Page 79 of The Problem with Perfect

The weekend comes and goes, and I don’t hear from Rusty.

I tell myself it’s because he’s busy with work, because Boyd is in town and they have those investor meetings, but there’s a niggling sensation I can’t kick telling me he’s gearing up to be done with this—with me. I feel like he, too, knows there’s no reason for us to continue to pretend date, especially with this new revelation from Emily about the fact that Connor’s an even bigger scumbag than I originally believed. Now, I can confidently stride around town not caring in the slightest what he thinks about me, but what I don’t want is to stride around town without Rusty.

I don’t know when this connection to him began or if it’s always been there, but I’m starting to wish things were more than just pretend. I wish the way he looks at me and the way he holds my hand in public and the way we are together were real.

Part of me hopes maybe he might feel the same, hopes all those little things he does are actually just who he is, not some performative version of himself that he’s affecting to help me prove a point to Connor. Thing is, I can’t figure out how to determine that without revealing too much of myself to him, without making myself look like a fool who was just reading too much into things.

Clearly, I’ve done that before, and I’m not sure my heart can handle doing it again.

I take my practice exam. I work shifts at both Dock 7 and The Mitch. I get coffee with Stace again. We don’t talk about Connor.

Then, on Monday, when I still haven’t heard from Rusty, I decide to swing by the construction site to see him. He did promise me a tour, after all, and maybe the weird vibe I’m getting from him having not talked to me since Boyd arrived is all just in my own head.

When I pull in next to his Blazer and hop out, I don’t see him immediately, so I walk over to the massive double doors at the entrance that are at least 10 feet tall, pulling one of them open just a little bit and slipping inside. The place looks incredible, and I can only imagine how cool it will be once they officially open. I love the vintage wooden walls and concrete floor, the large windows allowing bright light to spill in.

I’m so proud of all Rusty has accomplished. I know he attributes a lot of the success to Jackson and Boyd, but I know most of the sweat equity of this business is all Rusty. He has spent tireless hours building a dream out of disaster.

I can hear voices in the distance, and I follow them, rounding a corner to what is likely going to be the kitchen, smiling when I spot Rusty and Nick talking with a few other construction workers. When Rusty sees me, he gives me a tight smile, excusing himself and heading my way.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“You said to swing by any time I wanted a tour.”

I can tell from his expression that today is not the right time.

“I’m a little busy,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Oh, I just…” I pause, trying to shrug off the feeling of rejection that’s trying to take over. “Okay. Another time, then. Are you going to come by The Mitch tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I have a lot on my plate right now.”

I lick my lips. He always comes in on Monday nights. Even before we started fake dating, that was his routine.

“Alright, well…I talked to Celine about rescheduling me so I’m not working Tuesdays so I can do family dinners. Abby asked me about it the other day and—”

“What are you doing, Bellamy?”

I take a half-step backward. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, his hands on his hips, and looks over his shoulder, toward where the other men are coming out of the kitchen.

“I think it’s time we have a talk,” he finally says. “Can you come by after you’re done at The Mitch?”

My heart sinks. My soul suddenly feels shrouded in dread.

“You’re ending things.”

Rusty palms his beard, scrubbing his face in that way men do when they’re not sure what else to say.

“Just come over tonight. Okay?”

His eyes can barely meet mine before he turns and heads back to the group in the corner surrounding a folding table with paper spread out on it. I only allow myself to stand there staring after him for a few seconds before I accept that he’s not going to turn around and look back at me.

When I leave, I don’t look back either.

chaptertwenty-two

Rusty

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