He’d always seemed more than happy to accommodate holding off on marriage and children and integrating their lives in any meaningful way because he was doing it forher.
What a pile of horseshit.
“I hope you know that gives me no pleasure,” Reese finally responded, saying the words like they were physically painful for her.
Sydney brushed off her concern. “Grant has always been indulgent. Fast cars. Nice things. A certain lifestyle. He’s used to getting what he wants, and he likes to feel important. I don’t know why I thought those traits wouldn’t extend to women or that he wouldn’t find someone else to make him feel important in my absence.”
“Knowing that still doesn’t make what he’s done okay. Or make it somehow your fault because you trusted him. Again, something like trust is the baseline to me, not the goal. If someone abuses that, it’s entirely on them.”
“Spoken like a woman with some experience in this area. Left a bad breakup in San Francisco?” Sydney tilted her head toward Reese, who wouldn’t quite meet her stare.
“I’m sorry, by the way. Spending so much time with my family has been weird for me, too,” Reese said, avoiding Sydney’s question entirely. “I feel like I’ve been dropped into the plot of a soap opera and that I’m always a half step away from breaking down in laughter or tears at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.”
“We’re not exactly helping the melodrama,” Sydney acknowledged, even though her heart still thrummed with awareness, wanting to know what, or who, had helped fuel Reese’s desire to leave California.
She knew that Reese didn’t have a great relationship with her family. That she’d moved out to California for college and business school and then stayed there when she’d started her company. She knew that she was intelligent, and even though she could likely do anything she set her mind to, she’d decided to come back to Stoneport and build a life here, complete with an out-of-date inn to run.
Beyond that, Sydney didn’t know much.
She didn’t know the little things like Reese’s favorite movie. Or what her comfort snack was when she was PMS-ing.
And she definitely didn’t know the big things, like who’d broken her heart. Or why coming back to a place that clearly caused her so much turmoil had seemed like a better alternative than staying where she was.
Sydney reached her arm across the console and rested her fingers lightly on Reese’s leg, her stomach fluttering when Reese’s thigh tensed under her hand.
“Why don’t we focus on having fun this weekend?” she suggested. “No scheming to make Grant’s life more difficult as punishment for his shitty behavior. No worrying about anything except having a good time in whatever moment we find ourselves in.”
Giving Grant this much of her energy was just giving him more power, and he didn’t deserve that.
“Is it that simple?” Reese asked, a slight raggedness in her breath when Sydney pushed her fingertips into her soft skin.
“I don’t have a lot to worry about except you, so I think the ball’s in your court as to whether you think it’s possible.”
Reese looked contemplative. “So we’re putting a pause on things a week in? Are we really that weak?” she asked, but her voice had gone soft, like maybe it was an idea she’d been considering, too.
“As fun as torturing Grant is,” Sydney said with a mischievous smile, “it’s already losing its luster. I’ve never been great at being vindictive.”
Reese glanced at her, tugging her lip between her teeth. “Me neither.”
And the idea of spending the day with Reese, having fun as a ‘couple,’ was more enticing than Sydney would admit to anyone, including herself.
“So we’re going to be on our best behavior?”
“Kill ‘em with kindness,” Reese said as she flashed Sydney a broad smile.
“Think we can manage it?” Sydney realized she’d still been tapping her fingers gently against Reese’s thigh, so she removed her hand and placed it in her lap.
Reese made a sound, and she wrapped her knuckles more tightly around the steering wheel. “Guess we’ll find out.”
The Fitzpatricks’ coastal hideaway was more understated than Sydney had expected, she noted as they stepped through the doorway and placed their bags near the entrance. Don’t get her wrong; it was still a mansion, but she hadn’t expected it to feel so… homey.
“Come in, come in,” Margie said excitedly, ushering them into the entryway.
The house was decorated in soft, neutral hues that were common in New England, ones that mimicked the water along the coast, but there were photos of the Fitzpatrick family plastered on almost every available surface. A variety of books, face down to keep the page open, were set on the coffee table farther into the living room, which opened onto the kitchen, and Sydney noted the half-empty coffee cups on the kitchen island.
She liked the home’s lived-in quality immediately, and some of her tension eased away at the sight.
She’d played in televised tennis tournaments where thousands of eyes watched her every move. Had done photo shoots for magazines with millions of readers. She’d honed her public speaking skills after hundreds of post-match interviews and even the few TV commercials she’d done. Luckily, perfume and watch commercials didn’t want her to speak as much as they wanted her to walk purposefully or hit the ball in what would become slow motion by the time the editors were done with the shots.
