pot pie special and the other with a hamburger and fries. “Um, yeah, could you, please?” I ask, giving her my best attempt at a smile, suddenly beyond thankful that she’s back to work and here tonight.

The warmth in her eyes changes to something like concern. “You okay?” she asks.

I nod, waving a hand. “Yeah. Just . . .” I have no idea what to say. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She stares at me for another beat before grabbing the plates and disappearing through the door. I know she’s going to come right back and try to force me to spill, but I still haven’t really told anyone about Rhett, and I’m not interested in navigating any half-truths at the moment. Plus, I don’t even know for sure that anything’s wrong.

So I throw myself into work, determined to distract myself. But over the next three hours, I only grow more and more concerned, compulsively checking my phone whenever I get the chance. By the time the dinner rush is over and Teresa cuts me loose, I’m so tightly wound with anxiety and frustration I can hardly think straight. I have half a mind to head straight for the ranch, to settle the worry in my heart and prove to myself that Rhett’s okay. But my car’s at home and it’s too far to reach on foot. Plus, I don’t think I’m comfortable showing up there unannounced—I may have gotten away with it in the name of bravery last week, but this is different.

So I grab my jacket and purse and slip outside, pointing myself in the direction of home. I try calling Rhett as I walk the pathway through the park, eyeing the gazebo with a frown. He doesn’t answer, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably as I push myself forward.

I don’t hear from him before I finally crawl into bed, and by the time I wake the next morning, there’s still no trace of him. It doesn’t stop me from looking around my room, the living room—hell, even the kitchen—to see if he might have snuck in to leave some sort of explanation while I slept, a sprig of hope that seems to bloom with the sole purpose of making a giant fool out of me. But there’s nothing.

It’s like my mind can’t justify any of it, because the truth is even if therewassome emergency he had to take care of, there’d likely been an opportunity by now for him to let me know he’s okay. I still don’t know what to call whatever this thing between us is, but didn’t wejustagree that, at the very least, we’re friends?

I hate to admit it—even to myself—but in the chasm of uncertainty spreading wide within me, Sheriff Joe’s words from last night are beginning to take root.

Rhett Bennett isn’t interested in settling down or changing his ways, not for any woman.

It’s not like I want Rhett to change. I mean, hell, I’m still just getting to know him. But he’s let me see parts of him I know no one else does, and that . . . means something to me. It’s stirred up an assumption that, despite Rhett’s history with women, the way he opens up to me might be different somehow.

Especially not for such a nice girl like you.

Does it make me naive to think I could be actually earning his trust? I know he doesn’t owe me anything—not really. It’s only been a few weeks of getting to know each other. But dammit if things between us haven’t felt inevitable.

My heart beats so fucking fast for you, Olivia, I feel like I’m dying.

I’ve never felt like Rhett’s a liar—at least not with me. Not with the way his words sink into me like sunshine on a cold winter day, warming me from the inside out in a way that feels so right. But I worry that he still might be capable of hurting me, especially with the way I’m beginning to feel about him.

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