He crossed his arms. Somehow that barrier seemed bigger and thicker than the cement wall she’d imagined before. “It’s not that you used our story for your book. I wouldn’t have minded that—you were desperate for an idea and I would’ve been happy to help. What bothers me is that you didn’t tell me what you were doing. Youhidit from me and now I feel used. Now I wonder about your motives.”
Her eyes burned. This was bad. Swallowed-by-a-big-fish bad. She was getting the terrible feeling she couldn’t talk her way out of this one. “I totally get where you’re coming from. You’re right. I should’ve asked you before I ever started writing that proposal.”
He shifted. Scratched his neck. “I told you about my last relationship, Sadie. You knew that trusting someone again would be difficult for me.”
Guilt pinched her chest. “I know. And I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to break your trust, but I see now that I have.”
He paced away from her, palming his neck in that familiar way while Sadie searched for something to say. Something that would fix this. Something that would ease the pain she’d caused.
He stopped by the sofa and turned. Hurt flickered through theNo Vacancysign shuttering his eyes. “I don’t think this isgoing to work for me, Sadie. Maybe if I wasn’t coming off a previous betrayal... but I am. And I can’t be with someone I can’t trust.”
Ouch.She absorbed his words. Pushed past the pain. Maybe he just needed a little time. Maybe a little distance would help him believe she had real feelings for him. She’d just made a stupid, selfish decision.
But the pain in his eyes was etched on her heart, and she had a feeling she’d never be able to eradicate it. She blinked back tears. “I’m sorry, Sam. I never meant to hurt you.”
Thirty-Six
Fiction should be a visceral experience. Whatever your protagonist is feeling, your reader should be feeling it too.
—Romance Writing 101
The last time Sam had felt this way he’d been sick with the flu. Then in one terrible, enlightening moment, he’d been sick at heart. The image of his cousin and Amanda on that couch was permanently burned onto his brain. That and the feeling it had evoked—that horrible exposed, sucker-punched feeling. The gaping hole inside that ached somehow, despite its emptiness.
He rode the mower across one of his larger properties, wishing the task didn’t offer so much thinking time. The late-afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on his skin. He shoved his sunglasses into place, trying to shake from his mind that stunned look on Sadie’s face last night.
After he’d broken up with her, she’d slipped quietly from his apartment. For someone so adept with words, he would’veexpected her to make a lengthy case for herself. He was relieved she didn’t, as he wasn’t in a headspace to hear it.
This morning he wondered why she hadn’t fought harder. It wouldn’t have made a difference, except maybe to assure him that her affection had been genuine. As it was, he wasn’t so sure.
He only knew that his feelings for her were very real—confirmed by the misery he now experienced. He was so stupid. She had kept her story a secret and he was oblivious. Amanda and Tag had been falling in love right under his nose and he had no idea. Was he that clueless? Was he missing some observant gene? He should probably stay far away from women. Not only could he not trust them—he couldn’t even trust himself right now.
After Amanda’s betrayal, that awful feeling had hung around for months, hurting him, haunting him, and he didn’t welcome it back now. He wanted to eradicate it. He wanted to uproot Sadie from his heart, his life, so he could feel normal again.
But in an hour or so he’d go home, and she’d be out on the deck working or getting ready to fix supper. He certainly couldn’t live next door to her, share a deck with her, for six more weeks.
And there was no reason he had to.
He would call Mrs.Miller on the way home and try to bow out of his rental agreement. Even if he couldn’t do so, he would still return to his apartment. Whatever it might cost was worth it for his mental health’s sake.
His chest tightened at the thought of saying goodbye to Sadie. He’d come to anticipate being with her at the end of each day. To anticipate seeing her sparkling brown eyes, hearing her bright chatter, receiving her passionate kisses.
He shook the thoughts away. That was over. Seeing Sadie now would only torture him. And all his original reasons for moving to the island had evaporated. He’d run away from his pain only to find it again, thanks to someone else. His plan to escape had blown up in his face. And somehow the loss felt even worse this time around.
***
Sadie didn’t like her story anymore. She flipped over the last page and weighted the stack with a conch shell. It probably wasn’t the story itself, only the feeling of loss it now dredged up. But it was impossible to separate the two.
If it was bad, Erin would let her know. Right now Sadie didn’t even care. She couldn’t think past the ache in her chest.
The afternoon was waning and she had to get her pages turned in by end of day. She forced herself to key in the edits she’d made on the printed copy. This was much less heinous than reading the story had been, as the scenes came alive in the form of memories, taunting her. She had a king-size box of Kleenex sitting on the table for that very reason.
The edits took the better part of an hour, and she was relieved when the sun sank behind the house. The heat and humidity were intolerable today. She should’ve worked inside, but she’d thought the sunshine and sea breeze might cheer her. And she was in desperate need of cheer.
All day she’d prayed Sam would have a change of mind. Maybe if she found the right words, she could convince him her feelings were real. But perhaps that wasn’t even the issue. It seemed his concern had been her secrecy. But surely he couldsee she’d just made a mistake. People were wont to do that on occasion. She wasn’t perfect. Did that mean he couldn’t trust her?
The thought had been like a pesky mosquito buzzing in her ears all day long.
Several people had stopped by her Little Library, and she chatted with each of them. Recommended a couple of books. Keisha called to see if she had time for coffee, and Sadie would’ve loved the chance to escape this stupid story. Would’ve loved to soak up some baby snuggles (and fresh oxytocin). Heaven knew the endorphins from her morning jog hadn’t done the trick. But she hadn’t had time for a coffee chat today.
