Kirsten gave me a sympathetic smile. “Poor darling. You’ve got it bad.”
I did. And I knew I’d have to address it soon, but I just wasn’t up for it today.
Today, I was selling Gran’s home to a faceless investment consortium, then flying back to Chicago to pack up my belongings. As Gran liked to quote from the Bible, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” In other words, each day has enough trouble of its own without borrowing trouble from tomorrow.
57
matt
Ichecked my silenced phone for the umpteenth time, not because I was expecting a text or call, but just for something to do. I was in the conference room at the title company, the door closed, pacing. I’d asked the real estate agent to schedule the meeting earlier than necessary, so that I would have time to talk to Hope privately.
The room was cool, but I was sweating. Maybe I’d made a colossal mistake. The more I thought about it, the more certain I grew that Hope would be furious. She would see this as another example of me trying to tell her what to do, to control her, to run her life.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to say, and every time I tried to prepare something—me, an attorney who always had the right words, who practiced and prepared briefs all the time!—I drew a blank. Everything sounded ridiculous.
Because she’d be right. Iwastrying to persuade her to my way of thinking. My life depended on making her see things the way I saw them.
The door abruptly opened, and there she was. She wore a gray tailored dress and heels, and her hair was different—a little shorter and straighter and more tamed down—but she was just as beautiful as I remembered, and seeing her again took my breath away.
For a second, I dared to hope I was having the same effect onher, because she froze in the door, her hand on the handle, and stared at me. “What areyoudoing here?”
My hopes were dashed, but not demolished. “Hope, we need to talk.”
She took a step backward, her eyes round with alarm. “I—I have a closing.”
“I asked them to postpone it for half an hour.”
Her chin tilted up a bit. “That was a little high-handed, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. But since you’ve refused to talk to me or answer my texts, it was all I could think of.”
For a moment I feared she was going to turn on her heel, but then her posture slumped. She sighed, closed the door, and slowly walked into the room. “I owe you an apology for that.”
I didn’t want an apology, damn it. “I’ll settle for a conversation.”
She nodded, not meeting my eyes.
“It’s great to see you.”
“Likewise.”
I gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like Hope—soft and warm and fresh, like grass and sunshine and flowers—but she held her body aloof and leaned away from me. My heart broke a little. “You look great. Different, but still beautiful.”
She looked down at her dress, then a ghost of a grin flitted across her face. “Yeah, well, shorts and flip-flops aren’t part of the Chicago dress code.”
I smiled.
Our eyes met, and that old connection flared between us. She grinned back, a full-fledged, Hope-like grin. “How are the girls?”
“They’re good. They’re at an equestrian day camp this week.”
“Oh, how fun for them!”
“They’re enjoying it.” I stood there like an idiot, just smiling at her. I could have done that all day. When I finally gestured for her to take a seat at the table, her smile faded. She slowly lowered herself into a conference chair.
Now what? I didn’t want to sit across the table from her, but if I wanted to look in her face, I had no other option. Maybe asking her to sit had been a mistake.
She looked up at me. “Look—I’m sorry I ran out on you like that. I was just... well, I didn’t want to drag things out. I knew I was leaving, and it was ending, and I thought... well, let’s just get it over as quickly and painlessly as possible.”
