He lifted a shoulder.
“At least I’m not hiding away in Deep Haven too scared to try anything new.”
Sammy pressed his lips together. The silence between them stretched thin like a rubber band pulled too taut.
“I hoped I would be enough for you. That we could have adventures together. I hoped you would be happy with a life in Deep Haven.” Sammy looked down at the floor, then raised his gaze to meet hers again. He stood up straight and reached out a hand toward her. “I love you, Robin, and I want a life with you.”
Oh. She closed her eyes. “I guess I want more.”
She shouldn’t have opened her eyes again, because he was struggling to form words, the hurt cascading over his face.
But he couldn’t seriously think that she’d give up Paris for…
Oh. He did. And if Victor hadn’t offered her the job, she would have gone back to Deep Haven, ready to build a life.
With him.
“Please, Sammy—”
“You’re choosing to go to France—with Victor”—he threw a thumb over his shoulder in the direction Victor had walked off—“instead of figuring out if we have a future.”
“I’m not going with Victor…” But she couldn’t complete the sentence, because that’sexactlywhat she was doing.
“There’s not much more to say, then, is there?”
“Sammy—”
“No. I’m not enough for you, and I never will be. Not when your head is in the clouds. Not when you can’t even imagine having enough right here. It’s not like this thing would have worked out anyway. You’re right. You’d never fit into Deep Haven.” Sammy turned and walked out of the ballroom.
Robin’s feet were rooted to the floor as she watched him go.
“Excuse me, miss?” Standing there was the announcer. “I have your real check.” He held out an envelope to her,Team Foxscrawled across the front in a flowery font.
She took the envelope. It shook in her hands. Everything she had ever wanted. Recognition for her talent. A job in a bakery in France with full control. Money for a new start.
Yep. This should be the happiest day of her life.
If she could bring herself to open the envelope.
* * *
The lossof Robin physically ached.
Two weeks after their blowup in New York, and Sammy still caught himself rubbing at the middle of his chest. It never helped.
I guess I want more.Her words echoed through his mind, fueling the pain.
Translation: You’re not enough.
He sat on his bed in his mom’s house, back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Beside him on the bedside table, his phone buzzed, Seth’s name on the caller ID.
“Hey. What’s up?” Sammy crossed his ankles.
“It’s been a while. Thought I’d check in.”
“I thought maybe you had a job for me.”
“Not at the moment. I’m at your front door. Want to let me in?”
