“What if I hate it?” I ask. “What if I become one of those cliché actors? The ones who drop out of school and wait tables to pay their rent and never get callbacks?”
“Then you come back here.”
“And do what?” Visions of myself opening a community theater and staging productions of Oklahoma! and Shakespeare in Love come to mind.
“Work the ranch with me,” he says.
I wrinkle my nose. Wyatt lives for working the ranch. It’s all he’s ever done and all he ever wants to do. One of these days, he’s going to take over his daddy’s land and never look back. And he should. He’s damn good at it. He’s up before the sun every day doing chores without so much as a complaint, and when he’s not cutting hay or checking cattle, he’s sharpening machinery and running into town for parts—almost always with me in tow.
I’ve loved being his little sidekick, but I’m no Renata Buchanan.
“You’ve got jokes,” I say.
“Then get a job at your daddy’s bank.”
“Double no.” I would never—and could never—work for my father, and for a myriad of reasons.
“Point is, you’ve got options. It’s not everything or nothing. It’s not success or failure.” He slides one hand behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. A long, slow breath sends a rise to his chest, and when he lets it go, he turns back to me. “But I mean it. If you don’t like it there, if it’s not what you thought it would be, if you change your mind about whatever it is you want in this life, come home and I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll pick back up where we left off.”
I tip-toe my fingertips along the dip of his right tricep. “I would never expect you to wait for me.”
“Where else am I going to go?”
“No. I mean … I don’t expect you to wait for me romantically. If you meet someone else, I’ll under—”
He silences me with a kiss. A brief and punishing kiss, but a kiss nevertheless. “There’ll never be someone else. Only you.”
“You don’t have to say that.” I slink a shoulder to my ear. “You’re trying to make me feel better, but I just want to have a real conversation.”
“All of our conversations are real.”
“You know what I mean …”
Wyatt squints in the dark. He’s never been one to bullshit or sugarcoat. He doesn’t mince words. He’s a straight shooter and only speaks when he has something he feels is worth the time and energy it takes to form the words that leave his perfect lips. But while I know all of this, I can’t help but assume a part of him is trying to make a part of me a little less scared about leaving.
“We don’t have to idealize this,” I say. “And we don’t have to make promises we can’t keep.”
“I’ve never broken a promise to you in my life.”
“Exactly. So why risk ruining your winning streak?”
Wyatt rolls his eyes.
“Will you come visit me in New York?” I ask. I’ve yet to bring this up this until now because I know how he feels about big cities. He thinks he’ll get claustrophobic with all the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds and all the dead-eyed people crammed into underground trains. He likes the peace and quiet, the wide-open spaces. He needs to be able to see the stars at night and to breathe clean mountain air. Also, he’s never been on a plane in his life. His parents are so busy with the ranch that they don’t get around to traveling, and it’s always a chore to find someone to cover work duties anyway.
“If you want me to,” he says without hesitation.
I laugh at the mental image of my strapping Wyoming cowboy navigating airports and gray city blocks.
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” I say. “I plan on coming home as much as I can. Will you write me letters?”
“Thought you said you couldn’t read my handwriting?”
“Ever heard of email?” I ask. “I’d even settle for a text. Nothing elaborate. Just let me know whenever you’re thinking about me …”
He sniffs. “I’d be blowing up your phone then.”
“I won’t mind.”
Wyatt threads his callused hands through mine, pushing a hard breath through his nostrils.
“It’s going to be hard, Blaire,” he says. “Talking to you. Texting you. But not being able to see you any time I want.”
“We can FaceTime.”
His eyes catch mine. “I mean in person.”
The pit of my stomach grows heavy and a hot threat of bile rises up the back of my throat. Is this the precursor to a breakup speech? Is he saying he’s a man and he’s going to have needs while I’m gone? It doesn’t seem like Wyatt’s style, but for the past few months, I keep getting this feeling like I’m on a runaway train headed for a crash collision. Things have been too good these last few years, and if there’s anything I’ve learned in my short little life, it’s that good things rarely ever last. It’s a truth my father has ingrained in me from a young age, shortly after the untimely death of his one true love … my sweet mother.