Chapter 9
He knocked softly on her door. He had fond memories of sneaking into this very room, trying to hush their giggles to avoid being caught.
"Come in," she said. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
She was standing over her bed, pulling her garments out of her bag and refolding them on the bed.
He cleared his throat and she looked up. Her large brown eyes widened in surprise. She smiled softly and focused again on her task of transporting her clothes to a drawer.
"Your mom wanted me to let you know dinner was ready," he said. She nodded but didn't look up. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Old habits telling him it was supposed to stay open while he was in here.
"Bella," he said his voice low.
"I just want to finish unpacking before I go down," she said, refusing to look at him.
"Bella," he tried again. She stopped folding a blouse and met his eyes.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked, throwing down the blouse and placing a hand on her hip.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, taking a few steps closer to her. She looked away and he caught the sparkle of water forming in her eyes.
"Nothing. I don't want you to say anything," she said, staring at her clothes but making no move to touch them.
"I…" he didn't know what to say. He surely didn't owe her an apology. She broke his heart.
But…he never wanted to cause her the same amount of pain.
"You just…you said that you weren't seeing anyone," she whispered and a sudden gnawing feeling made itself known in the pit of his stomach.
"At the time," he whispered, stepping nearer. She blushed scarlet. She nodded. It had been three months since that conversation.
"What did you expect, Bella?" he asked and she shrugged. He was in front of her before she could blink and she stared up at him with watery eyes. Her eyelashes glittering with tears. "Why'd you come back?"
He wanted so badly for her to say it was for him.
His heart could barely stand the thought. Had she wanted to fix things? Had she come back for him?
He didn't know whether it made him impossibly angry or hopeful. How many times had he wished she would have shown up, apologies waiting on her lips? How many times had he dreamed about wrapping her up in his arms and saying they would work it out?
Far too many times.
But he was trying so desperately to move on. Bree was a normal girl. A girl he actually liked. She didn't have dreams of becoming famous and leaving their small town. She was content with the little things. She was exactly the kind of girl he wanted.
But he wasn't so sure if she was the type of girl he needed.
