Page 49

One day later…?

◆◆◆

Hayes: Dinner plans?

Regan: No… just finishing up with Cash and the chicks. You’re off work tonight?

Hayes: I head into the hospital at eight.

Regan: Okay…

Hayes: I made spaghetti and garlic bread. Share it with me before I go in?

Regan: Okay, that sounds nice. Thank you.

Hayes: See you soon.

◆◆◆

Another day later…

Regan: Thank you again for making dinner last night. I hope you were able to get some rest after your shift.

Hayes: I did. Slept like a rock until ten this morning.

Hayes: What do you have planned for today?

Regan: Helping Colt at the distillery. New summer brews are coming in, and he needs help organizing what we’ll sell at the restaurant versus send out to distribution.

Hayes: Need a hand?

Regan: Not sure that’s a good idea. I get the sense he doesn’t like you.

Hayes: Your senses are correct however that’s never bothered me before. I only care if you like me. You’re my wife, and all.

Regan: Hayes…

Hayes: Have dinner with me again tonight? I’ll grill burgers. Got the gas for the grill and I’m slicing fries now. I can even whip up a pitcher of sweet tea.

Regan: …Okay, that sounds nice.

Hayes: See you soon.

◆◆◆

Three days later…

Hayes: When will you be home?

Regan: In about thirty minutes. Just wrapping up at the bar. One of our bartenders called off, so I wanted to help get through the dinner rush and my big brother Lawson’s in town for a short break before he heads back to the west coast for work. You off work tonight?

Hayes: Yeah… been a crazy three days working twelve-hour shifts. Feels like I haven’t seen you at all.

Regan: Yeah…

Hayes: Does that bother you?

Regan: No, I mean… I don’t know. In a weird way, I was getting used to us having dinner together every night, I think. It was nice. I liked it.

Hayes: Good to know. ?? I already ate since it’s so late, but I can make you something if you want.

Regan: That’s okay. I’m just grabbing something here.

Hayes: Okay. I’ll see you at home.

◆◆◆

Another day later…

Regan: Hey. Are you working tonight?

Hayes: Nope. What did you have in mind?

Regan: I’m working at the bar but should be done soon. Maybe we could… I don’t know, watch a movie together or something when I get home?

Hayes: I’d love that. See you soon.

◆◆◆

By the time Regan finally gets home from the bar, I can tell she’s exhausted.

It’s close to ten o’clock now, and her usual bright-eyed smile is dimmer, her blue eyes heavy with fatigue.

Her simple green Whitewood Creek Brewery t-shirt is messier than usual, and I can see the weight of the day in the slump of her shoulders.

All that and she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll be down. Did you pick a movie?” she asks me.

“I have two options. A funny one or a serious one.”

She shakes her head immediately. “Funny, obviously. Always pick the funny movie.”

I nod. Noted. I would’ve picked the same.

She heads up the stairs without another glance my way, while I stand there shamelessly watching her ass in those tight-as-hell jeans, my fingers twitching at my sides like a horny teenager.

Fuck, she looks good. Okay, she does every day.

And it’s getting harder—practically impossible—to keep playing the patient, steady guy that I’ve been working on being for her.

The one who’s taking his time, showing her I’m here for her, proving that I’m as solid as they come and not a selfish bastard.

I’ve been trying to remind her of what we had and maybe, if I’m being honest, I’m trying to teach myself a lesson in patience and selflessness.

Because the truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever been able to look away from Regan.

Like I’ve been holding my breath, suppressing all of this, ever since she came back into my life.

And now, her words from seven years ago: ‘ Don’t fall in love with me ,’ almost sound like a premonition.

Like she knew all along we’d somehow end up back together and I would. Helplessly.

She had her follow-up appointment today.

Just one more review to check on her physical and cognitive recovery.

I only know because Molly mentioned it in passing when she brought a psych patient to the hospital after her patrol and then spent some time in my office with me.

She said that everything looked good with one exception.

Her memories from the last few months are still gone.

And I’ve come to terms with that.

I’ve decided that I want Regan to fall in love with the man I am now, not the unsure, broken version of me who married her for a property and swore I’d never marry for love. Because now, I’m not hesitating. I know what I want.

I pull up a movie on the screen, then head to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses. But just as quickly I stop myself and set the second glass back in the cupboard.

I haven’t had a drink since her accident.

Haven’t wanted to. That night changed everything for me.

In that moment, I decided I wasn’t going to be that guy anymore.

The one who let his emotions and insecurities get the best of him.

The one who let alcohol—something my father had wielded like a weapon for years—come into play in any emotionally charged situations.

I take full responsibility for what happened.

Drunk or not, I didn’t need to hit my dad.

I didn’t need to push Regan away and ruin what was otherwise a happy wedding day for us.

I could have handled things differently, allowed her to stay and talked things through.

And I’ll carry the guilt of what happened after that night for the rest of my life.

So, I take just a single glass to the couch and wait for her because the thought of alcohol no longer sounds appealing.

A few minutes later, she finally comes downstairs, and— Jesus .

She’s wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt with Whitewood Creek Egg Farmstead stretched across the front and a pair of knee-high socks. That’s it. Her bare legs are on full display, smooth, toned and begging to be touched.

I don’t even try to stop myself. I’m looking. I’m desperate for these little glimpses of the woman that I used to be able to hold, and I’m wondering with every step she takes if she has shorts on and panties underneath it.

“Wow,” I murmur as she rounds the couch and plops down next to me, tucking her feet under her butt.

“What?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You just… you look beautiful.”

She blushes as she takes the glass of wine I poured and brings it to her lips. “It’s a simple t-shirt, Hayes. Nothing crazy.”

I try not to lean in, but I can’t help myself. I inhale the scent of her, soft, light, and honeysuckle, like her soap. Clean and warm. Familiar. It makes me smile, full on dimples on display.

She notices. Her pupils widen slightly as she stares at my lips then my eyes.

“It’s not a simple t-shirt to me,” I murmur. “You’re beautiful in it.”

She swallows a little harder, like she’s suddenly forgotten how to respond, then lowers her glass. “Thanks.” She pauses then clears her throat. “You’re not drinking?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She doesn’t press, but I wonder if she knows why.

If she does, she hasn’t said anything yet.

The past few nights, I’ve made her dinner and poured a glass of wine before I head into work, and I haven’t had a single sip.

We’ve fallen into this quiet routine of easy conversation, laughing, talking about our days and catching up as friends.

But I haven’t made a move. I haven’t wanted to push her, and I’ve been enjoying getting to know her on a deeper level that we didn’t have before.

She’s started opening up to me more, letting little pieces of herself slip into our late-night conversations.

Stories about Mr. and Mrs. Mayberry have come out, bits I’d heard before but that hit differently now.

She’s also shared her dreams about the wedding business she started.

There’s this soft hope in her voice when she mentions it, like she’s still figuring out if she’s allowed to want that again.

I’ve told her more about my own past too—what it was like growing up with Seth and Scarlett, names she doesn’t remember meeting but still listens to eagerly. I’ve talked about the circuit days, shared about Samuel and Vanessa again. About who I was before all this.

It’s been easy between us. Comfortable. Casual in the way that makes it feel like we’re actually dating, getting to know each other as we are now, not who we used to be or who we were supposed to become.

And somewhere along the way, I noticed something: I’m not scared.

Not even a little. All the things I used to think would make me bolt haven’t even made me flinch.

And maybe that’s how it’s always been since she walked back into my world.

And then there’ve been nights where I’ve left for work before the sun came up and gotten home after midnight, bone tired, only to find her already asleep and the house quiet.

Curled up under the quilt in her room or on the couch downstairs like she was waiting for me, hair a mess, breathing soft.

And it’s killed me every damn time to pass her and keep walking.

To close my own door when everything in me wants to crawl into bed with her and just…

be there. Hold her. Breathe her in. Whisper hi baby, I missed you. Let it mean something.

And I’ve seen the way her eyes follow me when I work in the barn, when I move around the house, hell, even when I eat. I’ve caught her checking me out more times than I can count, and thank God she hasn’t mentioned Declan since that first conversation when I asked if he’d kissed her.