Then he took a long, hot shower, changed into freshly laundered clothes, and stared at himself in the mirror while he towel-dried his hair. The usual strange feelings he typically experienced at the end of a writing project swirled in his head—elation, satisfaction, accomplishment, relief.
But this time, he felt a new sensation, too—regret.
Interrogating that baffling feeling, he quickly understood the reason for why he should feel it.
Courtney Flynn was the reason.
He regretted the awkward way they’d parted the last time they saw one another. Although their picnic in the park was only a matter of days ago, it now felt like a lifetime since he’d seen her and had hurried off after saying goodbye.
Ever since, he’d buried all thoughts about her, buried any attempt to analyse what had happened between them on that park bench. Writing had kept him busy, endlessly busy, and with his publisher’s deadline approaching, by which time he had to turn in his completed manuscript, he’d eagerly jumped into the work that remained to be done.
Working and writing meant he didn’t have to think about Courtney, didn’t have to think about the way she’d looked sitting beside him on the park bench with the sun lighting her hair like a halo, didn’t have to think about how, when she hugged him, he’d come so close—so dangerously close—to pulling her into his arms and kissing her and never letting go.
Kissing her would’ve been a mistake—a terrible, terrible mistake. He’d already told himself as much time and time again.
In just a matter of days, Travis would be returning to London. All the moving parts necessary for his departure had now locked into place. Yesterday, he’d received confirmation from his neighbour in the apartment building where he livedthat the construction work on the ground floor was finished and peace and quiet had been restored at last.
Just hours later, he’d heard from the owners of the house where he was staying on Foxglove Street, informing him that they were making their way back to England on schedule and would be arriving in a few days as planned and thanking him in advance for looking after the house in their absence.
And now Travis had finished his book manuscript, too.
There was nothing keeping him here in Hamblehurst. The owners of the Foxglove Street house were returning on time, his apartment building in London was back to normal, and his book was written.
In other words, it was time to go.
Which meant he’d been right not to kiss Courtney that day on the park bench. How could he have kissed her when he knew he would soon be leaving? She was about to have a baby, was about to become a single mother, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was mess with her feelings and indulge himself bykissingher just to satisfy his own selfish desires, when he knew he was leaving and that nothing more could ever come of it.
And yet he couldn’t help but feel regret over the kiss that never was.
Travis looked long and hard at himself in the mirror as he finished rubbing at his wayward hair with the damp towel. He scowled as he thought back to how he’d let go of Courtney as they’d sat on the park bench, just dropped his arms and released her from his embrace, before practically jumping away from her. At the time, the reaction had been instinctive, the only way to stop himself from crushing his lips against hers.
Now, he thought about how bizarre his behaviour must have seemed, and how rude, too. First, he’d had to stop himself from kissing her, and then he’d almost sprinted off into the distance to get away from her.
That was no way to treat a woman, let alone a pregnant one. Instead of being treated with the respect and adoration she deserved as a new mother-to-be, he’d treated her like a bad smell he couldn’t wait to escape.
Shame flooded his cheeks with colour as he remembered the look of embarrassment on Courtney’s face as she’d packed up their uneaten picnic before they’d left the park. She’d barely even glanced his way as they’d walked back to Foxglove Street. Travis didn’t doubt for one minute that she’d known he’d almost kissed her, and had found their awkward altercation nothing short of completely mortifying.
He owed her an apology. Before he left Hamblehurst, he had to put things right between them.
Before the calamity on the bench, they’d shared too many moments of friendship for Travis to just disappear without anything more than a phone call or text message.
Which meant he ought to go and see her and return their easy companionship to the even keel where it had been before.
But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to see her. As Travis thought about opening that bottle of champagne that was chilling in the fridge and raising a glass to his latest manuscript, he realised that, for the first time, he didn’t want to celebrate this special moment alone.
He wanted Courtney to share it with him.
The impulse felt both completely crazy and absolutely right. Resolving the contradiction was impossible and so Travis didn’t bother trying. Before he left Hamblehurst, he wanted to see Courtney and talk to her and put things right between them, and, more than that, he wanted her to be there when he popped the cork on that champagne and see her smile light up her face like a supernova.
After all, if his fictional sleuth Maura Shaw could find romance when she least expected it, as she’d done with the jewelthief Phillip Rorkman in the book he’d just finished writing, why couldn’t he salvage a sliver of friendship with a woman who’d come to mean so much to him over the past few weeks?
And wasn’t the new bookbetterbecause Maura Shaw had found someone she wanted by her side? Yes, it was. For eight books, she’d sleuthed alone. But it was time for her to move on as a character and her new romantic sparring partner was the injection of new life the series needed.
Perhaps it was time for Travis, too, to step away from his life of solitude long enough to let others inside? The time he’d spent with Courtney only proved how much he wanted to, how much heneededto. There might be no chance of romance between them, but friendship was possible—surely?
Travis intended to find out one way or the other.
He was opening the fridge door when it occurred to him that Courtney obviously couldn’t have champagne. She was more than eight months pregnant, for God’s sake. What was he thinking?
