2. Chapter Two

"It's nice."

"Babe, it's not even close to nice."

"Okay, yeah, it's... not nice. But at least it's not my parents' house?"

I laugh at that as Brenna turns around and grins at me, her dark curls settling to neatly frame her face. "Yeah, I mean, that's true, and you know, there's only one bed. Soooo..."

She swats at me playfully, and I grab her wrist, pulling her closer as I bring it to my lips. I trail a slow path of kisses to her elbow and then set her arm up around the back of my neck.

Her grin has faded, and her eyes look serious now—like she knows what's going on in my head, even if I don't really know myself. Her fingers reach up to trace along my jaw, and she stretches up for a short kiss before pulling back.

"Something's been bothering you since dinner," she says quietly.

Ah right, that. I did know about that. Although I thought I'd hidden it pretty darn well. But she also knows me pretty darn well.

And this... is something I absolutely cannot tell her about.

"The burger was too greasy, you know? And I think maybe my allergies are acting up, being back here in the country." Wow, the terrible lies come much too easily. But she also knows I'm full of shit.

"Josh."

"Sorry, babe. I'm just tired."

Her hands come to rest on my chest as the guilt settles low in my belly, gnawing at me. She knows I'm still lying, I can see it in her eyes. And she's poised to tell me just that, but then she blinks, and her expression is replaced with concern.

"We should get some sleep, then," she says, almost gently. Almost like she knows.

God, I don't deserve her. She's too good to me. Too good for me.

She waits until I nod, and then she grabs a few things from her luggage bag and disappears into the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. And I slump down into the armchair in the corner of the small motel room, trying—and failing miserably—to forget that moment at the diner.

He'd walked right by, like he hadn't even seen me. Stopped at the table behind me and served some unhappy lady a peach cobbler, then left. It had only been a moment. But I'm one hundred percent certain it was him.

Cooper Reede Jackson.

My best friend from forever ago. Some whole lifetime ago, when things had been different.

He's changed. A lot. But I'd have recognized him anywhere. Even in that rinky-dink little diner out here in this tiny little town in Nowheresville, Nebraska, with his faded old baseball cap pulled down low and his curly hair sticking out all around the edges.

Has anyone ever told him that cap looks like it's seen much, much better days? And has anyone ever told him how ridiculously sexy his days-old stubble is? My stomach clenches as I push away the unwelcome thought. It's a thought I'm not allowed to have. A thought I shouldn't be having.

I hear Brenna opening the bathroom door, and I lift my eyes to see her walking out, running her fingers through her wet hair. She smiles at me but then heads to her luggage bag sitting on the bed and rifles through it for a moment before making her way back to the bathroom.

That guilt I'd felt earlier—that guilt I feel every time I lie to her about anything at all, but especially about this—it rams me straight in the chest then, knocking the air out of me. I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees and bury my head in my hands.

Dammit.

Why here? And why now, of all times? And how the hell am I going to get through the next two weeks here, wondering if I might run into him at any time? White Hills is a tiny town. Really.

But the question that's bugging me more, somehow, is why the hell didn't he recognize me? And where did he disappear to when he left?

"Bathroom's all yours, Mr. Pensive."

Brenna's voice cuts into my thoughts, and I look up at her as I force a smile. She's back in the main room now, pulling down the comforter and sheet on the bed, but she gives me another small smile when our eyes meet.

I push myself to stand. "Thanks, babe. I won't be long."

She nods, but stupid me knows what she's feeling just as well as she knows what I'm feeling, and I can see in her eyes just how much my lie is hurting her.

I absolutely can't tell her. It's just not something that can happen. After all, how the hell do I tell my fiancée—whom I'm about to marry in less than a month—that I'm really... not at all physically attracted to women? How do I tell her that I've spent my entire adult life, including the time I've spent with her, living a lie? That I absolutely do love her, but that it's not that kind of love? And that just about two hours ago, I saw the only person I've ever connected with on that deeper level, for one fleeting moment and in the most unlikely of places? And that now I can't get him out of my head?

How the hell do I tell her all that?

I should have told her five years ago, when she first asked me out during the fall of our third year at University of Nebraska. And I should have told her four months ago, when she asked me to marry her. I should have. But I'm a coward of the worst sort. A super-closeted coward. And it's just not happening.

But maybe I can still give her something a little more than my hugely blatant lie from earlier. She deserves that. And so much more. God, I'm the worst sort of horrible.

I quickly cross the room toward her and gather her up in my arms, and there's that immediate sense of things being just a little better as she rests her head on my chest. I do love her. And she's so easy to love. It's just... not the same way I know she loves me.

"Sorry, Bren. It's just that I haven't been back out this way in a long time, not since my family moved to Omaha, and I know this isn't quite Garrington, but it's close enough. And I'm just sorta..."

". . . feeling a lot of things?"

God, if only she knew. More gnawing guilt in my belly.

I nod.

She smooths her hands down my chest and then wraps her arms around my waist. She really is too good to me. I bury my head in her hair, still damp from her shower, and breathe in her fresh scent.

"Lemme just take a quick shower," I say, reaching up to touch her cheek. She tilts her head back to look at me, and her eyes are filled with understanding and kindness. She stretches up to kiss me, the lightest of touches, and her hands slide up my back, pressing us together.

"Don't be long."

"I won't."

When she pulls back to look up at me again, her smile is a little brighter, like some weight has been lifted off her shoulders. I wish I could say the same for myself.