by Tracy Brogan
She’d played the scene out in her head, over and over. Rachel walking in, the look of shock on her face, and Tom’s complete emotional shutdown afterward. She’d never felt so useless or so helpless as she had that morning.
If there was any way to fix this, she sure didn’t know what it was. Her heart was broken down and rusted on the side of the road.
She set the bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor and walked over to the chair sitting in the middle of the room. The very chair on which she’d seduced Tom Murphy. It was nothing special to look at now. Just an ordinary folding chair. Practically disposable.
Like the time they’d spent together.
At least she knew she wasn’t pregnant. Her dependable cycle had made its presence known that morning. No loose ends to worry about.
Libby folded the chair and leaned it against the wall. Then she stacked all the others, mixing them up so she couldn’t even be certain which chair it had been.
It didn’t help.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering, reassessing. It left her raw and tense. Her dad would say she was as nervous as a porcupine in a roomful of balloons. And he’d be right. She thought about Tom so intensely, she could practically hear the sound of his truck rumbling into the parking lot.
Or maybe…
She looked out the window, and there he was, climbing down from the cab. Her stomach flipped and flopped as he made his way closer and came through the door.
He looked good in his old jeans and his brown jacket. But then again, he always looked good.
He stood for a minute, just gazing at her with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t smile. Neither did she.
“Hi,” he finally said.
“Hi.” Question after question tumbled through her mind, but she’d be damned if she’d ask. It was his turn to talk.
It took a lifetime before he finally did. “I’m sorry, Libby.”
It wasn’t enough. His words were as gray as the sky outside. “About which thing?”
“All of it. For every mistake. But for starters, I’m sorry for leaving you standing out there in the rain. No good man would’ve done a thing like that to a woman he loves.”
Woman he loves? That had a little color to it. But still not enough. “You’re right. That was pretty shitty,” she said.
Everything inside her leaned toward him, but she stayed put.
He took a step closer. “And no good man would’ve left you dangling for so long with no phone call, either.”
“Yeah, that was shitty, too.” It was, and she should be furious. But right now he was moving closer, and she just wanted to understand what he was building up to. Was he here to apologize, or to say good-bye? He never had been very articulate.
Where was a collage when you needed one?
He took another few steps until he was standing right in front of her, close enough that she could see those pale little freckles on his cheek.
“But hopefully a good man knows that when he makes a mistake, it’s up to him to fix it.” He spoke softly, his voice rich and tender.
Her heart sped up as time slowed down.
“Hopefully,” she whispered.
He looked at her mouth, and then back to her eyes.
He took his hands out of his pockets and slid them down her arms until their fingers intertwined.
“I’ve made a mess of things again. I know that. One thing I’ve learned this past year is that I can power through just about anything. But the one mistake I could never get over would be losing you. You’ve got a hold on my heart, Libby Hamilton. I don’t want to be without you.”
That didn’t sound like good-bye at all. It sounded like forever.
“I don’t want to be without you either,” she said.
“Are you sure? I’m a work in progress, you know.” He squeezed her hands in his own.
“I know. And I’m sure.” And she was.
He smiled at last. “You could do better than me. There are other guys out there with nicer trucks.”
“Yeah, but there’s just something about yours.”
All the tension and worry left her body, replaced by certainty and hope. He kissed her then, at last, and colors filled the room.
Tom breathed against her cheek. “God, Libby. I’m so sorry about the other day. I just didn’t know what to do.”
“I know. Me neither.” She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “But talk to me next time. You can’t shut me out. You have to let me help.”
“Let’s hope there’s never a next time. Not for something like that.” He kissed her again, as if his life depended on it.
Then she captured his face in her hands and looked into his big brown eyes. “I love you, Tom. You know I do. But I don’t want to be the cause of friction between you and Rachel.”
He nodded. “I know. I had coffee with her this morning, though. We’re good. She says you’re kind of cool.”
“Really?” Her heart lifted, joy rising.
“Really.” His smile was earnest and pleased. She blinked back happy tears.
“So… there is nothing to keep us apart?”
Tom smiled. “Nothing at all.”
She shook her head in blissful bewilderment. “Who knew my little sister was so smart?”
“Marti?” His head tilted.
Libby nodded, and smiled. “Yes. She’s been telling me all along that true love is spontaneous and powerful and impossible to ignore.”
Tom laughed and pulled her closer still. “Yes, it is. Speaking of spontaneous, where’s that chair?”
Her senses thrummed at the thought but she shook her head. “Uh-uh. Sorry. I’m out of commission today. By the way, you owe me six bucks. I told you my body is like clockwork.”
He looked back at her, realization dawning over his face. “Are you certain?”
“Positive.”
He kissed one cheek, then the other. “That’s for the best, I guess.” He smiled down at her. “But just for the record, I’m planning to marry you anyway.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, thank you to my family, for taking care of life without any help from me while I wrote this book. Your support and enthusiasm makes all the difference in the world. Without you, none of the rest matters.
Thank you to my writing posse, for making this job fun, even when it’s not. Thank you for the good advice, the encouraging cards, the phone calls from the ledge, and the shared celebrations. A special shout-out to McQ for sending me a Kip Moore video just when I needed a little inspiration. Turns out there really is somethin’ ’bout a truck.…
Thank you to Nalini Akolekar, Kelli Martin, Melody Guy, and the entire Montlake team for doing the million and twelve little things it takes to create one big, beautiful book. Working with you is the best, and I am grateful for everything you do.
And finally, a heartfelt thank-you to the readers who enjoy my work, send lovely notes, and recommend my books to friends. You bring me joy. I hope to do the same for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photograph by Allie Gadziemski
Past or present, Tracy Brogan loves romance. She spends half of her time writing funny contemporary stories about ordinary people finding extraordinary love and the other half of her time writing sexy historical novels full of political intrigue, damsels causing distress, and the occasional man in a kilt. She is a two-time Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart finalist, and she has won several RWA awards.
During rare moments when she’s not writing, or thinking about writing, Tracy enjoys time with her family, traveling, and spoiling her dogs. She loves to hear from readers, so please visit her website at tracybrogan.com, or find her at facebook.com/author-tracybrogan or twitter.com/@tracybrogan.