Slow Dance at Rose Bend by Naima Simone (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

future for them. Never led him to believe she’d changed her mind about being wrong for him—being wrong for each other. Which was bullshit. She was created for him. His most primal instinct declared that fact with the assuredness of the sun rising in the east. Still, as each day passed, his hope of her realizing this truth diminished until here they stood. Her, with one foot literally out his front door, and him standing there, helplessly watching with a travel mug of coffee in his hand.

If this wasn’t so pathetic, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it.

“I think that’s everything,” Cherrie said, swiping her palms down the outside of her denim-encased thighs in a gesture that Maddox had come to realize was her tell. She was nervous.

Of what? That he’d throw himself at her feet and beg her to stay?

No, she didn’t need to worry. He wouldn’t do that.

Probably.

Maybe.

Fuck it. He couldn’t make any promises.

“Here.” He handed her the travel mug. “Coffee for the road. I’ll take your bags to the RV.”

“Maddox, you don’t have to do that. I got them.”

“Cherrie,” he said, not dropping his arm with the coffee. “Take the coffee. I have the bags.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. But the corner of her mouth ticked up, and it required every bit of restraint not to press a kiss there. He needed to get out of here. Just for a few minutes to get himself together. And carrying her suitcases to the RV that would take her away from him provided the perfect excuse.

By the time he had the luggage stowed away and double-checked the security of the hitch connecting the trailer housing her motorcycle, he’d gotten ahold of himself and returned to the house.

“You’re good to go,” he said, sliding his hands in his front pockets.

“Thanks.” She smiled, but it trembled, and his gut rolled. “And thank you for the coffee. It’s really good. You could give Mimi’s Café a run for its money.”

“Now that’s just blasphemous,” he drawled, in spite of the pain clenching his chest.

She snorted, but it was faint, and this attempt at normalcy, at “we’re just buddies preparing to say goodbye,” grated his nerves. They were so much more than that. At least she was to him.

“Cherrie—”

“Wait. I have something for you.” She bent and picked up a small gift bag by the door that he hadn’t noticed. “I made it just before leaving for Rose Bend, meaning to sell it at Daryl and Belinda’s store. But I couldn’t. This was...is yours.”

Surprised, Maddox silently accepted the bag and reached inside, removing the tissue paper–wrapped item. In seconds, he held a black leather cuff similar to the one he’d noticed her wearing the first night at the bar. But this one was thicker, and instead of lotuses, silver Celtic crosses adorned it. He blinked, battling back the sting of tears as he stared at the gorgeous piece created by her own hands and that paid homage to his heritage.

He cleared his throat, “Thank you” hovering on his tongue. Just as soon as he could squeeze it past his constricted throat.

But instead, when he parted his lips, “Stay with me” emerged.

He couldn’t tell who was more shocked, him or her. Though he craved nothing more than for her to choose him, he’d had no intentions of asking again, of pressuring her. But now that the plea echoed between them, he didn’t make excuses or play it off as a joke. He couldn’t. Not when he felt like he was fighting for his life. Because in a way, that’s exactly what he was doing. Fighting for their happiness, their future. For them.

So no, he didn’t take it back. He repeated it. “Cherrie, stay with me.”

“Maddox,” she breathed, already shaking her head, but he crossed the space he’d deliberately placed between them, cupping her face and stopping the motion.

“Listen to me, baby,” he said, his thumbs sweeping over her cheekbones. “You love it here. I’ve watched you since you’ve been here. This town, Daryl and Belinda. You could be happy in Rose Bend if you just give it a chance.”

“Yes, for two weeks out of the year, Maddox,” she argued, circling his wrists. “For vacation. But moving here? That’s not realistic.”

“Why?” Urgency roughened his voice. “Why is it more realistic than living in Chicago? Stay here. With friends. With me. With me, Cherrie.” He gave her head a small shake. “With the man who wants you here. Who can’t imagine waking up tomorrow and not having you here. Who loves you.”

She stared at him, her lovely eyes glistening. Gently, she tugged at his wrists, and he obeyed the nonverbal demand, releasing her.

“Y-you can’t love me. We just met. It doesn’t happen like that.”

“You can’t tell me how I feel, baby,” he countered softly. “And if you want to stand there and claim that you don’t love me, too, then you’re in denial.” He tilted his head, lowered his voice. Gentled it. “You love me, Cherrie. And that scares the shit out of you.”

“No,” she murmured. Then more adamantly, “No, Maddox.” She lifted her hands between them, palms out. “Just because you say it doesn’t make it so. This is what I didn’t want. If I’m scared of anything, it’s this. I shouldn’t have let this go on. Let this happen.”

“Let what happen?” he growled. “Like I said on that hill two weeks ago, this was inevitable. You lost control of your health, of your life months ago. And now you’re so determined to regulate everything. Your diet, your lifestyle, your body. Well, some things don’t work like that. When life, fate, God, or whatever you believe in offers you a thing of beauty and faith, you don’t analyze it to death. You don’t question the hows or whys. You just leap. I’m asking you to leap with me, Cherrie. I swear I will never let you fall.”

“You think you’ll be there,” she rasped, a tear slipping down her cheek. “And I believe with all my heart