13. June

13

JUNE

"Oh my god," Missy huffed. "Just admit it."

I glared at her across my kitchen table. "There's nothing to admit."

"Bullshit."

We stared at each other for a ridiculous amount of time before I gave up and shifted my gaze to the sliding glass doors leading out to my balcony. My wooden chair felt like stone beneath me, and despite the light spilling in through the windows, it felt too dark for the middle of the day.

In truth, since returning home after the cruise, nothing in my life had felt right. Even my time at the wildlife rescue couldn't fill the emptiness.

"See?" Missy said, pointing her manicured finger at me. "You're too stubborn to lose a staring contest when you know you're right."

I rolled my eyes. "Women in their thirties do not have staring contests with other women."

"You slept with him, June."

A fact I now regretted sharing with her. "It was one night. Can't I have just one freaking one-night stand?"

"Please, we both know you're not that kind of woman."

"Maybe I am. People change."

"Not like this." She leaned back in her chair and tapped her French tips on the polished wood. "He was what, the fourth guy you've ever slept with?"

"Now you're tracking my body count?" When she just stared at me, I shook my head. "Let it go, Missy."

"Like you let him go?"

I winced. "Low blow."

A sigh sifted through her pink lips. "Bug, I love you to death, you know that, but you two had crazy chemistry. Everyone who saw you knew it."

"It wasn't real." I'd used this line with her before, and I still couldn't tell who I was trying to convince.

Thoughts of Sutton haunted me every day. His memory invaded my dreams, leaving me a sweaty, miserable mess every time I woke up. And with just one impulsive internet search for his bike shop, I found enough candid photos of him to make my heart hurt.

"Maybe it didn't start out that way," Missy argued. "But I don't believe for a second that you would have slept with him if you didn't feel something real."

I thought back to that night for the thousandth time and closed my eyes. I wasn't ready to feel everything he made me feel that night. Somehow, he found the tiny crack he'd etched in my armor during our stupid little game and broke it wide open, leaving me feeling more vulnerable than I had in a long time.

Maybe ever.

It was equal parts perfect and terrifying, but when I woke up in his arms, the fear took over. Fear of what I could feel for him. Of what it would do to me if he didn't feel the same way. It ate away at my confidence, and adding fuel to the fire of my doubts was the fact that we'd had unprotected sex.

Birth control might be effective, but it wasn't like it came with a one-hundred-percent guarantee. What I did was stupid—beyond reckless—and I knew better. I just couldn't help myself when it came to Sutton.

Did I regret sneaking out? Yeah. I felt like a monster even while I was doing it, but I was overwhelmed and desperately needed to clear my mind. Except, when I saw him hours later, his haunted blue eyes searching the crowd as he came down the gangway, I still couldn't bring myself to go to him, and I hated myself even more.

That was when I knew for sure that I was sabotaging myself. It was easier to sink back into the safety of my quiet life than it was to risk my heart and my future by starting something real with Sutton. Only now I was more miserable than ever.

Slumping back in my seat, I folded my arms over my chest. "You win. I screwed up. Is that what you want to hear?"

A knowing smile smoothed some of the judgment from Missy's expression. "That's step one."

"And what's step two?"

"Getting your ass in your car and driving to Colorado."

I barked out a laugh, but from the look on her face, she was serious. "I don't know where he lives."

"Please," she scoffed. "You have the internet, and he builds custom motorcycles for a living. Tell me you haven't already found him, and I'll show you a liar."

Sometimes it felt like she knew me a little too well.

Of course I'd looked him up. I'd imagined showing up at his shop almost every night since, but I always managed to talk myself out of it.

"What if I romanticized this whole thing in my head? What if it wasn't real for him?"

"What if it was?"

"What if he doesn't want to see me?"

She lifted her chin. "What if he does?"

"Shouldn't I at least call first? Showing up feels..."

"Turn the tables, Bug. What would you want him to do?"

Assuming he felt anything close to what I was feeling? "Show up in person."

"How's your work schedule?" she asked, her gaze panning to my desk.

"Nothing pressing," I admitted.

I'd spent the last few weeks trying to lose myself in my work by building and reviewing emergency management plans for every scenario I could dream up. When that wasn't enough to distract me, I would go for a run. And when that still wasn't enough to silence my memories of Sutton, I resorted to curling up on my couch, turning on a heart wrenching romance movie, and crying until I was too tired to keep my swollen eyes open.

"Then why are you still here?" Missy asked, point blank.

I spent the rest of the day wrestling with that question, and by sunset, I'd called my mom, emailed Missy my planned route from Idaho Falls to Stonemore Heights, and packed up my little SUV.

I normally loved road trips, but this time around, every mile dragged. Every delay heightened my dread of what I would find when I finally got there. It probably didn't help that I hit the road at four in the morning because I couldn't make myself wait another minute. Or that I drove straight through, stopping only to use the restroom and get fuel.

My nerves were so raw when I finally pulled up to the curb outside his shop that it took me a solid five minutes just to peel my fingers away from the steering wheel.

Hope and dread circled each other like a pair of weary fighters as I opened the door and stepped out. My legs were unsteady, my hips stiff, and for all the time I'd had to imagine how this moment would go, I couldn't think of a single opening line that didn't sound lame.

I moved around to the sidewalk, taking a second to pull in a deep breath and shake out my body as I stared at the gray brick building that housed Shadow & Steel Customs. Sutton's logo, which featured the company name in Old English lettering laid over a polished chain gear that was half-hidden in shadow, was painted on the wall above the double glass doors.

From the way he'd talked about it during the cruise, I'd been expecting a single-man shop tucked away in some ramshackle garage. His website was a real eye-opener. Seeing it in person was even more impressive, which only amplified the insecurities chipping away at my resolve.

Sutton had a good life in Stonemore Heights. He was handsome, charming, respectful, and successful. The kind of guy who could have his pick of beautiful women.

I looked at my SUV and debated climbing back in and slinking back to Idaho without him ever knowing I'd made the trip. It was tempting. The cautious side of me was all for running away before I got my fool heart broken.

But I hadn't come this far to turn around and leave without at least seeing him.

A low bark pulled my attention to a stocky blue heeler standing at the corner of the building. We were locked in a staring standoff for a minute, until I knelt on the sidewalk and made kissy sounds, and he came running with the nub of his tail flicking back and forth.

"Hey, buddy," I cooed. He barreled into me with a playful pounce, knocking me on my butt.

He was a sweet little monster, and a heck of a lot friendlier than most heelers I'd met, considering I was a total stranger. He tried to sit in my lap, spun around, bounced over me, circled around me to lick my face a few times, and all I could do through it all was laugh.

When I finally managed to get my knees under me, he was right there, nudging me to scratch him behind the ears. His grumbled appreciation was one of the best sounds I'd heard in ages.

"Finley!"

Speaking of sounds.

Sutton stepped into view, and I forgot how to breathe. He froze, his gaze heavy and unreadable while sweet Finley wiggled in front of me.

Damn, he looked good. His black, short sleeve work shirt showcased the tattoos running down his forearms, and his worn jeans hung just right on his hips.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to my feet. I'd mentally prepared myself for a lot of things on the long drive down, but one thing I didn't expect was how much it would hurt to see that closed off expression on his face when I finally did see him again.