“I thought I would be on my way back to Detroit.”
A surge of relief flooded her and she laughed. “Well, the day is still early.” She winked. “You may still have to hit the road soon. Especially if you don’t like this omelet.”
“I love your cooking,” he admitted softly.
She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Whatever. But to address your confession, I’m glad you’re not on your way back. I missed hanging out with you.”
“Me too. Okay, so it’s your turn.”
Paige’s confession lodged in her throat. She definitely couldn’t tell him that she wanted to kiss him, that she wondered what his lips would feel like against hers. She wouldn’t admit that she’d dreamed about him.
“I confess . . .” She hummed, trying to come up with something that wasn’t so serious. “I’m sorry I threw the comforter at you last night.”
Andrew barked out a laugh. “You did catch me off guard with that move.”
“That’s the point.”Thatand the fact that she had to cover up his bare chest by any means necessary. “But I’m not sorry about the pillow. You deserved that.”
They both cracked up. Half an hour later, they sat down for breakfast. They conversed about the latest binge-worthy shows, and the last political debate. She teased him about his refusal to give up on his Detroit Pistons. He didn’t bring up Julius or work, which was exactly what she needed. For the first time in months, she felt grounded, she felt hope—hope that the past was behind them. And a small part of her hoped this might be the start to something better.
Chapter Seven
“I have a confession. A real one.” Paige turned her head and glanced at Andrew. He’d decided to stay after their earlier conversation. They didn’t do anything in particular, just spent time catching up. Now they were seated in front of a fire pit, roasting marshmallows, drinking wine, and staring at the water.
Andrew rotated the stick holding two marshmallows slowly. “What is it?”
“I think Julius married me to help his image.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud to anyone. She’d thought it for a while, but it hurt too much to verbalize it.
Meeting her gaze, he asked, “Why do you say that?”
Leaning her head back against her chair, she said, “I just can’t reconcile his behavior with the man that pursued me, followed me around, purchased extravagant gifts for me.” She shrugged. “What other reason could it be? I mean, he obviously has feelings for Catherine. They have a child together.”
He took his stick from the fire and handed it to her. “That doesn’t mean he has feelings for her.” He added two more marshmallows to another stick and started the roasting process again.
“Marrying me doesn’t mean he loved me.”
In hindsight, she could clearly see she’d married a narcissist. Julius was entitled. He didn’t have any boundaries. There were times when he seemed to genuinely care about people, but he lacked true empathy. On the other hand, he could charm the pants off a person. Which was why he’d been able to have the career he had.
“He was so manipulative,” she said into the night air. “And he could be so cruel.”
Andrew turned cold, hard eyes on her. “Did he hurt you?” he growled.
“No.” She shuddered as Julius’s harsh words replayed in her head. “He never touched me physically. But the way he acted during the divorce process . . . The things he said . . . Why did I marry him?”
His gaze softened, but she couldn’t figure out if she read hurt for her in them, or hurt for himself. Maybe it was both?Is it wrong to hope it’s both?“You loved him.” He averted his gaze. “You wanted your marriage to work.”
“That’s part of it,” she agreed. “But the signs were there all along. The insults buried in praise, the way he’d always turn things around to make it my fault, the constant criticism. Those were things he always did. So why was I with him?”
Andrew took a drink from his wineglass. Convincing him to try the merlot was quite the feat. He was a beer guy, through and through. “You can’t get caught up in the whys,” he said, rotating the stick. “You have to focus on what you’re doing now to fix it.”
She sipped from her glass, admiring his patient technique. He was as careful and methodical at roasting marshmallows as he was with everything in his life. “You’re pretty intense with marshmallows,” she pointed out.
A small smirk played over his lips. “Marshmallows are nothing to play about, Paige.” He nodded toward her stick. “Better eat those before they get too cold.”
Paige eyed him for a moment before stuffing one whole marshmallow in her mouth.
Andrew laughed, and it sounded like a song—a sonnet. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stuff anything in your mouth.”
Giggling, she pulled the other one off the stick and ate it in one bite. “It’s so good, though.” She licked remnants of the treat off her finger. “See, you’re a bad influence on me. Got me out here being greedy.”
