Because avoiding her, he finally understood, was the best way to show that love.
EIGHT
Thomas didn’t touch her the rest of the morning. Not once.
They’d endured their final interminable interview in yet another generic hotel meeting room. They’d discussed the benefits and drawbacks of different islands and announced their decision to stay their last three nights on Renaissance Island. The crew had contacted the other hotels and a ferry company to cancel reservations. She and Thomas had made their goodbyes to the crew and seen everyone off at the ferry dock.
All the while, he hadn’t once reached for her hand or wrapped an arm around her waist or stroked the wind-whipped hair from her face. All gestures she’d apparently become dependent upon during the course of three short days, because their absence hurt.
More than that, their absence confused her.
Because he still smiled at her, the expression weaker than normal but seemingly sincere. He saw to her comfort, such as when he’d noticed her shifting in that too-narrow chair with the wooden arms and brought her a wider seat without a word. He’d backed up whatever opinions she expressed during the interview and deflected Gladys’s occasional complaints about the lack of great footage on Renaissance Island.
And if she’d truly hurt his feelings so badly with one insensitive remark, why didn’t he tell her so? Why didn’t he initiate another one of those nerve-wracking conversations of his? Why didn’t he share what he was thinking, as he—unlike her—had seemed to do so ably and comfortably before now?
Maybe he was waiting for the crew to leave?
But when the ferry disappeared over the horizon, he spoke without looking at her.
“You probably want to sit in the water and relax for a while.” His eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners, despite his smile. “Don’t worry about entertaining me. I found a few local history books, and I might take a tour of the grounds to locate some of the landmarks.”
From the sharp pain and coppery taste on her tongue, she must have broken the skin of her lip as she bit it. “Okay.”
She didn’t expect him to spend every minute with her, of course, but…
Yeah. It stung. And something was clearly amiss.
Say something, Cal. She shifted on feet that had suddenly started to hurt, pinched by her strappy sandals. For Christ’s sake, take his hand and ask what happened. Ask him what’s wrong.
But the thought of that tripped her heart in her chest and made her skin prickle with both humiliation and hives. She couldn’t do it. Not when his answer meant so much to her, and the wrong response could crush her.
Maybe he simply needed some alone time, away from her incessant worries, and was too kind to tell her that outright. If so, she couldn’t exactly blame him. And if she forced him to stay with her, to have that awkward, potentially hurtful conversation, maybe he’d get angry. Maybe he’d think she was too demanding, too needy.
Maybe he’d tell her they were through. That she was too much for him.
No, she should let him go. Let him work through his thoughts and come back to her. If he had something he needed to tell her, he would. In his own time. She wouldn’t force the issue.
His blue eyes had turned dull. Opaque. “I hope you have an amazing day, Callie.”
Her chest was afire, her throat thick. She didn’t want him to see her in this state. So when he turned to leave, she didn’t call him back.
She did what she always did. What she did best.
She kept her mouth shut and put one foot in front of the other, no matter how much it hurt.
Late that afternoon, she sent him a text. Just a reminder: We have reservations for dinner at seven. Meet you in our room before then.
Then she shut down her phone before he could text back to cancel. Because if she knew Thomas—and she did, or at least she’d thought she did—if she didn’t confirm that she’d received his message, he’d show up to their room out of sheer politeness.
And she needed to see him. To reassure herself that everything hadn’t gone wrong, much as she knew it had. Suddenly. For reasons she feared she comprehended all too well.
True to form, he arrived in their suite half an hour before the reservation, and his eyes immediately flew to the corner of the room where she sat, fully dressed and ready to go.
“Hello, Callie.” He cleared his throat. “Did you have a good afternoon?”
She could interpret the wince creasing his lean face. He’d wanted to cancel, but only a jackass would do so at the last minute, when she’d clearly spent time and effort preparing for the occasion.
Oh, yes, she knew him. Not as well as she’d hoped, but well enough to stage this moment. Now she just had to figure out what to do with it.
