She was leaving. She was going to get in her car and drive back to Misty River. And he was irritated with her, so her departure should be okay with him.
It should be. But it wasn’t. He set his jaw to keep himself from calling out to her and asking her to stay in Atlanta with him for another few hours, months, centuries.
Leah pointed her car toward home.
As the miles passed, the city dropped away. She drove into the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and then higher as her brain chewed on the events of the weekend the way she’d chew on a piece of taffy that had been mostly delicious but ended with a surprisingly bitter finish.
Fabulous Saturday, with their Halloween dinner at a sky-high restaurant that had as its carpet the lights of Atlanta’s buildings. Their servers had been dressed in costume, and she and Sebastian had shared a dessert named Death by Chocolate.
Wonderful Sunday with church and museums, a movie night at Sebastian’s apartment, and kisses that incinerated the air.
Rocky Monday, which had started out with promise and finished with the realization that Sebastian had been meddling in her affairs.
In her lifetime she’d received one huge advantage—her years at the Program for the Exceptionally Gifted at Clemmons. She’d had no qualms about accepting that gift. And, had she been able to take Princeton up on their offer, she’d have had no qualms about accepting that gift, either.
Back then, she’d been a teenager. Economically disadvantaged. The daughter of a volatile family. She’d been desperate for education and comfortable with the idea that she’d earned her scholarships through merit.
But ever since she’d turned Princeton down, she’d been a citizen of the real world. She couldn’t afford to spend her days in the lofty realms of pure mathematics when she needed to stretch every paycheck in order to keep a boy fed, clothed, sheltered. She taught, graded papers, forced Dylan to eat vegetables, badgered him about turning in his homework. She was the person who haggled with health insurance, called the exterminator, and made mortgage payments.
For ten years, she’d received no advantages. She’d done it the hard way, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. It humiliated her to think that when Sebastian looked at her, he saw someone in need of assistance.
She was not Sebastian Grant’s charity case. And his non-boyfriend status in no way gave him the right to call the dean of the fine arts program on Dylan’s behalf.
Sebastian had only met Dylan . . . what? Three times? He hardly knew Dylan.
Sebastian hardly knew her.
She hardly knew him.
Only . . .
That wasn’t entirely fair. Or correct. She had a feeling that while it was true that Sebastian hardly knew Dylan, he might know her quite well already. Just like she might know him quite well already.
Bossy. Hard-charging. High maintenance. That’s how Markie, his co-worker at the hospital, had described Sebastian the day of Leah and Dylan’s tour. All true.
Except Markie had also said, “A few of the kids he’s treated have lived mostly because he was so determined that they wouldn’t die.”
Some of the qualities that were trying in a non-boyfriend were to be commended in his exponentially more important role—pediatric heart surgeon.
At every stage of her acquaintance with him, she’d debated whether to move forward. Each time, she’d deemed the next step safe enough to take. Worth taking. And, indeed, her time with Sebastian had been a great deal of fun. So diverting! Through him, she’d learned a lot about herself.
But suddenly—like tree branches coming into view beneath the surface of a lake—she could see the dangers inherent in their relationship that she hadn’t been able to see before.
Her mom was similar to Sebastian in several ways. Mom struggled to trust others. She’d constantly sought and never found satisfaction. Because of those weaknesses, Mom’s marriage and her relationships with her kids had crumbled in the most miserable way possible.
Leah had no desire to subject herself to the pain of an ill-fated relationship. This was an opportune time to bring her extended flirtation with Sebastian to a close.
Assured of the rightness of that choice, she pulled into her garage. A slice of her reflection in the rearview mirror caught her eye. With dismay, she saw that her lower lashes were wet. So was the skin beneath her eyes.
Without realizing it, she’d been crying over the choice she’d just proclaimed to be the right one. For some terrible reason that she didn’t want to examine too closely, her heart felt as though it was ripping down the center.
“Leah,” she whispered scoldingly, whisking away the moisture with her fingertips. She patted her cheeks a little harder than necessary, then rolled her carry-on indoors.
Tess and Rudy had left for their Monday night Bible study group, so she found Dylan alone on the sofa watching a ghastly show about monster trucks.
“Brother of mine!” She gestured for him to stand, then hugged him. He was much too thin. Mental note: Feed him more protein, dairy, and fruit. “Did you miss me?”
“Sure.” Which meant no.
“I brought you a gift.” She knelt to her suitcase and came up with a vintage-style T-shirt that read 404—Atlanta’s area code—across the front.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He admired the shirt, then slung it over his shoulder. “Hey, next time you leave . . .”
“Yes?”
“Can I stay by myself?”
She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from exclaiming, Not in a million years!
“I don’t need babysitters.”
“Tess and Rudy aren’t your babysitters—”
“They act like it. They were all over me this weekend.”
“That’s because they care about you.”
“I think it’s because you gave them a long list of all the things I’m not allowed to do.”
“I mean . . . Well. The list wasn’t that long.”
“It’s way too long. It’s crazy.” His curls bounced with agitation. “I’ll be eighteen soon.”
“Yes.”
“Have I done anything to make you think I can’t take care of myself? No. I haven’t.”
He made iffy choices in his social life all the time. He hardly ever studied for tests. He’d eat nothing but Cheez-Its if she let him. “When you were in middle school—”
“That was years ago.” His chin set. She could see that he felt passionately about this and yet was making an effort to talk with her about it maturely. “Next year I’m going to go away to school, and then I’ll have total freedom.”
“Right, and between now and then, my job is to ensure you’re ready.”
“I am ready.”
“You’ve made huge strides.”
“But you don’t let me go to parties. You won’t let me take weekend trips with my friends’ families. You’re always tracking the location of my phone and asking me to come straight home after games and practices. All my friends—every single one—has more freedom than I do. It’s like you don’t trust me.”
“I do trust you. It’s just that I’m trying to keep you safe.”
He studied her, mingled obstinacy and sympathy in his face. “I don’t think you do what you do to keep me safe.”