Chapter 19
By ten o’clock, I’m too antsy to sit and read. I pace my room a bit, stopping every time I pass the mirror above my dresser to double-check my appearance. My clothes are cleaner than they’ve ever been when I visited the ranch, and my hair is slicked back, the comb marks still evident. I muss it up—I look like I’m trying too hard, and for what? We’re only friends. We’ll never be more than that. But then I hurriedly reach for the comb to lay the wild strands back in place. I don’t know why I’m putting myself through this. I’ve been alone with her before. Earlier in the week, we went into town like an old married couple. I waited outside like the dutiful husband while she shopped. She even told me to call her Lucy.
Why am I so damn nervous, then?
When I can’t stand it any longer
