Page 52 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

It wasn’t just my heart, my love life, on the line. If I lost Cash, I’d lose his family too.

He would always be a Greer.

And I was the hired help.

“Maybe if it was just us, I would have told him,” I said. Maybe not. “But with his family involved, it gets messy. I couldn’t have asked for a better home. They took me in and have taught me so much. They gave me a trade and work experience. I truly love them and I don’t want to lose them.”

“Do you really think they’ll kick you out on the street if you and Cash aren’t friends?”

“No. They’ll support me no matter what happens with Cash. They’re amazing people. But if I admit to Cash that I have feelings for him and he rejects them, I won’t put myself through the misery of reliving that at the family dinner each week. Things will be awkward, whether we pretend or not. And he’s their son.”

The Greers would never kick me out on the street but Carol and the ten-thousand-dollar check in my purse sure had opened the door for me to leave on my own volition.

“Maybe he won’t reject you.”

I scoffed. “We had sex two nights ago. He can barely talk to me or touch me. Cash is a good man and won’t admit that he regrets it. But I know him very, very well. He regrets it. The rejection is coming. He’s just working through his mind how to deliver it gently.”

“Ouch.” Aria winced. “Sorry.”

“Me too.”

Maybe we’d recover from this trip. If I didn’t admit out loud that I loved him, he’d never know the truth and we could move forward like this was nothing more than a slipup by two people on vacation.

I tugged on the hose, pulling it toward the next planter, ready to get back to work. There was something soothing about being productive, not dwelling on the mistakes I couldn’t correct.

“Do you think you could go back to being friends?” Aria asked as we shuffled along.

“I don’t know.”

When I looked back over the past decade, there hadn’t been a time when I hadn’t loved Cash. First as friends, then more. It was that slow build, like the growth of an evergreen. Or the rising tide. One minute, you looked down and saw a huge expanse of sand. The next, the water was crashing at your feet.

I glanced over my shoulder to the view. There was nothing tropical about Heron Beach. There were no cabanas on the sand. No women in skimpy bikinis and floppy hats drinking cocktails with pink umbrellas.

Still, it was a beautiful change of scenery from the majestic and rugged Montana landscape. It was every bit as daunting, with the water stretching farther than the eye could see, but stunning nonetheless. It was impossible not to stare and count my heartbeats against the rhythm of the waves.

The Oregon coast was brutally breathtaking. Large, black rocks stood proud off the shores. Bold structures that had refused to succumb to the ocean’s power. Their magnificence contrasted with the sandy shores, smooth and pristine. There was peace in the sand’s submission.

Maybe it was time for me to surrender too.

Aria sprayed the last bloom of flowers and we returned to the spigot, turning off the water and coiling the hose away. She dried her hands on her jeans. I wasn’t sure how she could wear a white hotel T-shirt and not get it smudged with dirt, but it was spotless, as was the monogrammed G on the breast pocket.

“What’s next?” Please don’t tell me to go away. If I didn’t have something to do, I might be tempted to return to the room.

“I forgot this book I promised one of the girls I’d lend her so I was going to run home and grab it. Want to come?”

“Are you going to get sick of me tagging along with you all day?”

Aria surprised me by pulling me into a tight, short hug. Then she released me and nodded to the sidewalk that wrapped around the building. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t remember you being such a hugger,” I teased.

“That’s Clara’s fault. We always hugged goodbye and hello. Now that we don’t live together, I find myself hugging everybody else to compensate.”

I fell into step beside her as she walked away from the hotel. It was early so the sidewalks weren’t yet crowded with people. I waited for her to stop at one of the cars parked beside us, but she kept on walking, leading us away from the beach and into a neighborhood. In a town this size, I guess walking was probably the quickest way to work.

“I feel bad for not asking more about Clara last night. How is she?” I asked.

“Good. She lives in Arizona with her son, August.”