I absolutely loathe being managed or babied. Why should Macon feel any differently?

Cringing, I glance out the window and notice a second restaurant boarded up and overlooking the northwest side of the lot. It’s basically a dilapidated beach shack, but it has great outdoor space with premium sea views. There was a time when I’d dreamed of owning a place like this. A place I could run and be inspired by. I’d willingly put my dreams on hold for Macon. For Sam. For Mama.

“Delilah?” Macon’s hesitant query draws me back to the present and him.

“Yeah?” I whisper before clearing my throat again.

He takes an audible breath. “It won’t happen again. I swear.”

I snort at that, looking down at my scarred-up chef’s hands. “You won’t lose your temper? Macon, you might as well say you’re going to stop breathing and still live.”

He laughs at that, but it sounds tired and weak. “Okay, I deserve that. You’re right; I can’t promise I won’t argue with you.”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see it. Even so, I have the weird feeling he knows perfectly well what I’m doing. Maybe it’s because I can all but picture his face, not smiling, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in wry humor, his expressive mouth forced into a hard line. He’d have that expression whenever we’d call a stalemate—because we’d never been able to concede to a truce.

“I won’t lose my temper in that way again,” he says. “I promise.”

Doesn’t every man start by saying that? I shouldn’t even be talking to him. But somehow I am, because I know I, too, would have screamed at him if the tables had been turned. Somewhere inside me, I felt safe enough to take his call. My fingers drum on the steering wheel. For once, he’s utterly silent, letting me take my time replying. Macon can be as patient as the day is long if he is after something he wants.

I glance at the old restaurant. Sometimes dreams shift and change. Such is life. I can drive off, leave this place, chase a new dream, leave him.

“Come back,” he says as if hearing my inward yearnings. “I’ll let you wing another tomato at me.”

My lips twitch. “It isn’t as fun if you aren’t trying to get away.”

Come back. Why do I want to? What is it about him that has me feeling more present than I have in years? He makes me perversely excited. Makes me want to forget about daydreams and live in the right now. Damn it, I want to return. I must be sick. Twisted. A masochist.

With a sigh, I turn away from the view and put my car into drive. “You do it again, and I’m gone. Our deal is considered fulfilled.”

“All right.”

“Fine.” I glance at the phone as though I’ll somehow find him sitting there instead. “But I’m off for tonight. I don’t want to see you. Or hear from you.”