Hearts Like Ours | Red View Romance #1

🍎 Fifteen

Sitting at the table with Layla and trying to ignore her was like asking Dawson to ignore the end of the world.

He wasn't sure how he managed to get through the evening, nor was he surprised that sleep fought against him that night. He laid awake, knowing she was just down the hall, that he could muster up the courage to knock on her door and...

And do what, exactly? Lie and say she was wrong about her assumptions, or admit that she was right? Confess that their mirrored problems weren't the only reason he was badgering her? Tell her that he was so damn attracted to her and he had some senseless hope that if he could convince her to leave Colin, maybe something might happen between them?

What was the point? Layla had made it clear that she had a life she was eager to go back to, even if it was for reasons Dawson couldn't understand. Stability, he guessed. Stability and the ironic safety of unhappiness. If you never let yourself have any, you can't be upset when it gets taken away.

Okay, so he could understand it, but he wished she didn't. He wanted more for her, and that was what he didn't get.

Thanks to all his tossing and turning, he overslept the next morning. In his mad dash to shower, get dressed, and grab something to eat, his thoughts finally were too occupied to think about the redhead. 

But the reprieve didn't last long. Through picking apples and checking up on the trees that were just about ready to bloom for the autumn, he had to fight with his mind to stay focused. It was a battle he lost pretty damn fast.

The simple fact was, Layla'd been practically begging him to leave her alone since the first day she got to the orchard. I should smarten up and listen to her, he told himself. Let her know that what she said burned him, that she figured it out, and leave it be. She'd go back to New York and he'd forget about all these feelings. He'd look back and laugh at himself, ask what was so special about her that had him upside down for two weeks.

But when work was done and he was heading back up to the house to wash up for supper, he saw her standing by the open trunk of her car in the golden hour and knew that was a lie. Her fiery hair was wilder than usual, and the dress she had on was like a satin glove, a muted green that he knew would make her eyes look like crystals even before he got close enough to see it for himself.

And he did, he did get close enough, even as he told himself to turn the other way and head up to the porch, inside where he would be far enough away from her to breathe. His feet carried him right to her, and as she shut the trunk, her eyes met his.

She said nothing, eyebrows raising in what was more of a challenge than a greeting. The breeze carried over her scent, a deep, musky perfume that made him want to bury his face against her neck.

"Okay," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "You were right."

"Is that all you came to tell me?" Her arms crossed, weight shifting to one side in a way that made her hip jut out, drawing his attention back to her body. This was a bad time to have this conversation, with her dressed like this. As if he could focus on anything other than how badly he wanted to reach out and touch her and feel her skin against his. "Based on how you acted, I was able to figure that out for myself, believe it or not."

He couldn't help the corners of his mouth from lifting. "You were right, and... I'm sorry."

She raised one shoulder, skin glistening in the light of the sunset. "It's okay." Her smile was soft as she came around to the rear door, leaning against the car to look out at the orchard.

He came beside her, resting against the vehicle and gazing out over his land. But his mind was too occupied to appreciate the swaying blossoms or the rolling hills beyond them. "You're going out?"