He checked his phone again. Make that three hours.
By now, Main Street was mostly deserted, and Mimosa’s had just closed. He needed to stop lingering, but some stupid part of him still believed she’d show up. He’d give her a few more minutes. After all, she’d said it was a work emergency keeping her away. He understood that. Knew from experience that little fires could grow beyond control very quickly.
But on tonight of all nights, with their history—well, no one could blame a guy for wondering if that were the real story.
Derek’s phone vibrated in his hand. His heart skipped as he saw the sender and nearly stopped when he read her message. I’m so sorry to do this, but I just don’t think I can make it tonight. Can we reschedule?
Yep. He definitely should have called it sooner than this. Should have known this was how it would go. Should have accepted the fact that the past was bound to repeat itself.
But like a fool, he’d believed Ashley when she’d texted initially and said she’d be an hour late. Then again when she’d pushed him off another thirty minutes. And another. And another.
The storm from earlier had cleared, leaving the air crisp and new. He’d thought it a sign of what was to come between them. Now, with every breath, the cold bit into his lungs, slicing through his heart.
Jumping up, he shoved his phone into the pocket of his dress slacks and hurled the flowers into the trash can next to the bench. Derek climbed into his Jeep and started it up, flexing his fingers against the steering wheel as he contemplated his next move. Going home was the obvious choice, but that would mean an entire night of waiting, of torturing himself with the what-ifs.
Forget it. He had to know if he’d tossed away his chance to save his family’s vineyard for nothing.
Derek threw the car into Drive and headed toward Ashley’s apartment. Once he arrived, he marched up the stairs to her door and knocked, wincing at the way his pounding resounded through the hallway. It was late and a weekday night, after all. But he stood his ground.
After an agonizing minute, the door opened. Ashley stood in the doorway dressed in pajama bottoms and a spaghetti strap shirt, her hair pulled back—looking for all the world like she’d enjoyed a relaxing evening in, not racing around town like she’d claimed.
“Derek? H-hey.”
Above him, a fluorescent light flickered. “Can I come in? Or are you busy?” He swallowed hard before anything more forced its way out.
She blew out her cheeks, then released the air as she widened the door. “I’m not busy.”
Not waiting for her to change her mind—she seemed to like to do that—he tromped into her apartment. The whole place smelled like a tropical fruit basket and set his nerves on fire.
Turning, he planted his feet wide and crossed his arms. “If you didn’t want to go out, you could have just said so.”
“You’re all dressed up. Did you …” Her cheeks paled. “Did you actually go to the restaurant? I thought I texted you before you would have left.”
“I had a few stops to make before dinner so I left early.” No way was he telling her about that wasted bouquet of flowers—or the little stop at the jewelry store he’d made. Just to peruse.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
He swept his arm around the apartment. “How long have you been home?”
“I don’t know.” She touched the base of her neck. “Thirty minutes?”
“And you didn’t think to call me on your way home to tell me you were standing me up?”
Edging past him, she moved to her kitchen counter and took a sip from a pink mug. Guess she’d had time to do a lot of things before texting him five minutes ago. “I figured you’d have given up on me by then.”
If only he had.
If only he’d kept his feelings hidden—from himself, from Claire, from Ashley. If only he’d done a better job of keeping his head on straight in the first place. At least with Claire, he’d known what he was getting.
“I’m sorry, Derek. I can only imagine what you thought. What you think.”
“It’s fine. No big deal. People get stood up all the time.” Ignoring her wince, Derek turned to leave.
“Wait. Let me explain.”
He stopped, rotated, and leaned with one foot bracing him against the wall. “Okay.” Not that he really wanted to hear her excuses.
Ashley tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. In that single move, she looked so vulnerable. And now that he looked more closely, Derek could see her eyes were rimmed in red.
Maybe he wasn’t being fair. He should give her a chance to explain. “What happened?” Striding to the cabinet above her kitchen sink, Derek snagged a lime-green mug. Flicking on Ashley’s single-serve Keurig, he loaded it with a pod of dark roast grounds while waiting for the water to heat.
“I messed up Ben and Bella’s invitations. Had to call the print shop, but I couldn’t get ahold of anyone, so I drove there. But it’s in San Luis, and traffic was worse than I thought it’d be.”
The Keurig light came on, indicating the water was ready. Derek pushed the button, and the machine whirred to life before brown liquid began to stream into the mug. “Was anyone there?”
“Yes, and I waited while they printed up a new proof for me and a sample invitation that I could show Bella. When I got back to town, I ran it over to her place—”
Unbelievable. “So you actually were back in town, what? An hour or two ago?”
“Maybe an hour and a half?” Ashley set down her cup. “But Bella and I needed to work out a few more details about the invitations—who was going to pay for the oversight, when
