All she would have to do is let down her guard.
But she’d learned her lesson about that the hard way. It wasn’t safe to let down her guard, not even with a good man like Robert. In fact, good men were probably the most dangerous men of all. It would hurt even more when he decided she wasn’t good enough, and hewoulddecide she wasn’t good enough. Everyone did, sooner or later.
“I’m just tired after the late night last night, and the early meeting this morning,” she said, faking a yawn as she turned to him, casually shrugging off his hand in the process. “Maybe we can finish the rest of the tour tomorrow, after you and your brothers are done for the day?”
“Sure thing.” Robert studied her expression, as if he suspected there was something more than tiredness to blame for her bailing on the tour, but Marisol kept her expression neutral, refusing to let her pain show. She’d gotten good at that the past couple of years, so good she was surprised Robert had sensed anything was wrong in the first place.
She was even more surprised when he added in a soft voice, “I know what we agreed on last night, but keeping things professional doesn’t mean we can’t be close friends.”
Marisol tried to laugh, but her throat was too tight. “We’re close. I love spending time with you.”
“I love spending time with you, too, but we’re not close. Close friends tell each other the truth,” he said, still in that kind voice that made it hard to get angry, no matter how much she wanted to.
Anger was easy. Anger kept the more dangerous emotions tightly under lock and key.
“And close friends know things about each other,” he continued. “Until today, I hardly knew one thing about your past. I still don’t know much, except that you have brothers, and that the younger ones took a hell of a long time to learn to wipe their own asses.”
“There isn’t much to know,” Marisol said, with a stiff smile in recognition of his joke. “I work to live, and live to work. The rest isn’t pertinent. Or terribly interesting, to be honest.”
“I don’t know,” he said, still watching her too closely, obviously reading more into her discomfort than she would like. “You said it was hard to be your parents’ only daughter. That sounds interesting. Sounds pretty rough, too.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes, her tolerance for this conversation quickly reaching its limit. “Yeah, well life is rough, Robert. I’m not going to cry about it. Things are hard all around.”
“They don’t have to be.” He met her scowl with one of his earnest looks. “If you let people in, you have friends to help you through the hard times. And to celebrate the good ones, too.”
She sighed. “I get that you’re trying to be nice, okay, but I really—”
“Who do you celebrate with?” he interrupted, a stubborn note in his voice that made it clear he didn’t intend to let this go. “Who do you call when you have good news to share?”
“My roommates, Kayla down the hall, my friends from yoga class,” she snapped, anger sending a flush across her skin. “There’s always someone around to help celebrate. It’s when you screw up that you find yourself alone and shit out of luck.”
“Everyone screws up.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and rubbed up and down, like he was trying to banish a chill. “The people who really care won’t give up on you because you make a few mistakes.”
“Is that right?” Marisol tensed against his touch, hating that some part of her found it so comforting.
“It is,” he said, giving her a light squeeze. “I promise.”
“Then let’s go back and talk to your mother about your music career,” Marisol said in a syrupy tone that felt ugly in her mouth. “Let’s tell her all about your gigs and how well the meeting went this morning and celebrate over fudgsicles. If she really cares about you, it will all be okay, right?”
Robert’s jaw tightened. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Of course it is,” Marisol said, her smile curdling. “It’s always more complicated, and people are uglier than you give them credit for.”
She tried to pull away, but his fingers curled into her arms, holding her prisoner.
“I’m sorry if that’s been your experience, I truly am,” he said, leaning down until she could feel his breath on her lips and awareness set her steady stream of anger to stuttering.
God, why did he have to smell so good? Why did he have to look at her like she was drowning, and all he wanted to do was save her? She didn’t need to be saved. She didn’twantto be saved. She was treading water just fine, and sooner or later, she’d be strong enough—hard enough, inside and out—not to need anyone but herself. The day was coming, she could feel it every morning when she woke up alone in the world and the shell around her heart was just a hair thicker.
“But I think you’re wrong,” Robert continued, his touch gentling on her arms. “And I’ll prove it if you’ll let me. Let me really be your friend, Marisol. I’m a good friend, and I know we’d get along even better if you’d let the walls down once in a while.”
She lifted her eyes to the sky, where the reds and oranges of sunset had faded to the moody blues and pinks of twilight. She wanted to tell him she was done with this conversation, but her throat was so tight she couldn’t get out the words. She was still angry, but she was also scared, touched and…tempted. Tempted to reach out, take the hand he offered, and see if she might have finally found someone who wouldn’t kick her when she was down.
She leaned into him, not sure what she was going to say, or do, only knowing that she felt drawn to his kindness, his strength, and his steady, sure belief in the good in the world.
But thankfully, the moment she was about to fall into his arms, the sound of an engine humming up the road broke the silence.
“Bubba!” A female voice called. “I thought I saw you up here!”