“Maggie,” he said solemnly. “I’m just not used to that.”
“Fair’s fair. I’m not used to hearing your voice.”
“Have you had lunch?”
I sealed a tube of mascara and returned that to its place. “I promised Joyce I’d cover for her at the desk. She has a doctor’s appointment at two.”
“It’s only one now. Have you eaten?”
Collecting brushes, I slid them into disinfecting solution. “I’ve been with clients since eleven. The last one just left. But you know that.” He was my boss. My schedule had to be right there on his screen.
“No. I don’t. I decided not to spy.”
I sputtered a dry laugh. “Isn’t it a little late? You already have my address and phone number, and, okay, maybe you got that from our lawyer or from Liam, but I’m betting you’ve also been through my file. And if you pulled up the Spa schedule to compare today’s bookings to a typical Monday before the scandal—which I’m sure you did, because that’s the kind of info you’d want—my schedule is already on a screen in your mind. You have a photographic memory, Edward. Don’t forget, I know you.”
“You’re the only one who does,” he said without correcting the name. “That’s why I’m calling. I have lunch here on my desk—Caesar salad for you, tuna sandwich for me.”
Caesar salad for you, tuna sandwich for me.I tried to picture it, but all I could see was the risk. “You had your assistant bring lunch for two to your office, and you didn’t think it would attract attention?”
“I got these myself at Rasher and Yolk. I didn’t realize they were open ’til two,” he said, sounding pleased, “but don’t worry, they don’t know who I am. My office is on the second floor of the Inn, so no one at the front desk will see. My assistant is gone for the afternoon, there’s no one else around, and if someone knocks on the door, you can hide in the bathroom.”
That distracted me. “You have your own bathroom?”
“It came with the office. You’ve never been up here? You have to see it. I actually could use your advice on the, um”—he cleared his throat—“décor.”
Pulling the lidded trash bin from under my makeup counter, I swept in used mascara wands, Q-tips, and sponges. These things were more realto my life than this voice from the past. “Oh, Edward.” I sighed. “What’s the point?”
“Eating lunch. You haven’t eaten, I know you haven’t, and you’re right, I did see you had a free hour, but I didn’t go looking for it, I swear I didn’t. It just kind of popped up.”
I might have laughed again, now for old times’ sake, because Edward could be sweet when he was earnest. But I honestly, truly, completely wasn’t in the market for heartache. “What’s the point of our being together?”
“You said you didn’t know the man I’ve become. Here’s your chance.”
“Chance to relive a past?”
“Chance to live a future.”
“I can’t keep the past in the past, when it comes to you.”
“Well, you sure as hell won’t ever move on, if you don’t get over that.”
I should have been angry. But he was right. My therapist had said something similar. And it was common sense. The more I let the present unfold, the more the past would find its place. I just hadn’t expected Edward to be in the picture. If he was staying in Devon, I couldn’t ignore him. I couldn’t fear seeing him everywhere I went. I had to face him.
And yeah, I was a little curious about that bathroom.
But then he sealed it with a bald, “Okay, it’s me, I’m the one who needs to bridge past and present. You’ve never been in this office. You’ve never told me about your work or about the pottery studio or about Devon. Honestly?” he said with an element of pleading, “I feel lost. Okay, I know I just got here. I have to pay my dues. But people stare at me like I’m an alien.” He paused, pleaded, “Lunch? Here? Please?”
***
It didn’t take long to walk from the Spa into the body of the Inn and up the nearest stairwell to the second floor. I had to fudge my way from there, making one wrong turn that took me down a corridor of guest suites before heading in the other direction and spotting the glass doubledoors. They were frosted with a handsome pattern of horizontal bars, the name of the Inn, and a discreet BUSINESSOFFICEmarking that was obvious enough to steer away even a tipsy guest. It would be locked at night, of course. And now?
There was still time to turn back. I didn’t have to do this.
But he was right about layering new memories on the old. His needing it, too, helped. And then there were Mom-isms marching along to the beat of my feet, likeFor old times’ sakeandOnce and done.
After knocking softly, I carefully lowered the brass lever and pushed. I slipped inside before anyone could enter the corridor behind me, and closed the door.
Edward was just coming from the inner room that had to be his office, but I was already looking around in dismay. The walls were maroon, though only small strips of it could be seen past a world of Currier and Ives. Large, small, etchings, oils—each one was beautiful but a throwback to an early era. Same with the carpets underfoot, which were Oriental and worn, and with the conference room, whose long table and dozen chairs were classic. “Chippendale.”
