Page 63 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

I love you.

I almost say the words aloud, but manage to stop them at the last second. She’s not ready to hear them, yet. I’m smart enough to realize that. There are still too many questions looming between us, specifically regarding our future.

But I won’t be holding them back for much longer.

Soon, I’ll shout them for the whole world to hear.

ChapterThirty-Three

Willow

My little mini-staycation at Gavin’s ended this morning when Chuck called, saying the morning barista got the flu and couldn’t come in. Fridays can be a bit hectic, so I had no choice but to come in and cover for her.

And now that I’m here, away from the spell Gavin weaved around me the last few days?

I’m kind of freaking out.

I was kidding myself when I decided I could be with him, enjoy him while he’s here, and not get too attached. Oh, I’m attached, all right.

And when he leaves, it’s going to fuckinghurt.

But maybe not. Could we make it work long-distance? Will Gavin even go for that? Or is this some short-term fling he fully expects to end when he leaves town?

No. He told me he always wanted to be with me. That despite dating all those women through the years, I was the only one he ever truly wanted. And I believe him.

God help me, I do.

Yes, he’d be up for trying, but could I really handle it? If he gets this television role he auditioned for, he’d have to be close to wherever they film for the better part of each year. We could visit each other, sure, but the whole situation would just behard.

And eventually, the difficulty would get the better of us, wouldn’t it? We’d grow apart, and eventually one or both of us would give up trying.

I can see it all unfolding before my very eyes, and I can’t decide which is worse––trying and failing, or simply not trying at all.

I’m still obsessing over my choices when Trace walks into Moonstone Mystic, looking even grumpier than usual. His frown is deep, and his eyes are unfocused, like he’s lost in thought.

“What’s with you?” I ask as he approaches the counter.

Turning, I grab a fresh pot of coffee to pour him a cup of his usual, keeping my gaze on his face the entire time. He shakes his head slightly, his eyes focusing on the paper cup I hold out in his direction.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, taking a sip before meeting my curious gaze. Blowing out a breath, he says, “I just saw a couple of suits walking into town hall. I asked around, and no one knows who they are or what they’re doing here.”

“So?” I ask, cocking my head.

He mumbles something that sounds like, “The last time that happened, the whole town went crazy.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“It’s probably nothing,” he says, lifting his cup in my direction. “Thanks.”

When he digs into his pocket for his wallet, I hold up a palm. “It’s on the house.”

“Thanks,” he repeats, then says, “If you hear anything, let me know.”

“I still don’t know what has you so worried,” I say. “Maybe if you explain why seeing people in business suits entering a place of business has you so upset, I can help.”

Trace rolls his eyes at my droll tone, then sighs. “We can talk about it later. I have to get to the inn. I have several guests scheduled to check in for the weekend soon. See you later.”

“Okay, bye,” I call out, but he’s already stalking for the door.

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