Page 23 of Resisting the Handsome Doctor
"Yeah."
"Quieter than in there."
"Definitely."
More silence. But it's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence that feels full instead of empty.
"Ivy," Owen says, and there's something in his tone that makes me look at him. "Earlier, when I told you how I felt. You started to say something. Before Coach interrupted."
My heart rate picks up. "I did?"
"Yeah. You said 'I—' and then stopped." He turns to face me fully. "What were you going to say?"
This is it. This is my chance.
Five seconds of bravery. I open my mouth, and what comes out is: "I was going to say I'm having a really good time tonight."
It's not a lie. But it's not the truth either.
"Oh. Good. I'm glad."
"Are you?" I ask, because I can hear the disappointment he's trying to hide.
"Of course I am. I want you to have a good time."
"But you were hoping I'd say something else."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Yeah. I was. But it's okay, Ivy. I told you. I'm not expecting anything. This is just... this is already more than I thought I'd get."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I came here hoping to maybe get five minutes of conversation with you. Instead, I got to dance with you, talk with you, hold your hand. That's more than enough."
"It doesn't feel like enough," I whisper.
His eyes snap to mine. "What?"
"Nothing. I just—" I stand up abruptly, needing space, needing air. "I should probably check on my car situation. See if Casey’s texted back."
"Ivy—"
"I'm fine. I just need a minute." I pull out my phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. There are no new messages. The tow truck is still scheduled for tomorrow morning.
Owen stands too, but he doesn't crowd me. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. God, no." I look at him, and he's so genuine, so concerned, that it makes my chest ache. "You've been perfect. You've been everything. That's the problem."
"I don't understand."
"I know. I don't either." I'm making no sense. I can hear myself making no sense. "I just—I need to think. Can we go back inside? I need people. And noise. And distractions."
"Okay," he says slowly. "Whatever you need."
We walk back around to the main entrance. The reunion is starting to wind down. It's past ten, and people are beginningto leave. The ones who remain are the hardcore nostalgic types, clustered around the bar or on the dance floor.
Owen and I return to our table. Someone has cleared away our wine glasses.
"Want another drink?" Owen offers.
