Page 17 of Sugar
“I have a second bedroom,” he finally says. “It’s furnished. Should have what you need.”
“Works for me,” I reply, keeping my voice light.
“And you’re going to stay in it,” he adds.
I frown, confused. “Yeah, that would be the idea.”
“And my room is for me,” he continues. “Me only.”
I bark out a laugh, understanding where he’s going with this. “Damn, Kasey. I get it. No funny business. Won’t be a problem.”
“What about your job?” he eventually asks over the rhythm of the rake sliding across the ground. “Don’t you have, like, court? Or something?”
“Uh . . . I’m taking a bit of a break from work. And even if something comes up, I should be able to handle it remotely from my laptop.”
“Fancy,” he says flatly.
I look around the barn again, growing uncomfortable on my feet. I find a beautiful golden mare eyeing me intently. I move closer and hold out my hand for her to sniff. “So, I guess to kick this off, we’ll need to get engaged. Maybe in the next week or so? A whirlwind romance? I don’t want to move too fast, but the clock’s ticking. Plus, it’s not like we don’t already have history. Maybe you could ask me in the gazebo?—”
“I already proposed to you once, sugar. That was enough for me.”
His use ofsugarsears through me, as does the memory of a small diamond ring and a flannel blanket on the beach. It leaves me feeling painfully raw. He comes out of the stall and finds me petting the golden horse as she nuzzles her nose into my ear. After watching for a second, expression curious, he turns to unlatch the door of the next stall and disappears from view again. “Okay.” I nod. “No public proposal, not a big deal. I’ll just start wearing a ring around town when we’re ready. People will . . . figure it out.”
“Works for me,” he says, voice even, betraying no emotion.
“What about the wedding?”
“What about it?” The rhythm of the rake sounds through the barn again.
“We should probably host it here on the ranch. It’s what people would expect?—”
“No,” he interrupts. “We can go to the courthouse.”
I sigh. “That’s not enough. Anyone who might suspect this is all a sham will find it highly convenient if we marry in a courthouse. It can’t look like an item we’re checking off a list. We need to make an event out of it, show people it’s a cause for celebration.”
“Well, we’re not getting married here. Find someplace else.”
“No one will believe you’d want to get married in the church, Kasey.”
The stall door bursts open. He storms out, rake in hand, looking surprisingly murderous. For a moment I catch a glimpse of a seventeen-year-old Kasey who’s just found me skinny dipping in some rich kid’s pool in the middle of a house party. “You know what this ranch means to me, Ava,” he says, eyes wild. “It’s theonlyreason I’m agreeing to any of this. But I draw the line at inviting a bunch of strangers here to sit and watch me makeyoumy fake bride.” His voice goes deathly quiet. “Especially not after everything you’ve already fucking put me through.”
His eyes drop down the length of my body, like he’s cataloguing the myriad of changes that serve as proof of my betrayal. Like he just might demand I reconcile all the new details he finds against the ones he knew so well before. And for the first time since marching into his bar with this harebrained scheme and a quiet, desperate need to see him, I realize how scared I am.
Scared of what he might find beneath the surface of my armor.
Scared of what I might find beneath his if I look hard enough.
I always knew coming home would lead to this: me, terrified, with an open, bleeding heart; and Kasey, wearing that guarded mask of indifference to protect himself. It’s why I tried like hell to stay away, why it took me so long to come back. I knew when I left all those years ago I’d be walking away from him for good, that he’d never forgive me for breaking his heart. I knew if I everdidsee him again, he’d keep me at an impossible distance, and I’d never have the emotional access to him like I once did. I knew I’d be losing him forever, and I still chose it.
I thought I was prepared to face it, but I don’t think I am.
“Okay,” I relent, taking a step back from him. The heel of my shoe clacks against the wooden floorboard, and for the third time today, his gaze drops to my feet.
He takes a deep breath in, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay.”
“We won’t do it here,” I continue, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Of peace between us. “I’m sure Pastor Brown would love to officiate for us in the church when we’re ready.”
“Right.”
