Page 105 of Hang the Moon
He winced. “Yeah. I canceled, obviously. Then we said we’d play it by ear because she had a family vacation scheduled and I completely forgot about it, to be honest.” His thumb brushed the back of her knuckles. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
His smile went crooked and her heart squeezed, even as her stomach made a slow descent, sinking. She reached for the hem of her—his—shirt and tugged it down her thighs before sliding off his lap and tucking her knees beneath her.
“Hey.” His smile fell and the furrow between his brows reappeared, and it made her chest twist, because what she was feeling was nonsensical and she knew it. She didn’t need him to know it, too. “You’re not... upset, are you?”
She waved off his concern. “No. No. Of course not. Why would I be upset?”
Even to her own ears that sounded a bitdoth protest too muchto be entirely genuine. Her grimace was sharp and instantaneous. Fuck.
Brendon saw straight through her bullshit and slid closer, leaning his head down, forcing her to look up at him. His face was a picture of concern, his forehead wrinkled and his brown eyes flitting over her face. He reached out, tucking that same errant strand of hair behind her ear, the wily one with a mind of its own. “We matched on the app. I never even went out with her. It was going to be a first date, drinks. And I told her—”
She cut him off with a sharp jerk of her chin, her face burning. “You really don’t have to explain. I get it, I promise.”
It didn’t bother her that he’d had plans with someone before her. Everyone had a past. What bothered her was that she’d been in town for such a short stint of time that his rain check coincided with her visit. That his past was so recent it butted up against their present, practically overlapping.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t feel betrayed or hurt or like he’d played her. She’d had no claim over him, hadn’t wanted him to be hers until a few days ago.
This was a not-so-gentle reminder that all of this—not just her relationship with Brendon, but her job, Seattle,everything—was moving awfully fast.
Perhaps too fast.
She found it hard to swallow, but she soldiered on, taking it one step further and pasting on a smile, choking out what she prayed sounded like a breezy laugh. She needed Brendon to understand she wasn’t upset with him. “I’m not mad. Promise.”
Two minutes ago she’d been so achingly certain that this was right, and now? Now she wasn’t so sure she was making a smart decision.
She’d always had a tendency to leap before she looked. To speak before she thought. What made this any different?
What she’d told him was true. She wanted him, wanted to be with him, but it terrified her how fast she’d fallen for him in such a short period of time. How fast she’d deviated from her plan, the one that up until two weeks ago might’ve been her only plan, but a sound one.
She believed Brendon when he said he’d never felt this way before either, but what was stopping him from changing his mind? From feeling differently in two weeks or a month if someone else caught his eye and made him feel sparks, a stronger connection than he had with her? What was stopping her from becoming the girl on the phone he was canceling plans with?
She had no idea.
And that terrified her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Saturday, June 12
After picking up a truly obscene order of sweet and savory piroshkis from the Russian bakery across from the market, Brendon headed straight to Darcy’s, parking out front and dashing inside, rain beginning to fall in a light sprinkle from the heavy clouds hanging overhead.
Annie answered the door, her smile strained and her eyes drawn. “Hey.”
She stepped aside, letting him through into the apartment.
“I know your flight isn’t until this evening, but I thought I’d swing by a little early. See if you were hungry. Figured you’d be head-down with the packing and not thinking about food.” He set the box of pastries on the kitchen counter, a folder full of research he’d done for Annie perched atop it. “Where’s Darce?”
“She’s grabbing lunch with Elle and borrowing her car so she can drive me to the airport later.”
“I could’ve driven you.”
Her brows rose, humor dancing in her eyes. “In your car? No offense, but I don’t think I could fit my carry-on in your backseat, let alone my suitcase.”
She had a point. “Fair.”
Annie rose up on her tiptoes, lips brushing his throat. “Thanks for the offer. And the food.”
Every inch of her—from the wisps of hair that floated free of her bun to the polish on her pinky toes—had the power to bring him to his knees, but her lips against his skin were especially dangerous. Her mouth made him lose his mind, made it impossible for him to think straight.
