We both laugh, and I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, then worry that the laughter will bring some of my tears out.

“Right! He’s so serious, too, like he gave us this massive speech on his well-considered reasoning about olives after that.” I deepen my voice to try to mimic the annoying girl’s annoying father. “ ‘Too many olives overpowers the delicate yet earthy taste of the arugula.’ ”

Robert bursts out laughing, doubling over. Hands on his knees, he looks up, and asks in a voice much closer to Max’s than mine was, “ ‘Could I have four? Three just will not do, and five is far too many—it simply does not balance the flavor palate!’ ”

I lose myself in laughter to the point that my stomach is aching. I don’t know how long it lasts, but I hear a door open suddenly, and Robert and I both instinctively stop and look up . . . to see Hardin standing in the doorway.

I stand up straight, smoothing my dress. I can’t help but feel like I was doing something wrong, even though I know that I wasn’t.

“Am I interrupting something?” Hardin barks, commanding all attention.

“Yes,” I respond, my voice coming out as clear as I was hoping. My breath is still staccato from laughing so hard, my head is swimming from the wine, and my heart is aching over Hardin.

Hardin looks to Robert. “Apparently.”

Robert’s face still holds a smile, his eyes alight with humor as Hardin tries his best to intimidate him. But he doesn’t falter, he doesn’t even blink. Even he has had enough of Hardin’s shit—and he’s trained to always be nice. But here, out of earshot of the rest of the diners, he doesn’t seem to have a problem showing his amusement at Hardin’s absurd attitude.

“What do you want?” I ask Hardin. When he turns to me, his mouth is pressed in a hard line.

“Get inside,” he demands, but I shake my head. “Tessa, don’t play these games with me. Let’s go.”

He reaches for my arm, but I yank it away and stand my ground. “I said no. You go back inside—I’m sure your friend misses you,” I hiss.

“You . . .” Hardin looks back to Robert. “You should really be the one to go inside. Our drinks are in need of refilling,” he says, then snaps his fingers in the most insulting way possible.

“I’m off, actually. But I’m sure you can charm someone else into taking care of your drinks,” Robert says with a shrug.

Hardin’s stance falters momentarily; he’s not used to anyone talking back to him, especially not strangers.

“Okay, let me rephrase this . . .” He steps toward Robert. “Get the fuck away from her. Get inside and find something fucking else to do before I grab you by that fucking ridiculous collar and bash your head against that ledge.”

“Hardin!” I reproach him, stepping between the two of them.

But Robert seems unfazed. “Go ahead,” he says slowly, confidently. “But you should know that this is a very small town. My dad’s the sheriff, Grandpa’s the judge, and Uncle’s the one they locked up for assault and battery. So if you want to take your chances bashing my head in”—he shrugs—“go for it.”

My mouth is wide open, and I can’t seem to close it. Hardin’s glare is murderous, and he seems to be weighing his options as he looks back and forth between Robert, me, and the inside of the restaurant.

“Let’s go,” he says again to me at last.

“I’m not going,” I tell him, backing away. But I do turn to Robert and say, “Can you give us a minute, please?”

He nods slowly, giving Hardin one last glare before walking back inside.

“So what, you’re going to fuck the waiter now?” Hardin grimaces, and I step back even farther, willing myself not to break under his stare.

“Would you just stop, already? We both know how this will go. You’ll keep insulting me. I’ll walk away. You’ll come after me and tell me you won’t be rude anymore. We’ll go back to the cabin and sleep together.” I roll my eyes, and he looks absolutely lost.

In his usual Hardin way, he collects himself rapidly. Throwing his head back in laughter, he simply says, “Wrong,” and steps back toward the door. “I won’t be doing that. It seems you’ve forgotten how it really goes: you throw a fit over something I say, you walk away, and I only come after you so I can fuck you. And you . . .” he adds with a sinister glare, “you always let me.”

My mouth falls open in horror, and my hands move to my stomach to hold my body together after his splintering words. “Why?” I gasp, the cold air nowhere to be found as I try to catch my breath.

“I don’t know. Because you can’t stay away. Probably because I fuck you better than anyone else ever would.” His tone is clipped and cruel.

“Why . . . now?” I correct my earlier question. “What I meant was, why are you doing this now? Is it because I won’t go to England with you?”

“Yes and no.”

“I won’t give up Seattle for you, so you turn on me?” My eyes are burning, but I will not cry. “You show up with her”—I gesture toward Lillian at the table—“and say all these hateful things to me? I thought we were past this. What happened to you not being able to live without me? What happened to you trying your best to treat me the way you should?”

He looks away from me, and for a moment, a barely recognizable moment, I see a deeper emotion behind his hateful glare.

“There is a big difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them,” he says.

And like that, he walks away, whatever was left of my respect for him following in his wake.

chapter

forty

HARDIN

I wanted to hurt her, to make her feel like shit, the way that I felt when I looked up from the table to see her laughing. She was fucking laughing when she should have been sitting across from me vying for my attention. It was like she didn’t give a fuck about me getting close to Lillian. She was too focused on the fucking waiter and whatever the hell he was saying.

So my mind began sifting through hateful thoughts, trying to pick one that was sure to break her down. Lillian’s statement from this morning popped in, and it warmed my anger, so I said it before I could stop myself. There is a big difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them.

I almost want to take them back . . . almost. She deserves them, she really does. She shouldn’t have said that she didn’t want me to go to Seattle with her. She said I turned on her; I didn’t turn on her. I’m here for her, on her side. She’s the one trying to leave me every damn chance she gets.

“I’m leaving,” I announce when I reach the table. Six sets of eyes look up, and Landon rolls his before looking over to the door. “She’s outside,” I tell him sarcastically. He can go out there and put on fucking kid gloves for her—I’m sure as hell not going to.

“What did you do now?” he has the nerve to ask me in front of everyone.

I glare at him. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“Hardin,” my father warns. Not him, too—everyone is fucking against me, apparently. If my father wants to start shit with me, I fucking dare him.

“I’ll go, too,” Lillian says, standing.

“No,” I snap, but she ignores me and follows me as I make my way through the restaurant and out the front door.

“What the heck happened?” she asks when we get outside.

Without breaking my stride, I shout over my shoulder, “She was out there with that fucking guy, that’s what happened.”

“Then what? What did she say when you told her that I’m not a threat?” She stumbles slightly in her high heels, but I don’t stop to help her as I try to decide where the hell I’m actually going. I knew I should have fucking driven my own car here, but no, Tessa had to get her way. Big surprise there.