Page 81 of Peaches

I push the front door open to head out of the café and immediately stop short when I spot Rhett. Parked along the curb in front of the building, he straddles the seat of his bike, helmet and gloves still on as he clearly waits for something.

Waiting for me?I think.

He turns to look at me, tilting his head toward the bike beneath him, and though I can’t see his eyes behind the visor, I know what he’s asking.

Frustration blooms inside me as I firmly shake my head twice, refusing to let him justshow upand draw me back in. Tearing my gaze away, I start to march down the sidewalk for the walk back to my house, hoping he gets the hint and backs off. But that hope dissipates when I hear the loud roar of his engine as it bursts to life. I don’t have to look back to know he’s following me.

A thrill shoots up my spine.

Still, I ignore him. I make it all the way to the corner before the red light at the crosswalk stops me. There’s not much traffic on the road, and Rhett must be feeling particularly emboldened because before I know it, he’s angling right for me, crossing the path of oncoming traffic to sidle up in front of me and block me from crossing the street.

“Get on,” I hear him shout from beneath his helmet.

“No,” I say back, squaring my shoulders.

He shakes his head. “Get on the bike, Olivia.”

“Why?” The word squeezes out of my throat.

“Because you can’t just ignore me forever. Get on the damn bike.” His chest heaves. “Please?”

Anticipation snakes through my stomach. I let out a hard exhale, feeling my frustration dissipate through the rush of breath. “Fine,” I mumble before reaching for the second helmet and climbing on behind him.

I try not to notice how good it feels to wrap my arms around him, how relieved I am to know he’s safe. As upset as I still am, I can’t deny the way my heart draws right back into him or the way I want him in my life. That it feelsgoodto be vulnerable with someone like this, to give parts of myself I never realized I wanted to give, even if it scares me.

I know it would be a risk to love him, to let myself truly fall.

But I think I would be willing, if he’s capable of doing the same.

He brings me down the old back road that leads to the bar, and it’s so much different with the sunlight slicing through the trees. Pulling into the empty parking lot, he steers the bike into a spot against the front curb and cuts the engine.

The silence curls around us as we dismount, leaving our helmets tucked together on the seat. I trail behind him along the sidewalk that leads to the front door and watch as he pulls out a key.

“The bar was closed that night,” I say. “When I came looking for help. No one was here.”

His eyes flash to me as he unlocks it, holding it open to let me in. “We’ve been closed since Melody died,” he says quietly.

“Oh.” I nod, shuffling through the door. My arm grazes against his hard chest and my mind narrows to the warmth that spreads from the contact.

Inside, the bar is dark. Without windows or light, it’s like walking into a dungeon. Rhett moves around me to flip various switches, and neon lights spark to life all around us. I thought he might be bringing me up to the apartment, but he heads for the bar and pulls out a stool.

“Sit,” he orders softly.

So I do. But he doesn’t take a seat next to me. Instead, he twists the stool around so I’m facing away from the bar. Toward him.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks. “Water? Somethin’ stronger?”

I shake my head. “Why are we here, Rhett?”

He takes a good step back before crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have a lot of things I want to say to you, Olivia, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to just say them.”

He’s nervous. I can tell by the way his brows are pinched and shoulders are raised, a layer of determination only narrowly managing to cover a deeper-rooted fear. Hope sprouts that he might be able to ease the worry in my chest, my own fears that I can’t seem to shake. I don’t know what he could say that would help me move on from the terror he put me through, but I realize I’m willing to listen.

When I nod, he looks relieved.

“First, I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened at the water tower the other night. I never should have been so . . . rough,” he says with an edge of regret. “Not like that. Not with you. I meant it when I said I don’t trust myself not to hurt you. I don’t think I can give you what you deserve, that I won’t hurt you in the process oftrying.Youdeserve to be loved and cared for in a way that feels much bigger than anything I feel like I can offer, and that’s why I pulled away from you.”

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