Page 7 of Falling for the Sheriff
If he already assumed, then why is he here? Usually, people don’t want to be tied down. They run away.Faraway.
Unable to lie, I nod and hear the way his breathing shifts. Faster, uneven. I’ve scared him, haven’t I? By now, he must be regretting coming here.
“I don’t expect you to be there,” I force out, my eyes dragging to the ground. “This happened because I was reckless. So, you’re better off forgetting about me.”
He can leave and continue haunting my dreams. Nothing has to change. I’ll be fine, really.
“No.” The word comes too instant, too roughly, making me jump. When a soft curse follows, he nudges closer.
I’m fighting wars not to lean into his warmth. Compared to the cool air filling the front of the shop, he’s radiating heat like a heater.
“What time are you off?” He reaches forward, his fingers just shy of touching me. “Let me take you out again, properly this time. We can talk and…you can tell me more about yourself. I have questions. A few of them. I don’t have the time to ask them now, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
My heart races in my chest at his offer. Fumbling for my answer, the sound of a throat clearing helps snap me out of my momentary panic.
Daisy’s giving me a look, a worried one. She’s always so willing to help me out in every way possible. All I have to do is give her some kind of signal, and I bet she’d be happy to jump right in and save the day.
Right now, I’m not worried about getting out of this. Instead, I’m being silly by considering going along with his offer.
Thisis what I’ve been quietly hoping for. For another chance to meet him so that the next time we spoke, it wouldn’t all be about pleasure.
“Sure.” A single, jerky nod is all I can manage. My palms are slick against the front of my apron, and I wipe them frantically, my heart hammering a heavy rhythm against my ribs. “But maybe… I should give you my number instead? I’d like to clean up a little.”
The last thing I want is to show up smelling like soil and wilted flowers for what absolutely has to be a date.It has to be a date.
At my words, Atlas seems to glow, his smile widening until it’s all I can see. The effect is a physical thing—a wild, fluttering swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach, their wings beating in a frantic, dizzying tempo. I’m transfixed, painfully aware of every stunning detail of his face as he hands me his phone.
My fingers tremble as I type in my number, the simple task feeling monumentally significant. The moment he leaves, a hollow, longing ache blooms in his absence, so acute it steals my breath.
Daisy is at my side in an instant, her fingertips brushing my back. “Are you going to be alright? I can meet you there, keep an eye on things. Or if you need an escape, I can call you, sobbing.”
A breathy, nervous snort escapes me. I lean back against the counter for support, my eyes glued to the door he just vanished through. I shake my head slowly, the motion feeling distant and dreamlike.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” I chew hard on the inside of my cheek, fighting a smile that threatens to split my face in two. “I mean… he came to me, knowing. That has to mean something, right? I’ll text you if I need an escape.”
She nods, ceding control. I grip the counter’s edge, my legs trembling enough that I’m sure they’ll buckle. If I want to walk out of this shop with my heart still in my possession, I’m going to need a tighter hold on myself. Because his hold on my mind every night is already territory conquered, I can’t afford to surrender the rest.
* * *
I hate how long I’ve stared at my closet, wishing I had something better to wear. Something that would make me look cute or stylish. Does Atlas even care about those little things?
The weather is chilly out now that the sun is making its way toward the horizon. With my luck, I’ll pick something too thin and regret it halfway through whatever he has planned.
Realizing I’m thinking too deeply about it, I reach into my closet and throw on a sweater and jeans. Convincing myself that it won’t matter what kind of outfit I wear, I pluck at my hair and suffer with the same dilemma.
It’s the rumble of my phone that keeps me from pulling out the strands. A message from Atlas tells me that he’ll be hitting the apartment complex in no time.
Should I have given him my address with such ease? This feeling in my gut says it’s a good idea. That if we part ways again, he’ll know where to find me if he decides he wants to see me again.
Daisy says he’s a neighbor of her brother. So, if I wanted to go up to the mountain, I could find him, too. Feels like we’re on even footing now.
Giving up on being picky with my appearance, I wait as calmly as one can. The nerves that fill my stomach don’t go away even as I rub the front of my sweater.
This is it. My first real date since high school. Did those even count? Those distracted movie makeouts and greasy, shared fries in a fast-food booth never made me feel like this—like my entire being is tuned to a single, vibrating frequency. A decade later, and it turns out I’m a complete novice.
So freaking embarrassing.
Is it him? Is it because Atlas refused to tell me a single thing about his plans, only offering that infuriatingly charming smile and the promise to “really get to know me better”? The mystery of it all is a current zipping under my skin.
