I used to feel like it was all inevitable, like I was doomed to succumb to the way I felt inside.
I don’t feel that way anymore.
Hope, I believe it’s called. Trust, even. I trust myself now, in a way I didn’t before.
I trust myself not to hurt Avery again.
But it’s not about me. Not anymore.
It’s about her.
Us.
CHAPTER 23
AVERY
I’m sittingat my desk, staring out the window, my fingers poised on my computer keyboard. The skinny limbs of a mesquite tree sway with the breeze, and large, waxy white flowers spring from the arms of an old Saguaro. Normally I love this view, but today I cannot appreciate it properly.
My coffee has gone cold and my mouth feels as though a desiccant packet is sitting on my tongue. I’m immobilized by my thoughts.
Suddenly, this book feels a thousand times more difficult to write.
Or not, depending on how I look at it.
Within these pages, I have control. I am the puppet master. Pull a string, and an arm lifts.
In real life, I have no control over what anybody does.
Jill emailed me this morning, saying she looked forward to discussing the book in person tomorrow at the bridal shower. Between planning the event, writing the book, and my general angst, I haven’t had time to be nervous about meeting her.
I’m shifting my attention back to my manuscript when there’s a knock on my front door. For a quick second my brainmisfires and thinks somehow it’s Jill, showing up to surprise me. That’s not possible, considering when she emailed and the time it would take to travel from New York to Arizona.
It’s probably Camryn coming to check on me and make sure I haven’t forgotten some detail about tomorrow’s celebration.
I check the peephole.
Gabriel.
I swallow against the flutter in my chest, then swipe under my eyes and tighten the messy bun tied on the top of my head. I wish I weren’t wearing my pink pajamas and fluffy Christmas-themed socks, but then I remember Camryn’s words from my first day in Sugar Creek.
Only Gabriel would find you physically attractive in your current state.
I push down my churning stomach and acidic nerves and open the door.
Gabriel straightens, as if he wasn’t really expecting me to answer. He fills the space of my walk-up, making it appear smaller.
“Hi.” His gaze roams my face. “Can I come in?”
I look down at myself as I back up to allow him in, silently cursing the salsa stain on the thigh of my pajama bottoms.
Gabriel steps inside. He doesn’t touch me as he passes, and still there’s an electric current between us. It’s so strong he might as well have his hands all over me.
He pauses in the entryway, which is also nearly the middle of the living room, and only a few steps away from the kitchen. “This is nice.” He looks up at the ceiling. “You have fire sprinklers.”
“I remembered what you said, about houses built in this area after 1990 all having sprinklers.”
His hands go into his pockets, his shoulders lifting halfway to his ears. “I’m glad you thought of that, when you were looking for a home.”
