Page 191 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"Emergency's an emergency."

A laugh escapes me. Then it fades. Because I know exactly what he's telling me. Not tomorrow. Not someday. Now.

I look toward the road where Diego disappeared a few hours ago. "I could go there." Jack waits. "The farm is here. Diego's in Boston. I'm not leaving either one. But New York isn't the other side of the world."

"No."

"I could travel. She could come here when she has time. We could figure it out."

"Sounds like you've thought about it."

"Every day."

Jack nods. "Then tell her."

I look down at my hands. "I'm not asking her to give up New York."

"I know."

"She worked too hard for that restaurant."

"So don't ask."

"What if she doesn't want this anymore?"

"Then she'll tell you." Simple. Hard. True. "You can't control the answer, Javi." I look at him. "But you can stop wasting time because you're afraid of it."

Diego's voice comes back to me.

I could've had you.

Twelve years of anger. Fear. Silence. Time neither of us gets back. I'm not doing that again. Not with Maddy. Not with anyone I love.

"I need to go to New York."

Jack smiles. "Yeah."

I push away from the fence. "You going to finish this gate?"

He looks at it. "It's your gate."

"It's the farm's gate."

"You're the one who took it apart."

I hand him the wrench. "Pronto."

He laughs. "Go."

I do.

That night, I sit at my kitchen table with my laptop open. Atlas sleeps beside my chair. There's a direct flight Friday morning. I book it. No pacing the kitchen. No closing the computer and opening it again. No imagining every possible answer Maddy could give me. I've done enough waiting.

I'm going to tell her I love her. I'm going to tell her I'm not asking her to give up New York. I'll travel. We'll figure out the distance. I'll make room for the life she built because I want her in mine. After that, we decide together.

I open the restaurant website. The first reservation available Friday night is eight forty-five. Late. Perfect. I book it.

My phone is beside the computer. For a second, I consider calling her. Then I don't. Not because I'm afraid. I want to see her. Not through a phone. Not in a picture. Her.