“Are you going to be sick?” I ask, pointing to the trashcan and motioning for Wyatt to bring it to me.

“He cheated on me.” Her words are slurred as she clumsily reaches up to wipe away some tears that have gathered in her eyes. My heart clenches, and I kneel down on the floor next to the couch to run a soothing hand along her forehead. No wonder she’s hammered this early in the evening.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Wyatt hands me the trashcan and I place it on the floor, just in case she feels the need to hurl later—which she most likely will. “He doesn’t deserve you, Bay. You’re too good for him.”

“But I wanted him.” Her eyes drift shut and when she sighs, the smell of her breath nearly knocks me on my ass. Okay, so her drug of choice tonight was tequila. Nice. That should be a lovely smell in the morning when I’m cleaning up whatever mess she makes.

“I know you wanted him, babe.” Brushing the hair out of her face, I lean down and kiss her forehead, glad that she’s too drunk to remember that she’s mad at me. “But sometimes what we want isn’t always what’s best for us.”

A faint snore falls from Bailey’s mouth, and I pull an afghan off the back of the couch and tuck it in around her. Standing up from the floor, I come face-to-face with Wyatt. “Thanks for bringing her by.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Lifting the hat from his head, Wyatt runs his fingers through his hair before readjusting the Stetson. I always loved it when Wyatt wore his cowboy hat. It made me think of my Daddy. “She called and said she didn’t know who else to call.” Wyatt props a hip against the wall and cocks his head to the side. “Why didn’t she just call you?”

Great. Not exactly the conversation I want to have. Turning toward the kitchen, I wave for Wyatt to follow me so we don’t disturb Bailey. “Well,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, “we aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“Why’s that?” His southern drawl has always grown thicker when he’s concerned, and it’s more than prominent now.

“She got mad when she found out that you and I broke up.” Looking down, I fidget with the cap to my bottle, unsure as to why I suddenly find it hard to look Wyatt in the eye. I sure as hell was able to look him in the eye when I broke his heart.

“We didn’t break up.”

My head snaps up. “Uh, yeah we did.”

“No.” Wyatt takes a step toward me. My entire body freezes. “You broke up with me. To say that we broke up is a complete lie, because if I remember correctly, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“No, I guess you didn’t.” Glancing down, I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Wyatt.” For the first time since it happened, guilt over breaking up with him slices through me. Not because I regret ending things with him—because I don’t—but because I feel bad for hurting him. And I’m not going to lie, having him here in my house again is familiar and comforting, and I’m finding it mildly unsettling.

I jump at the feel of Wyatt’s warm hand on my face, but I don’t look up. This is all so confusing. I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze, but when he hooks his thumb under my chin, tilting my head up, I don’t have much of a choice. His eyes are intense, swimming with emotion, and I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Please don’t do this.

“I don’t want you to apologize, Katie.” He swallows hard. “What I want is for you to give me another chance.”

“Wyatt,” I say, groaning. Furrowing my brows, I shake my head. “Please—”

“Just hear me out,” he says, holding up a hand. “I get it. I get why you broke things off. You’ve gone through so much lately, and I—I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that, but I can show you. Let me show you.”

“Wyatt.” I stare at him for a few seconds, hating that he’s putting me in this position. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Let me change your mind,” he pleads. “We were great together, Katie, and yes, somewhere along the way we drifted apart. But I know that we can find our way back to each other. I just need you to give me a chance.”

“I don’t—”

“Dinner,” he blurts. “Just have dinner with me. Let’s talk. That’s all I ask.”

“I don’t know, Wyatt.” My stomach rolls with uncertainty, but turning him down on the phone was much easier than telling him ‘no’ in person.

“Think about it.” Slowly, he backs away from me with a hopeful smile on his face. “Just think about it.”

“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll think about it.”

He doesn’t say another word. Turning around, he walks out of the house, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Completely defeated, I drop into a seat at the kitchen table. Telling Wyatt that I’d think about having dinner with him was a huge mistake, because I know deep down that no matter how familiar it felt to be around him again, I made the right choice. And no dinner is going to change that.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I groan. “Come on, Wy.” Scooping my phone out of my pocket, I’m prepared to see Wyatt’s number—yet again—but the number is completely foreign to me. Who the hell is this? It’s probably some damn telemarketer, and usually I’d just send them to voicemail, but for some unknown reason I decide to answer.

“Hello.”

“Katie?”

I’d know that voice anywhere. A tiny wave of electricity buzzes through my body, sending a shiver down my spine. No way. The sinking feeling in my stomach from before is now a swarm of butterflies that decide to take flight all at once. I push up from the table, knocking the chair over in the process. “Devin?” My voice comes out way too breathy, but I don’t have time to care because I’m too busy being shocked, and excited, and hopeful …

“Hi.” His rich, gravelly voice floats through the line, soaks into my skin and wraps itself around my heart. I’ve wanted to talk to him—to hear his voice saying the words that he’s written—but I didn’t realize I needed it until now.

I can’t believe he called.

He’s on the line, no doubt waiting for me to talk, but I’m utterly speechless. The only thing I can think of is that now that I’ve heard his voice again, reading his words won’t be enough. I’ll crave this … this connection. It’ll be my new weakness, my new drug of choice.

“Is this a bad time?” I can practically see him frowning through the line.

“No!” I take a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. “No, it’s perfect. You just caught me off-guard. I didn’t expect to hear from you, and now here you are on the phone and it’s so different, you know?” I cringe, loathing the way I’m rambling but completely unable to stop it. “Hearing your voice, it’s just … it’s … it’s too much … it’s been so long …”

Devin chuckles and goose bumps scatter up my arms. He’s laughing at me, and I don’t even care because the sound of his laugh is like a heating blanket, warming me from the outside in.

“Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“You were engaged to Wyatt.” Okay, I wasn’t exactly expecting him to say that. He obviously got my email.

“Were. Past tense.”

“I’ve never been so fucking relieved to read something in my life.”

“Yeah?”

“You have no idea,” he says. “And Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“Email or phone?” he asks.

“Is this a trick question?” A slow grin spreads across my face.

“You’re supposed to just answer,” he says, laughing. “You aren’t supposed to answer a question with another question. Now answer the question, Katie.” His commanding tone causes shivers to run down my spine. I forgot how alpha he could be.

“Phone.” I didn’t have to think twice. Our words may have reconnected us, but hearing his voice only confirms the one thing I’ve suspected all along: what we had never went away.

“Good answer.”

My cheeks are hurting—seriously, they’re cramping up—and if I don’t stop smiling soon, I’m afraid I’ll have this goofy-as-hell grin for the rest of my life. But it feels good … really good. “What would you have done if I said email?”