“How about the truth?” Lucy said. “That you were hurt. That the subterfuge became too much. That somewhere along the way, fake started to feel a lot like the truth.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t do messy emotions. He does strategy. Planning. Control.”
“Are you sure? Because the man I heard about wouldn’t buy sunflowers for his assistant or make love to her like she was the most precious thing in the world.”
The memory of their night together—the way he’d touched her with such reverence, whispered her name against her skin—hit her hard.
“It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”
“Is it? Because someone who’s called eight times in three hours doesn’t sound like someone who thinks it’s over.”
Her resolve wavered. What if Lucy was right? What if there was still a chance to explain, to apologize?
Her phone buzzed again. His name lit the screen for the eighth time.
“I can’t talk to him,” she whispered, silencing the call. “Not until I figure out what to do.”
“And what exactly are you going to do?” Lucy asked, settling into the chair beside her.
Devney paused. He wasn’t who she needed to apologize to. She looked up. “I need to go to Martha’s Vineyard. I need to see the Beauchamps myself. To explain everything.” She straightened in her chair, feeling as if there something she could do. “If Andrew hasn’t pulled the deal yet, maybe there’s still time to do something. This is my mess. I created it with my impulsive outburst, and now I need to fix it. I owe him that much.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Lucy asked.
“Then at least I’ll have tried,” she said.
“How will you even get there?” Lucy asked. “It’s not like you can grab a taxi to Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out. I have to.”
Lucy gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Whatever happens, you’ll face it. Then you’ll move forward.”
“How?” Devney asked.
“One step at a time,” Lucy said. “The way we always do.”
She nodded.
As Lucy locked up Flour & Honey and led her upstairs to the apartment above, determination took root. This wasn’t about salvaging a job. It was about doing what was right.
Inside, Lucy turned to her. “We’ll figure out how to get you to the Vineyard in the morning.”
Yes, they would, because she knew she had to make it right.
Chapter 21
He hadn’t slept.
The few hours he managed were fractured and useless, his thoughts returning again and again to the same empty feeling. So he did what he always did when everything else felt out of control—he went to the office. Early. Before the city had even begun to stir.
He’d tried to focus and failed.
Eventually, he left the stillness of his office.
Her desk sat like a monument untouched, unmoved, empty. Except for the ring.
That sunflower ring. Cheerful and her.
He’d called. He’d texted. Left voice-mails he didn’t even remember recording. Eight calls.
