Page 105 of Between the Lines

He reaches out and touches my arm. “You were hardly sleeping and constantly slipping up at work, so I thought I was protecting you by not telling you.”

I shake my head, fighting hard to hold my ground. “Even if you were trying to do the right thing, we had an agreement that you’d be honest with me, transparent. I feel like you took the little control I had over my life away from me.”

“I was going to tell you about the extra repairs tomorrow, I swear.” His face drops but I take another step back, widening the distance between us. “And I never expected you to pay me back . . . for any of it.”

I cock my head back, unsure I heard him right.

“No,” I say sharply, losing resolve. “We agreed on a loan. I don’t want a handout.”

“It’s not a handout, it’s a gift.”

“So this whole time, you were never planning on letting me pay you back?” I ask, my shoulders cramping with tension.

Caden sighs, dropping his head. “Maybe at first, but no . . . I never expected you to repay me.”

“Why, do you not think I’m capable?” I ask, my voice shaky and getting louder. “You know how important it was to me to do this, to feel like I own that house, to pay you. You knew that.”

My pride is crushed as I stand here feeling two feet tall in front of the man I’ve been falling for.

Caden opens his mouth but I cut him off.

“I think you were right,” I say.

“About what?” he rushes out.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have mixed business and pleasure.”

“Fia, please—”

I step back, stumbling over the lounge chair behind me. “I need time to think. I want to be alone right now, please.”

Turning, I walk into the guesthouse, and once the door is shut behind me, I sink to the floor, curling into a ball.

Hamburger pads over, sniffing my face.

“I fucked up everything,” I whisper to him.

It hurts too much. I can’t cry, all I can do is lie on the cool floor, letting the numbness take over. I don’t know how long I’m down here, and it’s not until Daisy lets out a cry that I snap out of it and attend to her.

Caden doesn’t knock on the door, and he doesn’t text me.

Our cookout doesn’t happen.

In fact, I don’t see him at all the rest of the day, and by the time I walk outside the next morning, his car is gone from the driveway and it’s quiet on the property.

Like he never existed at all.

41

Caden

Acar beeps at me as I run a stop sign, snapping me out of my depressive thoughts.

“Sorry!” I grimace, holding up a hand while the lady gives me the finger. I deserve that, and probably more.

I snag the first spot I see in the public beach access lot, haphazardly pulling my Jeep in and cutting the engine.

I’m grateful Matt bailed on me this morning. I need to surf alone.