I froze in place. “I can’t stand under it.” And why did he need a picture of me?
Miles rubbed his lips together, confused. “Why not?”
“Because the pergola is kind of like a town legend. Anyone who has ever married under it has never gotten divorced. I don’t want to ruin that kind of mojo.”
Miles walked closer to me and Henry, who had been zipping all over the open space, crawling over and under all the wooden benches that lined the rows of the amphitheater. His fancy clothes had attracted a lot of dirt and his shoes were muddy because, yep, he had to check out the lake. Boy could that kid run fast. Miles barely caught him before it wasn’t only his shoes that had gotten wet.
Miles lightly touched the pergola. “Truly no one has ever been divorced that has married here?”
“It’s true. I know several personally, including Emma, Jenna, and Shelby.”
“But you don’t think you’re as worthy as them to stand under it.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and, wow, it felt like punch to the gut.
I placed my hand on my stomach. “Maybe. They each did it the right way. They got their education and grew up before they decided to raise a baby. And they picked good men.” I absent-mindedly picked one of the dying leaves off the vine. “I could have gotten married here. Mrs. Carrington offered it to me, but I instinctively knew even then it wasn’t going to last. Yet I did it anyway,” my voice cracked. I blew out a heavy breath to stave off unwanted emotion. “Anyway, do you want to head up to the main house and get some cookies?” I needed to eat my feelings.
“Aspen, wait.” Miles grabbed the lapels of his jacket I was still wearing and pulled me closer to him.
Whoa. I knew I needed to quit running away from men and emotional intimacy—more like discover what emotionalintimacy even was. It would probably be best, though, to do that with someone who I hadn’t signed a contract with agreeing not to get entangled. But when I peered up into his eyes, I wanted to stay right where I was. No one had ever looked at me so tenderly.
“Aspen,” he repeated. My name never sounded so beautiful. He leaned in as if he wanted to do more than whisper my name. In his eyes, there was a battle raging. His lips parted and acted as if they were unsure what they should do, touch my own or speak. I held my breath, not certain which I hoped for.
With great reluctance he pulled away, yet he kept ahold of his jacket, keeping me close enough to stir long forgotten desires.
“I don’t know the ins and outs of your life,” he spoke low. “I hope someday we will become good enoughfriendsthat you trust me enough to tell me. But this I know; I’ve never met a lovelier woman. You deserve as much as anyone to stand under the pergola. I hope someday you find a man worthy of the honor and you.” He let go of me as abruptly as he had pulled me to him and strode off, leaving me to stare at him and rub my heart he had pricked in the most pleasant way.
Tuckered out from his adventures on the Ranch, Henry fell asleep in the car on the way back into town where we would be stopping at a local children’s boutique for his first pair of trousers. I glanced in the rearview mirror while I drove to catch a glimpse of my young charge with cookiecrumbs on his sweater. His full lips and rosy cheeks made him look like an angel.
Miles sat in the passenger seat. He’d asked if I could drive so he could make notes in his notepad And I think he hated driving on the wrong side of the road, as he called it. He was writing furiously next to me. I was happy the tour was as meaningful for him as it had been for me. I wasn’t sure what to do with my epiphany, but I knew something had to be done. I mean, how do you go about discovering, or perhaps creating is a better word, emotional intimacy with the opposite sex? Obviously, it would mean I would have to choose someone to try it with. But how would I know who to choose? I wasn’t good at picking men. Then there was the question of if an emotionally intimate relationship had to involve a physical one? Could I perhaps be emotionally intimate with a friend? My boss? That was probably a bad idea, right?
“What do you think of Isabella and Dexter staying at the cabin in Shannon’s Meadow?” Miles asked out of the blue. “Obviously, I would have to think of a different name, but I like the privacy of it, and the pond and meadow would make for some good love scenes, don’t you think?”
According to Emma and Shelby, the meadow had seen plenty of love scenes, but that was talk amongst girlfriends, not for Miles’s ears. I wondered, though, if I should mention to Miles that while he was an amazing writer, his love scenes were lackluster. It wasn’t like I was looking for them to be erotic, but he could add more sizzle, or at least more tension. I decided to hold off since he was just coming out of a funk. Instead, I agreed with him. “I like that. I can picture Isabella walkingamong the tall grass and wildflowers that bloom abundantly in the summer.”
Miles tapped his pen against the notepad. “Me as well. I think it would remind her of home.”
“And her father,” I added.
“Yes. Perhaps it would be cathartic for her.”
“I think so,” I agreed. It was so weird to be talking about Isabella like she was a real person.
“I will also use the small cemetery as a way to introduce clues about Dexter’s family and involvement.”
“And what would those be?” I asked nonchalantly.
Miles wasn’t falling for it. “You will have to read those. I’m not going to spoil everything for you.”
“I could just read them on the whiteboard,” I goaded him.
Miles held up his leather-bound pad. “This will be my outline this time. Isabella reminded me today that I know her story and I should trust my instincts. And . . . that she believes in me. Thank you for that reminder.”
I turned onto Main Street in downtown Carrington Cove. “I’m glad I could help. Now hurry up and finish this book.”
His laughter filled the car. “It does take time, even when the story wants to write itself.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s go get Henry in touch with his American side and buy him somepants.”
“Trousers, darling.”
