I justknowit.
I’d wait a thousand years for just one kiss from her, so if she needs time, or if we have to take things slow, I’ll do whatever it takes to have what’s mine.
The security business I run is on autopilot anyway, but I spend some time shooting emails and phoning the people who do most of the heavy lifting.
All of them tell me it’s about time I took a break, and none of them are wiser about my plan to leave town for good.
I can run my business from anywhere, so there’s no real point in making any noise about a new life for myself, especially when I’m missing the only thing needed to complete it.
May.
Once I know where I stand with her, I can finalize my big ‘move’ and then tell both May and Steve the real surprise part of my visit.
CHAPTERTHREE
May
I’ve spent hours alone in my room, trying to find an outfit that doesn’t make me look so shortandwide at the same time, but it’s a losing battle.
I’ve focused on my face and hair, giving up on the clothes.
Stuff I never usually worry about.
But for Brandon…?
If he’s coming to town, I need to look my best. I need him to see I’m not just some kid fresh outta college.
I’m an adult now, ready for all things adult.
The thought makes me shiver inside again.
The memory of his body against mine on graduation day. The heady, woodsy scent of his cologne, the creak of his weathered leather jacket, and fresh white tee shirt underneath.
And oh my god, those muscles! The guy’s built like a linebacker.
“Honey?” My dad chimes, gently rapping on my door, making me jump but letting himself in once I call out to him that I’m decent.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he starts, but scanning my room, he creases the edge of his mouth with literally every piece of clothing I have laid out.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asks. “Having a fashion parade?”
I crease my brow, screw up my nose and poke my tongue out at my dad.
“I’m just going through my clothes,” I eventually sigh, noticing his look shifting to a concerned one as he takes my hand and sits me down on the end of the bed.
“Honey, you’re not doing all this because Brandon’s coming, are ya?” he asks me.
His tone is very diplomatic and sympathetic, like any good parent who knows their own child.
“What’s wrong with looking nice?” I reply hotly, feeling my face flush deeper than my badly applied blush.
“Nothing’swrongwith it,” Dad replies instantly, crimping a smile, thinking before he speaks, choosing his words carefully.
“I just don’t want you to…,” he starts to say, but he’s already struck a raw nerve because I know what he’s trying to say.
“You don’t want me to make an effort to look nice because there’s no way I can. Is that what you mean?” I snap at him.
Dad looks hurt by my words, shaking his head as he pats my hand.