Unfinished Business

9

After my first full month back in Darlington, I can officially say I've gone through utter hell. Working long shifts at The Starlighter and having to be around Wyatt all the time has been torture. Loretta kept telling me to try, but how am I supposed to try with him? Regardless of whether or not he's engaged to someone he shouldn't, he's still engaged. I don't want to cross a line. No matter how much I may want to.

But Loretta makes that difficult as hell. Today, she told Wyatt to work on the wall that will eventually separate the dining room and the kitchen, but in order to do that, Wyatt needed concrete, and the boys who normally work with him were off today. It was just him, but Loretta didn't seem phased by that news. Something told me she already knew he'd be working alone today.

"Take Macey," she suggested.

"Absolutely not," he replied.

I stood by the kitchen door ten minutes to open, crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance. He acted like being around me for a mere second was going to kill him. It was ridiculous. He was acting like a two-year-old.

"She's another body, and yer takin her."

"I'm not takin her," Wyatt said. "I don't need any help. I can get the concrete my damn self."

Finally losing my shit, I pushed open the door to the kitchen to separate myself from both of them, gripping the chopping block and hanging my head between my shoulders. I knew Wyatt didn't want to be around me. I knew it brought up everything he probably worked so hard to forget. At the end of the day, I had to respect that. He had every right to cut me out of his life.

But then the kitchen door swung open, and Wyatt came up beside me, heaving out a sigh. Whatever Loretta told him must have persuaded him because he said, "Let's go."

So now I'm following him out to his truck— the truck we have so many memories in—and trying not to pass out. August still isn't forgiving in South Carolina, but it's not as sticky as July. My shorts aren't plastered to my thighs today, and sweat isn't forming on my back as it normally does.

"I swear to God if you touch that handle, Macey," he growls and takes two large steps in front of me, throwing open the door before I can get to it. My heart bottoms out, my pulse beating rapidly, and it has nothing to do with what he just said. The chocolate stain I made all those years ago is still on his passenger side seat. He could have gotten it cleaned. He could have gotten it removed. But it's still there. Prominent as ever.

Tears are threatening to pour on my cheeks, but I keep them inside, not wanting him to know just how sad I am. That stain means more to me than he'll ever know. He was the first one to show me that it was okay to make mistakes. Something my mother never let me do.

"Get inside," he says, but his tone is softer. He sees the stain too, and he knows how important it is. I told him how important it was to me. He either didn't have enough money to get it fixed, which is highly doubtful since he owns the farm now, or he cared enough to leave it there.

"You kept—"

"Please get inside, Mace," he begs.

I don't want to upset him, especially since he just called me Mace, so I drop it and climb inside, reaching to put my seatbelt on. It's not darlin yet, but maybe we'll get there.

He's engaged. Warning bells sound off in my head, but I ignore them.

During the first ten minutes of the drive, we ride in silence minus the quiet country song that's pulsing through the speakers. I'm not sure what to talk to him about, or if he even wants to talk to me about anything, so rather than make conversation, I take a couple of glances at him, smiling at the familiarity of it all.