Page 114 of Over the Line

Vanessa’s words echoed in her mind. What would Sydney’s life be like if she lived from possibility instead of fear?

As she sat there, she also realized that she hadn’t been blameless on their final night.

His words had fallen like axe blades.

Yet there’d been truth in his awful accusations.

She had dropped by his house when it was convenient for her, never staying long. And she hadn’t invited him to visit her.

She’d been unwilling to make any accommodations at all for a relationship—preferring to believe they didn’t really have one.

But even a casual friendship required give-and-take. And she hadn’t afforded Michael that courtesy.

And maybe Vanessa was also right in her belief that an ultimatum was a great place to start a negotiation.

He’d extended an amazing olive branch. The least she could do was accept the offering.

If they couldn’t reach an accord, at least she would have tried.

Preferring to talk to him in person rather than over the phone, she grabbed a to-go container from a nearby counter, packaged up her food, finished her coffee—happier than ever that she’d opted for caffeine. She was going to need it.

Then she headed back to her car.

Gaze focused on the road ahead, Sydney entered the highway, unsure whether she was driving toward her future, or total desolation.

* * * *

Michael prowled his office, pacing back and forth, not even pretending to get any work done.

Since he’d gone to the Den last weekend, he’d obsessed over conversations with Sydney, especially about the things that mattered to her.

Jeb had a point too. Michael rarely left Eagle’s Bend.

Sydney’s love of travel, combined with the fact he hadn’t been anywhere in years had sparked an idea.

Once he’d decided on a course of action, he set it into motion, doing research, calling travel agents, putting together a holiday he hoped would let her know how much she meant to him and the extent that he’d go to keep her happy.

If she’d have him.

More nervous than he remembered being—after all, nothing had mattered this much to him before—he’d taken pictures, downloaded information, then arranged it all in an intentional way, then he’d sent his texts.

He’d followed up with numerous pictures.

And…

He’d received nothing in return.

The read receipts proved she’d looked at them, but she hadn’t responded.

What the hell does that mean?

Restless, he strode to his desk and snatched up his phone again.

The damn thing had been silent for hours, and there still wasn’t a single notification there.

He’d expected to hear something—anything—from Sydney. But not silence.

Jesus. He had severely fucked up with her.