Chapter 20
“Mmm. There is no way he’s going to be able to make that work, Tim,” Rowan said. Tim Gunn left the workroom onProject Runwayand she fast-forwarded through to the runway show. She didn’t care about the drama—she had enough drama in her life—she wanted to see the dresses.
The doorbell rang and she stopped forwarding. She looked at the time on her phone, then the door, then at her pajamas. “Well, if it’s the paparazzi I’ll definitely be on thewhat was she thinkinglist.”
Setting the bowl of ice cream on the table next to the recliner, she threw off the blanket, went to the door, and looked through the peephole. Michael stood on the other side, looking to the side.
Rowan rocked back on her heels. Did she want to talk to Michael? Did she want him to see her like this? Did it matter at this point anyway?
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. He looked good. A hell of a lot better than she did, that was for sure.
“Hey.” He shoved his hands in the front pocket of his jeans. “Are you busy?”
“No,” she said. “Just eating my feelings. You?”
He ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Do you mind if I come in? We should probably talk.”
She pressed her lips together. “We probably should have done that a week ago.”
“I know,” he said. “There’s a lot I should have said and I don’t want this to be how things end between us.”
She swallowed and looked at her toes.End between us. It was officially official. Not that it hadn’t been before, but she thought… She wasn’t sure what she’d thought. Or hoped for. Or wanted.
That was the biggest problem—she had no clue how to move forward. Maybe she should start by moving back.
Opening the door farther, she stepped aside with a sweep of her arm. Michael walked into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. Rowan curled back up in the chair and pulled the blanket over her lap.
His eyes flicked to the table next to her. Knowing what he saw, she said, “Welcome to the land of Wallow, where ice cream and vodka are perfectly acceptable forms of sustenance.”
“Guess that’s better than wallowing in bourbon and stale bar nuts.”
“Is that what you did?” she asked.
“For a couple of days, yeah.”
“Why?”
“Why was I wallowing?” he asked.
“Why did you walk away?” That was all she wanted to know.
“What would you have done if I’d stayed? If I’d fought for us? For you?”
“I would have married you,” she said.
“Would you really have?” His gaze bore into her, searching. “I know it was an asshole thing to do, but we’d both been having doubts for a while. When he came in, it clicked in a way that it hadn’t before. In a way I wasn’t willing to let it. I love you, but not the way I should. Not in the way that would make me want to fight for us and know I would win. Letting you go—letting us go—was the right thing to do.
“You’re still in love with him, Rowan. You’ve always been in love with him. I could accept that when I thought the only thing I had to compete with was his memory. I convinced myself that with enough time, you’d love me more than you loved him but while you were holding a piece of yourself back, so was I. Eventually we would have realized that.”
She licked her lips and a tear rolled down her cheek. Because more than anything, the truth hurt. “I’m sorry.”
“I am, too. I’m sorry that I didn’t have the guts to say something before and that we ended up here.”
“I do love you,” she said.
“But you’re not in love with me,” he said.
“I—” She wasn’t. How did she become that person?
