“Can you at least try to see where I’m coming from?” I plea.

“You’re an adult. You live on your own and make your own money. What you do with your life is your choice.”

“It’s not as black and white as you see it,” I huff, knowing from our previous talks on the matter it’s pointless to argue with him. He just doesn’t understand, or he really believes what he’s saying and thinks it is as easy as just telling them about us.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Dillon, please think about it. I mean, we’re not even in love,” I whisper a half lie. I, at some point over the last two weeks, have accepted I’m in love with him, but that doesn’t mean he feels the same as I do.

His hands drop from my thighs like I’ve burned him and he takes a sudden step back, leaving me feeling cold. Watching, I’m at a loss from his reaction. He runs a hand through his hair, and my heart lodges in my throat. “Jesus, what the fuck?” he barks, looking up at the ceiling, then turns and leaves. I don’t know how long I sit there, stunned. But when he comes back, he’s dressed in black workout pants, a plain gray tee, and sneakers.

“I’ll be back.” He grabs his car keys off the counter, barely sparing me a glance as he turns to leave.

“What?” I ask, suddenly panicked. Hopping down from the counter, I follow behind him toward the door. “What the hell just happened?” I shout at his back, and his pain-filled eyes shoot to me over his shoulder with his hand on the knob.

“I just found out the woman I’m in love with isn’t in love with me,” he states matter-of-factly, then storms out through the front door, slamming it behind himself.

“What?” I ask, but it’s too late. He’s gone. Plopping down on the sofa, my head drops to my hands and tears of annoyance fill my eyes.

“Hssss.” Pulling my hands from my face, I look at Leo as he hisses again and takes a swipe at me.

“How was I supposed to know?” I cry, glaring at my cat when he swipes at me again. “He didn’t tell me,” I defend myself as his golden eyes meet mine, and then I swear he glares before hissing once more and hopping down off the couch, prancing off.

Seeing my cell phone on the coffee table, I pick it up and dial Dillon’s number, but he doesn’t answer. I dial again, and still get no answer. I want to toss the stupid thing across the room. I don’t understand why he’s mad. It’s not like I knew he was in love with me; I had no clue. Getting off the couch, I go to my room and straight to my closet, where I put on a pair of my most comfortable jeans that are ripped to shreds, my bra, and a tank top, then slip my feet into my flip-flops. Once I’m dressed, I run a brush through my hair quickly then dial Michelle.

“Hey-yo,” she greets on the second ring, and I sigh in relief.

“I need your help with something. Can you meet me?” I ask softly, wondering if I’m making a huge mistake, but I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and it’s now or never.

“Does this meeting involve burying Dillon’s body in the woods?”

“No.” I laugh, walking back through my house toward the kitchen where my keys are.

“Cool, just wanted to know so I can figure out what to wear,” she murmurs, and I hear Luka in the background say something to her that I can’t make out.

“Crap, you’re home with Luka. I totally forgot it’s Sunday.”

“I am, but he’s topped up. He’ll be fine for a few hours. Where are we meeting?” she asks, and I can hear Luka laughing about never being topped up.

“The Coffee Hut, and bring your realtor stuff with you.”

“My realtor stuff?” she questions, sounding confused.

“Just bring it!” I cry.

“Okay, but can I ask what the hell is going on and why you sound so freaked?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. Meet me in fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” she hisses, “Crap, woman, can I have at least thirty minutes? I haven’t even showered.”

“Fine, thirty.” I hang up and head for the door.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?” Michelle asks as soon as she takes the seat across from me, and I scoot the coffee I got her to her side of the table.

“I want to buy a house.”

“Um…” Her brow furrows. “You just bought your house. Are you looking for an investment property?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee before setting her laptop on the table and turning it on.

“No, I want to buy Dillon’s house,” I admit, and her head snaps up to me.

“What? Why?”

“You know Dillon put his house on the market. He loves his house, and I don’t want him to give that up because of me, so I’m going to buy it.”

Leaning back, she crosses her arms over her chest and studies me. “What the hell is really going on? You hate his house.”

“I don’t hate it, not exactly anyways.” I shrug, and her eyes narrow. “It’ll grow on me,” I gripe, and her eyebrows lower.

“Ashlyn.”

“Fine, I think Dillon and I are fighting.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m pretty sure we’re fighting; I just still have no idea why.

“You think you’re fighting?”