She laughs when I stare at her with surprised eyes.

“Oh, honey, no marriage is easy. We had more than forty wonderful years together. But any relationship is work. And one important thing that I finally learned, after a few very frustrating years, is no one can read minds.”

I frown and stare ahead, reading over and over again, I’ve adjusted my sails.

“I had to learn to talk to my husband, to tell him what I needed. And with time, he learned the same. He was a smart man, but he was still a man, and men have that pride gene that seems to make us women madder than a honey badger.”

“Yes, they do have that gene.”

“But we have the he should know what I’m thinking gene that just confuses the dickens out of them.”

Is that what I’ve done?

“I don’t know what’s happening between you and my boy, but I want to tell you that the first time he brought you out here to dinner, and I saw the two of you together, I saw a connection there that just doesn’t happen every day. I’ve known about Declan’s reputation, and as his mother, it didn’t necessarily make me proud. But when he looked at you, it reminded me of the way his father looked at me. And I can tell you, the Boudreaux men, when they love, they love. It’s black and white for them. There is no grey area.

“And it’s the best thing that will ever happen to you.”

“I’m not so sure he loves me,” I murmur, remembering that morning that we made love. “And I also don’t know if we have anything in common.”

“You have one very big thing in common,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re crazy about each other. And if you doubt what he feels for you, well, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The walk. Listening to me.”

“Oh, dawlin’, it was my pleasure. I like you, Callie.”

We stand to walk back to the house, and come face to face with Declan, as he walks toward the fence bordering the cemetery.

“Well, seems you’re not done talking for today,” Mama says and pats my arm. She walks to Declan, kisses his cheek, and walks away, leaving us staring at each other, just like we did the other night.

Chapter Nineteen

~Callie~

He’s standing, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking back at me with those hazel eyes. But instead of impassive, they look… sad.

I cross my arms over my chest. I want to run right to him, wrap myself around him and hold on.

But I don’t. Maybe I inherited that damn pride gene too.

Thanks a lot, Dad.

Declan pulls his hands out of his pockets and flexes them in and out of fists at his sides, as if he’s itching to touch me, and after a long moment, he curses, and begins to pace in front of his dad’s grave.

“I fucked up,” he begins and pushes his hands through his hair, then stops and looks back at me.

“I’m listening,” I reply and cock a brow.

“Look, I’m not perfect.”

“I don’t want perfect,” I reply and drop my arms to my sides. “I want honest.”

“I’ve always been honest with you. The thing is, Callie, I don’t know how I fucked up. I don’t know what happened.” He looks truly haunted as he stares at me, unconsciously rubbing his fingers against his thumbs.

God, I want to feel those hands on me again.

He can’t read your mind, Callie.

“Okay.” I nod and lick my lips, gathering my thoughts.

“God, you look so fucking good,” he growls. His eyes have darkened and they’re pinned on my mouth. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

“You saw me the other night.”

“What, exactly, happened the other night?” he asks.

“That’s my question,” I reply, already getting frustrated. “Wait. It started before that.”

He rubs his hand over his mouth and waits for me to keep talking.

“You pulled away from me,” I say, my voice suddenly quiet. “You blew me off several times last week, and that’s not like you. At all.”

“I didn’t mean for it to feel like I was blowing you off,” he says, his voice also calmer, and he’s starting to look like my Declan again, which gives me the strength to keep talking.

“It did. And I realize now that I should have just spoken up, but it threw me. And then on Wednesday, you did it again, and when I went to dinner with Kate—” I have to pause and shake my head, the horror of it making me sick all over again.

“Keep going,” he says and takes another step toward me.

“I saw you with another woman,” I say and bite my lip so I don’t cry. “It just… it killed me, Declan. I assumed you were done with me, and had already moved on.”

“No.”

“And then later, back at the bar, after Keith apologized to me and left, you were there, and for a moment I thought, Oh good. He’s here to explain things. But you didn’t. You left.” I shake my head and pace away.

“Don’t walk away,” he says, his voice firm. “Look at me, Callie.”

“You walked away,” I reply and turn back to him, my anger back in place. “You didn’t fight. I needed to believe that you want this as much as I do. I needed you to fight for me, and you didn’t. You left.”

“Callie, you were upset, and I didn’t know what in the hell was going on. I thought you needed time to calm down. I went looking for you the next morning to figure it out.”