Page 13 of Forsaken Hearts
Pope barely paid attention to him until Summer stepped up beside the guy with that bright smile that left Pope feeling more bereft just when he thought he was getting over her.
“Hey, Mr. Crowe. How are you?”
The man chuckled. “Aren’t we friends by now, Summer? Please call me Gary.”
An ugly dislike tightened in Pope’s chest.
He kept walking toward the restroom.
“Passing through to Texas again?” Summer continued to talk to the man.
Pope shoved through the bathroom door harder than necessary. By the time he came back out, Summer was busy again, weaving through tables with another tray of empty plates balanced against her shoulder.
He caught her just before she disappeared through the kitchen doors. “Can I talk to you?”
God, he wanted to put his hands on her. Feel her silky skin beneath his fingers. Sink his hand into her thick hair that she never used to wear loose when she was waitressing.
She stopped but didn’t fully turn to him. “I’m working.”
“After?”
Her blue eyes finally lifted to his, guarded enough to make his stomach sink lower than it had been all night. “I’m going home and going to bed.”
Her answer felt like a sharp blade cutting any remaining hope for more.
Without a word in response, he swung around and sliced his way directly to his table. He jerked out his chair a little too hard and dropped into it, fingers curling around the bottle. He took a swig.
Crew caught his gaze. “You’ve been sucking on that same beer all night. You wanna put a nipple on that bottle?”
A couple guys laughed.
He set the bottle down. “Not really into it tonight. Think I might leave early.”
Willow, who’d apparently heard the exchange from her end of the table, reached into her purse and tossed him a set of keys.
Pope caught them out of reflex. “What’s this?”
“Take my truck. I know you haven’t had much to drink and you’re safe to drive.”
Seconds ago when he said he might leave, he’d only been thinking of escaping from any more exchanges with the woman he wanted but couldn’t have. Now that he had the means to leave—cold metal keys in his fist—he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Because he needed to make sure Summer made it home safe.
Leaving now felt wrong, but staying was agonizing.
Across the length of the table, Willow’s expression softened. “It’s fine, Pope. Really. Take the truck whenever you’d like. I won’t expect you back until later.” She cut a sideways look at Summer, who was delivering pitchers of beer to the table next to theirs.
Willow’s kindness hit him hard—not because she was wrong. Because she knew.
That knot in his chest tightened more, and he shoved away from the table. “Headin’ out, everyone. Get home safe.”
Everyone said goodbye to him. As he passed by Willow, he paused, leaning down to speak to her.
“You picked up on that.” He didn’t elaborate—he and Willow worked together enough to have a language of their own.
Her lips curved softly. “Pope. A blind man could pick up on that.”
His jaw locked. “Why’s everyone watching me all of a sudden?”
