I’d never seen Andrew so tentative. The man who moved through the world as if it owed him something was frozen on the far end of the couch like I was a nervous rabbit in a clearing that he was afraid to startle.
“I took your advice,” he began quietly. “About my dad. We talked last night.”
I caught my breath. “And?”
A shift, a slight repositioning of his crossed arms as he remembered what was probably a difficult conversation. “It was good.” He cleared his throat. “Really good.” His voice was rough.
Relief washed over me. If nothing else came from my time with Andrew I would always havethis. The knowledge that in a small way, I helped two people find their way back to each other.
“That makes me really happy.”
The soundtrack of two dogs gnawing on bones added to the awkwardness in the room as we waited to get to the reason why he was here.
“I have some stuff I want to say.Needto say...” he finally began.
I nodded. “Okay.”
His jaw flexed. “First, I’m sorry for being an asshole to you about buying the building.”
“I should’ve told you,” I said quickly. I wasn’t about to ignore my part in the breakdown between us. I’d been so focused onmyself that I hadn’t considered how my inability to deal with my father’s gift was impacting him.
“Maybe, but that’s not the point. I reacted badly. There’s just so muchnoisecaught up in my business, you know? The dad stuff. I’ve got a lot to prove. And I took it out on you. I apologize.”
He locked his eyes on me and I had to fight to stop my usual reaction to it. It was the Gibson Glare, but so different from what I was used to. Not judging me, butcalibrating. Assessing how his apology was landing. Determining what to say next.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t more open with you. It’s just that—”
“I know,” he murmured. “I get it, Chelsea. And that’s why I feel even worse about the way I reacted.”
I glanced at my knotted hands. I could still feel him watching me, familiar as ever but different at the same time.
“There’s something else we need to talk about, if we’re going to figure all of this out,” he said softly.
An ember started to singe inside my chest. Andrew wanted to revisit the past. It felt like we were heading in the right direction, so why would he want to pile on old hurts? But if he thought it was important enough to bring up, I had to let him work through it. I nodded and braced myself. I could tell by the way that he took a long pause before speaking that whatever was about to come out wasn’t going to be easy for him.
“I have to ask why you didn’t respond to me after that night on the boat.”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean?Itextedyou, and you’re the one who didn’t respond.”
“Chelsea, I sent you a message that night...” He seemed tohave to force himself to keep talking. “I said... things. A lot of things.”
“We were both drunk,” I offered as an escape hatch, waving my hand to fan his discomfort away.
“I wasn’t,” he said quickly. “I took care of you.”
He searched my face, frowning at me as I revisited my hazy memories of the night. I felt like I was downshifting, trying to slow the familiar images seared into my memory so that I could scrutinize them yet again with this new information. Now I could see Andrew, hovering near the edge of the dance floor, sitting with Nolan and the guys with his arms crossed, watching me from across the boat, but never clutching a drink.
“I woke up at the end of the cruise wearing Nolan’s jacket—”
“Myjacket,” he said softly, as his expression went pained. “You don’t remember me sitting with you?”
I had vague memories of someone rubbing my back, comforting me, but I’d always assumed that it was one of the other bridesmaids. “That was you?”
He nodded. “And that’s when I sent you the text. While I was taking care of you.” He managed a shred of a smile. “When you snuggled against me I decided that I had to let you know how I felt.”
And suddenly a new version of the night started to swim into focus. My head resting not on the bench, but on a solid leg, while a hand that was way too big to be female made slow, comforting circles on my back. I now remembered feeling anchored by the sensation of that hand, even while my head couldn’t stop spinning.
Nothing was making sense. Our story ended with him ignoring my confessions, not the other way around. “But I sent you a text...”
