Page 12 of Empowereds
12
T he next morning when Charity woke up, she took extra time doing her hair and makeup. Things had been going so well with Enzo. Talking with him was easy, and he made her laugh. She hadn’t even thought to put a sense of humor on her list of wants in a husband, and so it felt like an extra gift, a bonus life had given her. He was perfect.
And if those few moments under the peach tree showed anything, he had feelings for her too. Before long, they’d be a couple.
At breakfast, Enzo sat with Milo and Zia. If Charity’s efforts on her appearance made any impression on him, he gave no indication of it during the day. She spoke in passing to him a couple of times while they worked in the fields, but he never did anything to prolong the conversation. He didn’t seek her out.
While they were out picking crops, Milo and Zia walked to the water station, holding hands. Charity had seen them do this a hundred times without thought. This time, her eyes found Enzo and she couldn’t shake the ache of longing that overtook her. She wanted that casual intimacy with him. She wanted to take his hand and feel the warmth of his fingers around hers.
At lunch and dinner, Enzo sat by Milo and Zia again, with hardly a glance in Charity’s direction. Had she done something wrong yesterday in the orchard? She replayed the scene in her mind—easy enough to do since she’d relived it several times—but she couldn’t see how she might have given him offense.
Was he just trying to take things slowly, or had he changed his mind about her?
Maybe she’d come off as too eager. She’d read enough romance novels to know that women were supposed to play a little hard to get. She could do that.
For the next two days, she was aloof, happily talking with everyone and hardly speaking to him. The group packed up to go to the next farming compound to pick corn, squash, beans, and apples. Charity insisted on riding with Reverend Russell and his wife so her parents wouldn’t stick her in the Jeep with Enzo again. She refused to look needy, or worse, plotting.
Reverend Russell was the only harvester older than her father. Decades ago, he’d become a laborer to dodge the draft placed on nonessential workers. Harvesters were essential, clergymen weren’t, and the reverend objected to the civil war. He’d stayed with their group because he and Charity’s father were friends, or perhaps he just felt like the harvesters needed more saving than city folks.
Unfortunately, no matter how diligently Charity ignored Enzo, he didn’t seem to notice her playing hard to get. She’d spent so much time wishing her future husband would show up, and now that he had, she was a bundle of frustrations and insecurities.
On the fourth day after the peach orchard near-kiss, Enzo stuck so insistently with Milo and Zia, that, according to Charity’s mother, Reverend Russell had a talk with some of the men about being more hospitable and inclusive toward Enzo and not judging him because he came from the city.
On the fifth day, when Enzo still showed little interest in talking with her—and actually seemed to be avoiding her—Charity grew offended. He’d acted as though he liked her, got familiar with her hair, and then for no reason, snubbed her.
While she picked corn, Zia stopped by to help her finish her row. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. “How are things going with Mr. Soon-to-be Right?”
Charity grunted. “They aren’t going anywhere. He seems more interested in being Milo’s friend than mine.”
Zia pulled an ear from a stalk and dropped it into her basket. “He does seem to want to win Milo over. But that’s probably normal. I guess the lone wolf has to make good with the alpha wolves before he can make moves on the she-wolves. It’s the law of nature. Or at least of harvester men.”
Charity yanked a piece of corn too forcefully and the stalk trembled, affronted. “Doesn’t the lone wolf care what the she-wolf thinks about all of this?” Maybe that wasn’t the problem at all. Maybe she wasn’t interesting. “I must’ve been too boring at the last compound. And okay, I talked about myself a lot, but that’s because he kept asking me questions. I thought he wanted to know about me. Now I think he was probably just being polite, and I’ll be single forever.” Charity glanced around. They were still alone, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Whatever reason we were supposed to be together—perhaps I’ve already ruined it.”
“I doubt that,” Zia said. “Maybe the reason why your father…” She didn’t say the words, had the vision but the meaning was there . “Maybe that was so you wouldn’t give up so easily. If I’d given up on Milo for being clueless about women, he’d still be acting like a barbarian most of the time.”
It was true that Milo had become less obnoxious after he started dating Zia. Before that, Charity hated being around him any time he butchered or castrated an animal. He either put on chicken head puppet shows or dared her to eat some disgusting body part.
She nodded. “I should remember to thank you more often for coming.”
“I gave up air-conditioning to marry him.” She mock-sighed. “You shouldn’t remind me about that decision.”
Zia’s parents were harvesters but for most of her childhood, she lived in Des Moines with her grandparents so she could get a city education. She’d only spent summers harvesting with her parents to earn money for the family. Her parents hadn’t been all that happy when she’d met Milo and decided to forgo a city job to be with him.
Charity and Zia finished with the area and moved further down the row. The sun felt too hot on Charity’s shoulders, and insects buzzed about, making a nuisance of themselves.
“Are you still flirting and encouraging him?” Zia asked. “Sometimes guys have to be certain you’re interested before they make a move.” She said the words as a reminder, as though she was sure that Charity wasn’t.
“When I run into him, I ask if he needs water, that sort of thing. I’m always nice.”
Zia shook her head, suspicions confirmed. “That’s what a mother would say. You’ve got to have a girlfriend vibe going. Ramp up the seduction. Be more than just nice.”
Easier said than done. Charity had been so used to shunning guys that she didn’t know how to be seductive and would most likely look foolish. She’d watched romance movies and read enough novels that she ought to have some idea of how to attract a man. But those stories were always set in cities with smart, powerful heroines who wore tight-fitting dresses and high heels. They had long nails—proof they didn’t have to do manual labor for a living. Charity had none of those things, was none of those things.
“What if I’m not his type? He probably likes sophisticated women.”
Zia waved a corn cob in her direction. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re prettier than most women without taking half the effort. Plus, you have the whole sweet and wholesome thing going for you. Men find that irresistible.”
“He’s done a fair job of resisting so far.”
“He’s probably just concentrating on his job and ignoring female distractions because he wants to prove to the family that he’s a hard worker. I bet things will be different at the next dance.”
At the end of every month, the harvesters held a party and a dance with other co-ops working in the area. Food and a chance to mingle usually ensured the events were well-attended. Moonshine always appeared, and the farmers turned a blind eye as long as the celebrating didn’t get out of hand.
The co-op leaders would sit around and exchange information about the farmers they worked for, nearby markets, and news about the breakaway states. Technically, the government considered it treason to travel to a breakaway state to work. They blocked phone service to those parts of the county, which made it hard to contact anyone there, but sometimes the wages those states offered made crossing borders worth it. Then the co-op leaders would discuss which passages were the safest and had the fewest patrols.
The idea of dancing with Enzo was a welcome thought. The evening would glow with the light of fires burning in braziers while the scent of food wafted over the area. Her parents served fresh bread, cookies, whatever crop had just been picked, and if the farmer was generous, a barbeque. Music drifted across the night, inviting everyone to come together.
Should she ask him to dance? Wait for him to ask her?
She pictured him sauntering toward her, his dark eyes focused and intent, a smile playing on his lips. Then she realized the problem with the scenario. “He probably just knows city dances. I don’t know any of those.”
Truth serum had changed the way people danced. Touching strangers now had an element of risk to it. Harvesters usually either did line dances or a modified type of square dancing where only people’s arms touched as they hooked elbows and swung around. With long sleeves, that sort of touching wasn’t an issue.
City dwellers had gone the other direction. They’d revived the waltz and the swing as though to show that dancing was more fun if it worried your parents. Women usually wore gloves, sleek and soft as butter, but some liked the risk. Those types of dances would be the ones Enzo knew.
Charity stifled a groan. She’d never learned them because she liked having a built-in excuse not to dance them with strangers. “I don’t know the waltz or swing. Even if he asks me, I won’t be able to dance with him.”
“I can teach you,” Zia said. “They aren’t that hard. The fancier moves take more time to learn, but you have plenty of time for the basics.”
“I could look for some dancing gloves at the next market,” Charity agreed.
And that was how she found herself that evening with Zia in the patch of grass between the corn fields and the apple orchards. Dinner had ended and most people were rotating through the showers and relaxing in the bunkhouses. The place was empty.
Zia brought her phone, a newer model than Charity’s, with a playlist of songs for swing and waltz. She tucked it into a tree branch and taught Charity the basic steps for both dances. That was the easy part. The difficult part was doing them with another person attached to you.
The two whirled around, clumsy and laughing, counting the beats out loud. Zia had a hard time because she wasn’t used to dancing the men’s role. Charity had a hard time because she had to worry about Zia’s feet as well as her own.
After an hour of this, Zia said, “You’ve got the idea. You just need to practice so you can do the steps without having to think about it. You’re going to want to carry on a conversation, not endlessly repeat, ‘one, two, three’.”
“When will I have time to practice this?”
“Right now. I’ll leave my phone so you can work on it. I’d better go. Milo won’t get ready for bed unless I’m back.” She smiled as though she thought his protectiveness was sweet.
An entire world of “coupleness” existed that Charity knew nothing about.
She glided around the grass, arms raised in position, and wondered if Enzo would be the protective sort. Probably. He’d already been willing to take on the whole co-op in order to free Callum. He would make sure his wife was safe. She liked that idea, liked the thought of him waiting up for her.
One day they’d have a bunkhouse of their own. Enzo would smile at her, take her by the hand, and pull her close for a kiss. It wasn’t real, not yet, but she shut her eyes, lingering in the happiness of the idea. There would be many moments like those to look forward to. His arms wrapped around her, his lips on hers…
She wasn’t sure what made her eyes flick open. She’d been listening to the music so intently she hadn’t heard approaching footsteps.
Enzo stood by the corn rows, head cocked, watching her.
Her arms dropped to her side, her feet stilled, and she had to remind herself that he couldn’t read her thoughts. He didn’t know she’d been imagining kissing him. The music continued behind her, sounding too loud.
“You don’t need to stop on my account,” Enzo said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you from … whatever you’re doing.”
Yeah. She had to come up with an explanation as to why she was dancing around by herself. Preferably something that didn’t make her look insane.
Enzo gestured mildly in her direction, a smirk on the corner of his lips. “Is this some ritual? Harvesters dance in the evening to encourage crop growth?”
Her mouth dropped open, and a half-laugh, half-gasp escaped. “Of course not.” She still had no sane explanation.
He sauntered closer, his hands raised. “I’m not judging you. I have Native American ancestors. They had dances for all sorts of things.” His tongue ran over his teeth. “Although, not the waltz.”
“I, um, Zia just taught me to waltz, and I was practicing.” Perhaps that still didn’t make a lot of sense. She cleared her throat. “At the end of every month, we have a celebration and invite other co-ops to come. There’s always dancing.”
“Oh.” He still regarded her with amusement. “Is there someone in particular you wanted to waltz with?”
Did he realize she was learning so she could dance with him? Had she been that obvious in her interest? Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Of course he knew of her interest. She’d almost kissed him under a peach tree, and the fact that he kept his distance after that meant she ought to stop chasing him and save her pride.
She folded her arms and forced a light tone. “Well, you never know who you’ll meet at a dance.”
“True. You might meet someone who’s tall, dark, and handsome.” The way he said the words made it clear he knew he was tall, dark, and handsome.
“A man’s looks aren’t nearly as important as how he acts.”
“How should he act?”
She pursed her lips in thought. “He should be attentive.”
He waited to see if she would add more to the list. She didn’t. “Attentive?” he repeated. “That’s it? You’ve got low standards. I like that in a woman.”
“I’m surprised you like anything about me.”
She’d taken the joke too far, made it too personal. His head jerked in surprise. “Why would you say that?”
“Maybe because you’ve ignored me for the last five days.” Not that she’d been counting, obviously.
He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, I may not know a lot about harvesting, but I figure it’s never a good idea to pay too much attention to the boss’s daughter. That seems like the fastest way to get yourself on permanent manure duty.”
Was that really the reason? “My father wouldn’t do that to you just for talking to me.”
Enzo nodded, amusement back in his eyes. “Good to know. How friendly can I get with you before I find myself shoveling fertilizer every day?”
“As friendly as I want you to be.”
His eyebrow quirked up. “And how friendly is that?”
She bit back a smile. “I haven’t decided. Maybe you should be friendlier and find out.”
He held out a hand to her. “How’s this for friendly; I’ll help you practice the waltz. You’ll find it works better with two people.”
The evening had just taken a sudden turn for the better. Almost as soon as she thought this, her mood plummeted. “Neither of us has gloves. It’s a rule here. You’re not supposed to touch anyone’s skin.”
He tilted his chin down. “You don’t actually think I might have some truth serum on me, do you? Why would I be wandering around an empty cornfield with that on my hands?”
He had a point. But rules were rules. Her parents said if you always kept them, they would protect you when it mattered. If you picked and chose, you’d eventually choose wrong. Still, she could trust her future husband, couldn’t she?
It was her turn to cock her head. “So, what are you doing wandering around the cornfield at quarter after seven?”
He shrugged with an air of resignation. “I felt restless, so I decided to take a walk.”
“You felt restless after a day of harvesting? Most people just feel tired.”
“I’m not used to sharing a room with nine other men. Sometimes I want some quiet.”
“I understand. I go off by myself to read. Otherwise, people are always interrupting me.”
“Exactly.” The phone started a new song. “Pretty soon it will be too dark to dance.”
If she broke this rule for him so easily, what rule would he ask her to break next? “That’s fine. We’ll practice some other evening.” Time to change the subject. “So besides having no privacy, how do you like being a harvester?” She laughed at her own question, nervous laughter. “I shouldn’t have asked you that. Nobody likes being a harvester for the first few months. After that, you get used to the rigors and it isn’t as hard. You’re willing to stick it out for a few months, aren’t you?”
He stepped toward her. His eyes held the same focus and intensity she’d imagined when she was creating scenarios about them. He even had a smile playing on his lips. “I’ll consider staying for the right motivation. Say, a girl who trusts me enough to share a waltz with me right now.”
“It’s not a matter of trust,” Charity stammered. “It’s the rules. I could get some work gloves.”
He shook his head. “By the time you did, we wouldn’t have any light left.” He picked up the water bottle she’d left on the ground. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll wash off my hands.” He poured water on his palms and rubbed them together.
She fiddled with her shirt’s button. “I don’t know that much about washing off truth serum. Wouldn’t you need some sort of soap?”
“I think water gets most of it.” He winked at her. “But maybe you’ll get away with some half-truths.” He shook his hands to dry them, then wiped them on his jeans. “We’ll test the theory. While we’re dancing, I’ll ask you questions and see if you’re compelled to answer.” He held out his hands to her in invitation.
He was her future husband, and he’d agreed to stay for a few months if she danced with him. She couldn’t ask for more than that. She reached out her hand, and his fingers slid around hers. Even though his hand was cool from the water, it felt warm to her. Electric.
He pulled her closer and put his other hand on her waist. She laid her free hand on his shoulder. It was a dancing position. That was all. But it felt like so much more. It was almost an embrace. It felt like a kiss waiting to happen.
Man, she had to get her mind off of his lips. She couldn’t remember any of the steps. He moved forward, starting the dance. She managed to move her feet without tripping. “Just so you know, I’m bad at waltzing. Don’t expect much.”
He tsked. “There’s the proof I have no truth serum because that’s clearly untrue. I saw you dancing. You’re very graceful.”
“Hmm. One of us is able to lie. But since you’d be the one with the truth serum on your hand first, it wouldn’t affect you.”
He chuckled, and his gaze rested on her eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not more used to compliments. A beautiful woman like you must hear them often enough.”
She immediately misplaced her feet. She’d forgotten what to do with them. Everything about him was too distracting. “Sorry, but the only way I’m going to manage to waltz without stomping on your feet is if I count to three.”
She stared at his shoulder and counted for several measures until she became more used to the feel of his nearness, of his hand holding hers. She couldn’t believe how the touch of his hand made her heart beat wildly and muddled her mind.
The night grew darker. She didn’t care. She was not about to suggest they go back to the bunkhouses.
The song ended and another came on. “I think you’ve got this,” he said. “Try it without counting. I promise we’ll stick with the basic steps until you feel comfortable doing more.”
“Are you sure you want to try more than basic? After all, it’s your feet that may be stomped on.”
“I’ve always been one to live dangerously.”
“Have you? What did you do besides data entry?”
“Growing up, I played football, soccer, baseball—pretty much any contact sport.”
“Baseball is a contact sport?”
“It was the way my friends played it. I broke my arm during my junior year playing sports.”
She’d been right about him being an athlete. He looked upward, thinking. “I’m trying to come up with a really good question I want the truth to. You know, just in case I slipped truth serum on my hand without realizing it. Hmm. Have you ever broken your parents’ rules?”
She snorted. “That question won’t tell you much. Every child has broken their parents’ rules.”
“I meant recently. Have you broken their rules, say in the last month?”
An odd question. “Besides right now? I haven’t had a reason to. The rules are there for a reason. They keep us safe.”
His brows drew together, considering her. “You’re either lying, or you’re the type of child my parents always wanted. It’s a shame they didn’t get you.”
“Were you the rebellious sort?”
“I believe I’m the one with the hypothetical truth serum on my hands, so I don’t have to answer any questions. Just you do, and so far, we haven’t ascertained whether you’re able to lie. I only have a few minutes of truth time left. Let’s talk about your last boyfriend. How did that relationship end?”
How should she answer that? Should she admit she’d never had a boyfriend? “Well,” she said, “I’m convinced you don’t have truth serum on your hand because I can think of all sorts of lies to tell you.”
“And now I’m disappointed that I don’t. Must be a good story. Did he do something improper, and your brothers disposed of him where the authorities will never find his body?”
She laughed at the idea. “Of course not. He was a billionaire. I broke up with him because I love harvesting too much to leave it for a penthouse with servants.”
“My three weeks of harvesting make me think that’s a lie.”
“What about you?” she asked. “What was your last girlfriend like?”
She felt his posture stiffen. “That was a long time ago.” Instead of elaborating, he sent her out to do a twirl. Probably trying to change the subject.
She was too curious to let the topic go. “How long ago?”
“Five years. We started dating our senior year of high school, but it ended badly. After that, I decided concentrating on my career was for the best.”
He’d been single for five years? Should she worry or rejoice that she didn’t have a long string of ex-girlfriends’ memories to compete with? What sort of breakup had hurt him so badly he’d given up on women? She couldn’t ask him such a personal question, but she wanted to heal that wound, to comfort him. “You’ve got a new job now. Perhaps it’s time to have a new attitude about women too. Maybe you just haven’t found the right one.”
In the low evening light, his eyes looked shadowed. Deep and dark and oh-so-handsome. He was watching her with those eyes, and it was enough to send tingles through her body.
“Maybe,” he said.
She already stood so close to him, their heads leaning together. Time to do as Zia suggested and up her girlfriend vibe. Time to be fearless. She closed the last sliver of distance between them and pressed her mouth to his.
His lips were soft, warm, and startled.
His feet immediately stopped moving to the rhythm. For a second, his reaction was unclear. The kiss hung in the balance. Was this a good idea or one she’d always regret?
Then his hand tightened on her waist, pulling her to him. His mouth moved against hers, gently, caressingly, tasting her lips. Her whole body hummed. This had been a good idea. A very good idea.
His hand climbed her spine and the kiss intensified. Shivers skittered across her skin. For a man who hadn’t had a girlfriend in five years, he wasn’t out of practice at all.
Her mother had warned Charity once that kissing wasn’t like the romance novels made it out to be. A guy’s lips didn’t ignite rockets inside a woman.
Turned out, her mother was wrong.
The feel of Enzo’s mouth on hers ignited all sorts of rockets. Every romance scene she’d read—all of it was true, and she felt dizzy with happiness.
Without warning, Enzo pulled away. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” He took a step away from her and raked his hand through his hair. “You don’t know anything about me.”
His withdrawal was so sudden that she just stood there blinking, trying to process what he’d said. Then his words hit her with their full impact. He thought she kissed guys she barely knew, probably a lot of them. “I know plenty about you,” she said.
“Do you?” His eyebrows raised in challenge. “Such as…”
She didn’t know what to do with her hands and so clasped them together, exchanging Enzo’s touch for her own. “I know you’re smart, funny, brave, and principled. You’re even-tempered but feel things deeply, and you want to make the world a better place.”
He didn’t respond, and in fact, looked doubtful, so she went on. “You care more about people than you let on, and you’ve got a soft spot for children and animals you wouldn’t admit to. You have your pride—perhaps too much, but overall, you’re a good person.”
His eyes narrowed. Instead of being flattered, he was suspicious or at least disbelieving. “How did you come to those conclusions?”
Was he worried she’d researched him? She smiled to set him at ease. “I know you’re smart because you worked in data entry. You’re brave, principled, and care about people because you wanted to free Callum without knowing anything about him. You’re even-tempered because you never got mad at Milo and Gregor for making you chase chickens. I know you have your pride because when you got into trouble as a data entry clerk, instead of asking any friends for help, you struck out on your own.”
His lips pressed together in aggravation, as though he’d been trying to remain a closed book and wasn’t happy about being so easily read. He cocked his head. “You said more. What about my soft spot for animals and children?”
“You didn’t want to hurt the chickens, and I’ve seen you talking to some of the workers’ children. Most strangers would ignore them.”
He made a rolling motion with his hand. “And my feeling things deeply and wanting to make the world a better place?”
“You gave up on women after a bad experience. That’s feeling things perhaps too deeply.”
He folded his arms, unwilling to admit she was right. “What about me wanting to make the world a better place?”
She knew that because if he was the sort of man she would marry, he wanted to make the world a better place. She couldn’t say that, though. “It’s just the impression you give.” She lifted her chin, feeling more certain. “Am I wrong?”
“No, but that still doesn’t mean you know enough about me.”
“Oh, I also know you don’t hold grudges. Because despite Milo giving you a hard time, you’re his friend. Most guys would be trying to knock him down a peg.” She took a step closer to Enzo. Teasing. Hopeful. “Do I know you well enough now to kiss you?”
He unfolded his arms and yet still kept a stubborn distance from her. “You don’t know any of my bad qualities. For all you know, those might be quite substantial.”
She took another step closer to him, putting herself almost in kissing position. This was so forward, so unlike her. That was another thing she knew about him. He made her feel brave. “ Is there a substantial number of bad things about you?”
“If I said no, it might be because I’m dishonest. I could be the sort of man who uses people.”
She slipped her hand into his. “I’m willing to risk it.”
He didn’t tighten his hand around hers. “You’re entirely too trusting. It will get you in trouble one day.”
“Maybe.” She slid her other hand across his chest. His shirt was fairly new, hadn’t been worn soft by a hundred washes yet. “But I don’t think I’ll get in trouble today.”
His free hand wrapped around her hand on his chest, stopping its progress. “You’re right because we’re going back to the bunkhouses now.” He dropped both of her hands, turned away, and strode toward the corn rows.
Charity stood there, stunned and staring at his retreating back.
So, this was what rejection felt like—this sharp, horrible pain in her chest. She gulped, thankful he couldn’t see her face flushing with humiliation. She numbly retrieved Zia’s phone from the tree branch.
Enzo hadn’t waited for her, which meant he didn’t expect the two of them to walk back together. Just as well. She didn’t want to walk with him. What would she say to him at this point?
He’d made his rejection sound like a favor—like something was wrong with him, and she’d regret getting involved with him, but that wasn’t the truth. No one spurned someone for those reasons. He thought she wasn’t good enough for him.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Breathing was hard. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make any noise that he might hear. She’d said he felt things too deeply, but until this moment, she hadn’t realized she was the same way.
Stupid tears. Stupid expectations. She’d only known him for three weeks. She couldn’t possibly be in love with him already, and yet she felt like she was. From the instant she’d seen him, he’d been all she could think about. And he’d rejected her.
She turned on the phone’s flashlight and took slow steps down a different cornrow than the one he’d disappeared into.
The evening air seemed too cold, and her footsteps felt wooden. Enzo had been the one who insisted on dancing with her. He’d been happy enough to kiss her at first. What had changed?
He probably just realized he wanted more in a girlfriend than a harvester. With his tech skills, he’d be able to find a desk job somewhere. He could have a sophisticated, wealthy girlfriend. Why would he want Charity?
She felt the shame of it then, being a harvester. Usually, she told herself that harvesters were the backbone of the country. Hard workers. Honest people. They weren’t caught up in materialism and pride like city dwellers. But now she couldn’t help but see herself as Enzo must see her: uneducated, simple, and low class.
She wiped tears from her cheeks and took deep, jagged breaths. She needed to pull herself together before she reached her bunkhouse. What happened today didn’t matter. Someday Enzo would want to marry her. Someday he’d ask her. Maybe Zia was right and her father had the vision to reassure her things would eventually work out between the two of them.
This thought should’ve made her feel better. But after this evening, she couldn’t believe that things would work out anytime soon. Perhaps the two wouldn’t marry for another ten years when fate brought them back together.
Whatever the case, she wouldn’t put her heart out on the chopping block again. If he wanted to avoid her, she’d make it easy for him. She would avoid him right back.