“Of course.”
He retreats, using his cane to hobble along the veranda and inside the inn, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I try to find comfort in Bernie’s assurances that my dad would have made the same decision I did. That he’d be proud of me. That he wouldn’t wish he’d left his family’s property to someone more deserving.
As I look at all the crowds swarming the ridge, I think maybe he’s right, especially when I take into account all the happy memories people made because of this place. All the marriages that began here. Hell, I’m pretty sure quite a few families were started in the hotel rooms here, too.
Holley Ridge may soon be gone, but its legacy will continue, regardless of anything Callum Reed may do.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize how much time has passed until I hear footsteps approach from behind.
But they can’t belong to Bernie. There’s no unsteady rhythm of his cane.
A prickle of awareness cascades down my spine, a familiar woodsy scent invading my senses. Snapping my head up, I inhale a sharp breath as my eyes lock on Callum Reed.
He looks just as handsome as he did the day we met. Wool coat. Red scarf. An unshaven jawline that brings back memories of how incredible it felt scraping between my thighs.
But there’s something different about him, too. Something...off.
I’d expected for him to be thrilled that I finally accepted his offer and he would soon be millions of dollars richer.
Instead, he looks…sad. Morose.
Empty.
I scramble to my feet, smoothing a hand down my coat. “Mr. Reed. I specifically told you to reach out to my attorney should you require anything further in regards to our agreement.”
“Thatiswhat you wrote. But when I was reviewing the offer, I realized I wanted to make a few changes.”
“Like I said, my attorney—”
“I know what you said. But before I propose these changes, I need an answer.”
“Again, you can reach out to my attorney. She’s authorized to act on my behalf.”
“Not about this, she’s not.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what—”
“Did you mean it?” he interrupts before I can utter another syllable. The anguish in his tone gives me pause, my heart squeezing.
“Mean what?”
He takes a step toward me, and then another, bridging the gap between us until our bodies are practically touching.
“The other morning, you said that maybe the universedidgive you the solution you needed. That maybeIwas the solution.”
I avert my gaze. “I don’t see how that matters anymore.”
“It matters to me, Parker. So please…,” he chokes out. “I need to know. At the time, did you really believe that the universe made our paths cross as a sign that you should stop living in the past?”
The last thing I want to do is relive this all over again. I thought I’d made my peace with it all. What will talking about it do?
Regardless, something about the vulnerability in his eyes has me responding when I’d love nothing more than to escape.
As if the universe knows I need to be here.
That we need to have this conversation.
