15
HUNTER
After ice cream, Tyler left to do homework upstairs. I wasn’t sure if I should stay or not, but Seraphina suggested wine by the fire. The day had been warm, but the moment the sun went down, chill returned to the air.
Soon, we were sitting before the gas fireplace, wine in hand. I could sense the heaviness in her, the weight of career anxiety impossible to shake. I understood completely.
“Talk to me,” I said. “I want to know what’s happening in that fine brain of yours.”
“I’ve been thinking all night about the possibility that my publisher drops me,” Seraphina said. “I’m terrified.”
“What do you think Sylvia meant by pivoting?”
“Who knows exactly. They still think they can predict what people want to read, but I know that’s not true. Sometimes things are hits that no one saw coming.”
“Let me ask you this—is there a book you’ve been wanting to write but haven’t because it feels too far out of your lane?”
She hesitated. “Not in a long time. This last one—when I finished—I felt kind of numb. I miss the days when I raced to my office to write and finishing a book was exhilarating.”
“How long has it been since you felt that?”
“Probably a year. Right around the same time Gillian and Alex fell back in love.”
“Okay, well, that’s interesting timing.”
“How so?”
“Is it possible their love story made you want one of your own? Which, in turn, made it harder to write one?”
“Thatispossible, yes.” Her mouth twitched into a half-smile. “This is terrible to say, but, when we were all single, I didn’t feel so alone. But seeing everyone but Delphine and me happy and in love made my loneliness more acute. Not to mention how it’s affected my writing. How was I supposed to dream up romances when I felt so uncertain about ever having a love of my own?”
“How are you feeling lately? You know, since me.” I grinned.
“I feel hopeful,” she said, somewhat evasively. “Should I?”
“If you’re asking how I feel about you, then, yes, you should feel hope. I’ve fallen hard. I can’t think about anything else but you. I can’t wait to see you. And talk to you. Be with you.” I reached over, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m no good at saying the right thing, or knowing how to woo a woman like you, but I’m also not an idiot. You’re a remarkable person—beautiful, smart, talented, driven. A fantastic mother. I’d have to have a screw loose not to want you in my life. And as far as I can tell, there are no loose screws in this noggin.” I tapped my forehead with a finger. “Yes, my heart has some bruises. Ones that have made it hard for me to admit that I’m in love with you. In fact, I have been since the first time I ever saw you walk into, The Pelican.”
“Is that true?” She watched me, her green eyes bright.
“I’d been trying to get up the courage to ask you out for a year.”
“What stopped you?”
“The bruises, for one.”
“What else?”
“I was feeling too low. The songs wouldn’t come. I was working as a bartender. The guy I’ve been for the last year was not good enough for Seraphina Sinclair.”
“I like you whether you’re a bartender or a songwriter,” she said.
“Maybe that’s true, but I haven’t liked myself in a while. Which I’m starting to understand is the part that matters most. Until I started liking myself again, there was no room to like anyone else.” I paused for a second. “Replace “liking” with loving. I love you.”
“And yourself?”
“I love myself too. The man I am with you and Tyler is the real me. Not the insecure cuckold licking his wounds in Wes and Margaret’s cottage.”
“While reading my books.”
