Page 71 of Our Long Days
“He’ll break my heart,” I finish, deflating with a sigh. “It’s nothing serious—or I don’t think it is. I’m a hopeless romantic, and the more time I spend with him, the more I fall for him. I respect his desire to keep things quiet for now, but how long do I wait? What do we even label this?”
“You ask him. Lay it out.” She makes it sound so easy.
“The man is a vault. He shares what he wants when he wants, and if he feels an ounce of pressure, he closes up. I’m not saying I’m entitled to know all his deepest, darkest secrets, but I don’t want to waste my time. The fact he’s my boss complicates it further.”
She snorts. “Been there.” Then, she gives it to me straight. “Timeframes. You both need them. A partner who gives you thespace while sticking close by is…” She trails off, voice uncharacteristically soft. “Booth is that for me, despite his over-the-top personality. Don’t push him outside of his comfort zone—yet. He needs to know you’re not going to wait around on the sidelines while he works through whatever it is. Take him at face value and continue being your over-sharing, wonderful self. Maybe that’ll encourage him to open up.”
“Have you ever considered running for president?”
“Never. Who would keep Booth in check?”
“This is true.”
We’re silent.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I’m surprised to see the woman gazing back at me. She’s the same and not. She seems taller, shoulders less sloped, and above all else, there’s a lightness to her.
“Hey, Florence?” Aly says.
“Yeah?”
“Dex is a great guy, but don’t let him be the one to hang the moon. You do it together.”
Once we say goodbye, I’m left feeling equal parts reassured and jittery.
With one leg propped up against the bumper of his truck, Moore Lumber cap on backward, Dex smiles at me as I emerge from the restroom. Aly’s advice floats away. His fingers stroke lazy patterns on my thigh as he drives one handed, stealing glances whenever his attention isn’t on the road.
It’s only when we stand between our two cabins that her words come barreling toward me. I didn’t even know he had the list until he pulls it out of his pocket, pen at the ready.
“Check them off,” he instructs.
I do.
When item number three and four have wonky ticks next to them, reality hits me. Dex has already hung the moon. The stars. The universe.
It’s up to me to ensure they don’t come crashing down.
The secondwe unloaded the camping equipment from the truck, Dex’s work cell rang. A delivery of lumber scheduled for Monday is delayed because of a bad case of wood rot, putting the summer camp project two weeks behind schedule unless the team can source an alternative.
Dex drove up to the Canadian border that evening to see what he could do and, apart from a few texts, we’ve hardly spoken. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be out of town, and the cell service is spotty at his motel. It’s Sunday, so I’m off the clock, and without him here to keep me company, I’m restless.
I’ve organized my closet twice, talked myself out of cutting my bangs, read three novellas, and still, my brain won’t switch off. I’m bored.
It doesn’t help I’m alone, in the middle of nowhere, without the assurance of Dex next door. It’s creepy. That’s why my two favorite guys snuggle up in the corner of my room while I browse my Kindle library for something new.
“Fellas, what are we thinking? Paranormal or small town romance?”
Munch. Munch. Munch.
Probably chewing a sock.
“Vampire hanky-panky it is,” I cheerfully reply then narrow my eyes at the two goats. “You cannot tell your dad about this slumber party.”
To my horror, my phone lights up with an incoming video call. My eyes dart around the room, searching for a hidden camera. Why else would Dex be calling me?
What on Earth does he want to talk about? The weather. The stock market. The meaning of life. I ignore it, partly to get a rise out of him and partly because this is unchartered territory. We aren’t dating. Are we?
While I spiral, his call drops, and then my phone vibrates with a text.
