He was a good man.
And that probably should have been enough to slap her fantasy-addled mind into reality.
Because good men didn’t want her.
Her door opened again, and suddenly Jaime was there, his mouth inches away from hers, hot breath on her lips, hands holding her face.
“Don’t be sad, Red,” he murmured.
Embarrassed, she started to turn away, not liking that he could read her so easily, abruptly hating that he’d been able to insert himself into her life so effortlessly. That was dangerous because she was going to miss him when he was gone.
“I’m fine,” she said, deliberately not meeting his eyes, not when he saw so much.
His stare she was avoiding felt heavy on her face, but she still didn’t turn to meet it, didn’t offer up any more words, and after a moment, Jaime brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I like you, Kate,” he said. “A lot. Your family, too. And that has not one fucking bit to do with the fact that the ring you’re wearing isn’t real.”
Her lungs had frozen at the first statement.
By the time he’d made it to the end of his words and had dropped his hands, stepping back and closing the door for a second time, they burned from an utter lack of oxygen.
He paused as he rounded the hood, eyes locking onto hers, and she found that she could breathe again. Sucking in much-needed oxygen, she watched him continue on, heard the slight pop from his door opening, felt the car move as he sat down and buckled in, heard the rumble of the engine as he pressed the button to start the ignition.
What she didn’t hear?
More words.
The man, the good man, was giving her time to process.
He pulled out of the driveway, the path slightly more difficult to maneuver as Ann and Dave had ridden home together, leaving Dave’s car parked behind them and bundling a sleeping Lacy into the back seat of Ann’s SUV.
Whatever was going on with them had been somewhat tempered by the conversation on the back porch. Ann’s eyes were slightly reddened from tears, Dave’s lined in exhaustion, but they’d held hands throughout dinner, and Kate had approved of the fact that Dave hadn’t left her sister’s side.
Ann didn’t have Kate’s asshole superpower.
It needed to stay that way.
Only one McLeod should have that particular ability, and it definitely shouldn’t be her sweet, lovely sister.
Nope, the burden alone was Kate’s.
You know what they say, she thought snarkily, with great power comes great responsibility.
Ha.
“My ex messed me up.”
She had let her eyes slide closed, her brain sinking in a soft haze, full of reality, but also full of pleasure. Because she’d seen joy in her mom’s face, approval in her dad’s. Because Jaime fit.
His words, however, had her eyes flying open, had her shifting in her seat to look at him.
So fucking handsome.
A strong jaw, a straight nose, plump, kissable lips, short—frown—hair.
And gorgeous.
As though her brain had conjured every action star fantasy in her brain and had mashed them all together into her living, breathing dream man.
Who was nice. Who was sweet.
Who was sharing.
“What happened?” she asked softly. “What did she do?”
His fingers shifting on the steering wheel, gripping tightly as he maneuvered the car around a turn. “It’s been long enough that I know that it’s what we both did,” he said, the half of his mouth she could see curved up into a smile. “She was really good at getting under my skin and could be mean as a snake, but I was also really good at letting her manipulate me and didn’t cut ties and run at those first red flags.” His gaze shifted to hers then back to the road. “And those first red flags were plentiful.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching over and squeezing his leg, before adding lightly, “What’s her name so I can hate her properly?”
He chuckled. “See?”
Her brows drew together. “See what?”
“You’re nothing like her,” he said. “I knew that from two minutes into dinner, knew that even though I wanted to paint you with the same brushstrokes—because even though I wanted to know you better, it was safer for my heart if I didn’t—that I couldn’t.” He took one hand off the wheel, covered hers where it was resting on her thigh. “You’re lovely and sweet and funny, and have that quintessential human feeling called empathy.”
Wow.
“Was she that bad?”
Another glance. “Take what you’re imagining and make it a hundred times worse.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel again. “But I still stayed for too long. So fucking stupid.”
“No,” she whispered. “That’s called human.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” he muttered.
She giggled then sobered. “I am sorry, you know? I’ve dated some men who—” She shuddered.
“What are their names, so I can hate them properly?”
Her heart fluttered.
“Scratch that, what are their names, so I can kill them properly?”
She touched his cheek. “You’re sweet.”
He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm. “You’re used to giving a lot of yourself, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your heart is generous,” he said. “You see someone hurting and you jump in, you make it better.”
Kate shrugged. “I have a weak spot for people, I guess. I like to see them happy.”
Silence.
“But who makes sure you’re happy?” he asked. “If you only give of yourself and never take, who cares for you, Red?”
Her breath caught, that question hitting way too close to the vulnerable center of her. Giving meant she controlled the interactions, controlled how much of herself she gave, and meant she could always keep a piece back.
She’d learned long ago she always needed to keep a piece of herself protected and safe.
Because sometimes it was only that single piece that remained, that single piece she had to hold tightly on to as she rebuilt herself brick by brick.
But she couldn’t tell him that.
She could barely accept it herself, preferred to pretend everything was light and easy.
“Empathy is an important life skill,” she said, her tone teasing as she added, “So your ex had an inhuman lack of it?”
They slid to a stop at a signal, and Jaime turned his gaze on hers.
Then studied her for a long moment.
Panic bubbled up because, damn, he wasn’t going to let her go.
“Alien, maybe,” he muttered. “Because I’ve seen more empathy in animals than my ex had.”
Kate squeezed his leg again. “Her name, please, good sir,” she said, relieved he hadn’t pushed enough to joke. “Hate will be commencing shortly.”
He snorted. “Lori.”
“Ugh,” she muttered. “I knew a Lori in high school. She was the worst sort of bully.”
He laughed. “Must be the name.”
“Maybe.” She bit her lip, a tendril of guilt weaving through her. She actually had a Lori on her design team, and design-team-Lori was really lovely.
“That.” Fingers lifting from her hand, drifting over her cheek. “That’s how I knew you weren’t like Lori.” A chuckle. “You were feeling guilty for lumping the whole of the Lori populace into one group, weren’t you?”