Page 68 of Love Wells Kept

“A care aide,” she softly corrects me. “When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time with my grandpa while he was in hospice. He had some of the best people helping him every day—making sure he was comfortable and felt loved in his final days. I wanted to do that for people.”

“Being a world-famous equestrian would be cool, but I think the path you took was more important.” Another small shuffle toward her.

“And it gave me everything I didn’t even know I wanted. This ranch, your family, our kids, you. This life is so damn good, and I wouldn’t have any of it if I hadn’t become your mom’s care aide.”

How fucking good of a guy was Old Jackson that this perfect woman wanted to marry him?

“What did you want to be?” she asks, then quickly scrunches her face with a regret-filled wince. “Sorry, I forgot for a second…. Shit, sorry. Disregard. I’m an idiot.”

I bark a laugh. “Wait, this is fun. I can make up anything, and nobody can prove it’s not true. I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer—wait. Can I swim?”

She smiles only with her eyes. “Yes, you can swim. One time I watched you do a backflip off the rope swing down at the river. Maybe you could’ve been an Olympic diver.”

I snap my fingers. “That’s it. That’s what I wanted to do. Then I would’ve met you at the Olympics in some far-off country.”

“So your imaginary career goal is simply a means to meeting me?” Her whisper is hoarse. “That’s a gross misuse of kismet.”

“A childhood dream that brought me anywhere but this moment would’ve been a waste of time,” I confess.

The joy in her eyes makes my heart skip a beat, and I step in to feel her warm palm against my chest, her fingers threading through the fine hair.

And suddenly—fuck, so much for me keeping my distance—we’re kissing again and my hands curve to fill the valley along her spine. She whimpers into my mouth, hands cupping my ass and pulling me to her.

“Kate.”

Her pelvis rolls to drag against my crotch. I’m aching to feel her. Hands, mouth, pussy. Any and all of it.

“Kate,” I weakly protest. “We should go to bed.”

She bites my lower lip. “You think?”

“And sleep.”

Kate’s touch immediately drops. I watch the haze of lust leave her eyes, replaced with disappointment. “Oh, sorry, I…I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not you. You’re perfect, Kate. You’re you and I’m…not me. Or, shit, it sounds stupid saying this out loud.” I gnaw at the inside of my lip. I expressed this thought to the therapist and now I’m lost for the right words to say.

She doesn’t say anything, but nods, barely. Takes the stupid, unintelligible bullshit I’m spewing with a straight face. Her muscles tense, a slow twitch in her arm. A slow, careful motion. But one that indicates she’s preparing to run.

“I just…” I swallow. “I don’t feel like your husband right now. And I’m scared if I cross that line too early, I’ll only feel further from him.”

If words had the power to inflict physical pain, I think mine just stabbed her right in the chest.

“It’s fine. I thought—it doesn’t matter what I thought…. I shouldn’t have pushed you to do something you clearly don’t want to do.”

“I want to touch you, Kate. Kit. So fucking bad. It’s like my body remembers you and my brain’s still trying to catch up. And fuck, I want to know you the way you know me. That’s the hardest part of all this. You haven’t changed. You still look at me like I’m yours…like nothing’s broken. I want to know what it’s like to love you again. I don’t want to take something that was built on love and reduce it to muscle memory….” I fight to catch her gaze and hold it, whispering my darkest truth: “And if I…if I never remember what it felt like to love you, I don’t want what we do now to seem like I was only using you…pretending.”

Watching the hope in her eyes crash and burn, and the subtle flinch like something inside her folded in on itself, I hate that I was honest. Everything would be easier if I ignored the niggling guilt in my gut and gave in to the sparks of chemistry between us for tonight. I told myself—told her—that I wanted to do things the hard way, but not like this. Not in a way that hurts her.

Kate blinks hard, but she doesn’t cry. The tiny muscles below her eyes spasm for a moment. When her voice finally comes, it’s quiet and controlled. “Okay…thank you for being honest.”

“Kate,” I start, already regretting everything I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“No, truly. I mean it. Thank you for telling me. I’d rather you be honest than fake it—that would’ve been so much worse.” With a stifled exhale, she wraps her arms tight around herself. “I’ll, um…give you some space tonight. Go back to the guest room.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I know,” she says, already stepping away. “But I think maybe I do.”