“So what are you going to do?” Ruby asked, swirling the wine in her glass, watching it like the answer might be written inside.
“What do you mean?”
“First you held off, scared of falling for him. Then you realized you already had—probably a long time ago—and you went for it. And now what?”
“I meant what I told myself and him. His career is at a crossroads and once the picture clears, he’ll have to decide for himself first. I don’t want to push him. Besides, if I go, I’d have to take Walter. And I’d feel sorry for the flight crew.”
Ruby gave me a long look. “You always make jokes when your heart’s torn.”
I didn’t argue, but under her gaze I found myself pressed to continue talking.
“Iamtorn. I want him to get what he worked for. I don’t want him to end his career because of an injury; he should get to finish it on a win. I miss him and wish we could ... But even if it has to end, I’m still glad it happened. I’ll never regret him.” I truly meant it and only hoped I could hold on to it.
“I’m glad to hear that. I hated watching you prefer foam rollers over real men. For years, your fire dampened. I’m happy you rediscovered it.”
I scoffed. “That bad, huh?”
“Owen or no Owen, don’t let yourself settle again.”
“Deal!” I pointed toward her bedroom. “And what’s back there?”
“What?” Ruby frowned.
“Sebastian’s shelf in your closet!”
Ruby’s expression twisted like she’d just tasted a live snail. “What’s that got to do with anything? That’s notsettling. That’schoosingto be in a friends-with-benefits situation.”
I nodded, because I wasn’t about to get into why a thirty-five-year-old woman would choose to never feel and still lecture me about being scared of feelings.
Ruby twirled the stem of her glass. “He and I are on the same wavelength. So ...”
I tilted my glass at her. “To wavelengths.”
Ruby clinked mine with hers. “I brought a cake from the inn’s kitchen. Eve’s on her way. Daph couldn’t make it.”
A few more days passed with no real news and I began realizing that this was going to take time. Meanwhile,myOwen wasn’t there anymore. He was—through texts and short video calls while I was driving to work, sitting with Walter, or catching him in the morning as he rushed out the door in London—but he no longerfeltmine.
The headlines continued pouring in with conjectures about his future—“Owen Wheaton To Attend Team’s Training. Here’s What We Know.”Occasionally, fresh pictures of him from London would accompany the stories. His beloved face, sometimes in clothes I knew well. The same camera-commanding smile. It wasn’t mine anymore.
In my mind, he started slipping back to the visitor he’d always been. The superstar.
And I? I was the woman watching from the other side of the world, wondering if I had been the layover on his way home.
34
Owen
“EXCITED?”
“Nervous,” I admitted, exhaling a long breath.
“Magnus is optimistic.”
And you’re pushing it, I almost said out loud. But that was his job— Neil Westely, my agent.
“We’ll see.” I ran a hand over my jaw. “Except for playing on the beach with some kids and then with ...” I stopped. Memories hit me like a wave, dragging me straight out of the local coffee shop and back to a small beach town thousands of miles away. “I haven’t trained in months.”
The fact that the team’s doctor hadn’t ruled me out yet—despite all the new scans and checkups—was a surprise in itself. When the call came soon after, asking me to join a team training to see “where we stand,” it felt like a whole different kind of shock.
