I step back, putting even more space between us. This time, a chasm.

“Right. You’re right. We can’t do this. It would be a mistake,” I say in a rush and for a split second, I think I see hurt flash in her eyes, but just as quick, it’s gone.

“I wasn’t—I don’t think it would be a mistake. Do you think it would be a mistake?” she asks, her voice softer. Maybe even uncertain.

I exhale, trying to read into what she’s not telling me. “I don’t know. It seems like I’m always making an idiot out of myself, chasing you.”

Her eyes widen and suddenly it’s as if a light switch has gone off and she looks … mad. Furious. “What are you talking about? You left the show. You left me to go to college.”

This makes me furious if I’m honest, because what the fuck? “And you waited a whole five minutes before hooking up with Lyle!”

“I was hurt and a kid! And you were gone, presumably forever.”

Nuh-uh. She’s not getting off that easy. “No. Not forever. The second you reached out, saying you needed me, I came back.”

Shelby inhales sharply, her face reddening. “And then you left me again.”

“I apologized!”

“I know, and I forgave you!” Her aggravated shout echoes off the ceiling. “I don’t want to be some wall fuck, Cam.”

“That’s not what I was saying.” Even though, it kind of was. What am I even thinking? I’m not staying in Michigan. I’m here to flip this house and record the pilot. Just long enough to make sure Shelby is okay. And kissing her and igniting things between us … that’s the opposite of making sure she’s okay.

I’m a dick.

She tilts her head, blond strands escaping from behind her ear. “Really? What were you suggesting then?”

My mouth opens and closes, before opening. And closing. I can’t bring myself to say it. The three words, “I want you,” won’t come. They strangle in my throat, tied up in guilt and grief and obligations.

The truth is, I deserve for her to say no.

I left her. Twice. Even if I had reasons and those reasons felt like good ones at the time, I still left her. Why should she accept me?

I don’t want to be some wall fuck. Jesus.

I do the only thing I can.

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was suggesting. I should go. I’m tired. It’s been a long week for both of us.” I start down the stairs ahead of her, scooping up the last of my beer on the bottom step and grabbing my truck keys. I need to get out of here. “You can lock up?”

“Sure,” she says, uncertainty infusing the word.