“I’m not going to see him again,” I tell her. “It was a nice evening, but…” I trail off, shrugging.
Allie closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around me. “I miss Dad.” Her voice is muffled against my chest, but her words hit me like a hammer.
As tears fill my eyes, I lay a kiss on her cheek. “Me too, honey.” She’s taller than me now, which is just another sign that time is marching on. Paul would have loved to see her grow up.
No.
I’m not going to break down. Not right now. Not when I just went on a date, when my daughter needs me to be strong.
Allie pulls away and wipes her eyes, smudging eyeliner across her face. “He would want you to date, you know. Dad would want you to be happy. And…I do too. You shouldn’t worry about me, Mom. If you want to go out and date, don’t think that it’s going to bother me. I’m just crying because you look pretty and I wanted you to have fun, but I still miss Dad. I know it doesn’t make sense.”
My sweet, gorgeous daughter. She has as big a heart as my husband did. Even when the sight of me coming back from a date makes her miss her father, she still tells me she wants me to be happy. Allie may have a rebellious streak, but she’s the best kid I could have asked for.
I run my fingers through her hair, then wipe away the smudges of eyeliner from her cheeks. “Thank you, baby. I appreciate that. And it makes sense. It makes complete sense.”
She lets out a shuddering breath. “Why aren’t you going to see him again?”
“I think I miss your father, too, Allie. All evening, all I could think about was Paul.”
Allie leans her head against my shoulder. “People keep telling me it’ll get easier, but it doesn’t seem to.”
A lump lodges itself in my throat. I pull away and squeeze my daughter’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To the café.”
“Right now?” She frowns. “It’s late.”
“I know, but we don’t have brownies and lemon tarts in the house.”
A smile ghosts over Allie’s lips, and then she laughs. “You sound like Dad.”
“Maybe he rubbed off on me after all.”
Allie giggles again and grabs her jacket before pulling on her boots. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“No it’s not,” I tell her. “Not at all.”
When we get to Four Cups, I’m surprised to see a light on inside. When I peer through the windows, I see Simone’s red hair illuminated by the light of her laptop screen, her brows furrowed in a deep frown.
She looks up when Allie and I enter, brows arching high.
“We had an emergency that required immediate pastry ingestion,” I explain.
Simone chuckles as Allie makes a beeline for the fridge.
I glance at my friend. “You want anything?”
“Give me one of those white-chocolate cranberry cookies,” Simone replies. “I feel like I need a sugar hit, too. One of those days.”
Allie preps the plates and food, then brings everything to Simone’s table along with a pot of tea.
I grab the mugs while Simone puts her laptop away. “Working so late?” I ask as I slide my fork into an ooey-gooey brownie.
“New client. Deadline tomorrow,” Simone replies, pouring the tea for everyone.
We eat in silence for a few moments until Allie pipes up. “What happened between you and Wes, Simone?”
Simone freezes, her eyes flicking to my daughter, then to me.
I nudge Allie. “It’s not polite to pry, Allie.”
“It’s fine.” Simone gives us a tight smile. “Things didn’t work out, kiddo. Sometimes that happens.”
“No wonder you two are friends,” she grumbles between bites of lemon tart.
Simone flicks her gaze to me, and I reply with a wry smile. “My date with Rudy was a dud.”
“Really?”
“It was fine, but he’s not the man for me.”
Simone sips her tea, thinking, then shakes her head. “It’s amazing how men can promise you the world and underdeliver so spectacularly.”
“So it’s really over between you and Wes?” It’s my turn to sip my tea, angling my head at my friend.
Simone lets out a long sigh and nods. “It’s been a week since our fight, and he hasn’t reached out. I’m not going to chase after him when he’s the one who went all Jekyll and Hyde on me. I should just learn the lesson that the universe is trying to knock into my head. Stop making the same mistakes over and over again.”
I grunt, finishing the last bite of my brownie, then stare mournfully at my chocolate-streaked plate. “I think I need another one.”
Simone laughs. “Me too, girl.”
Allie doesn’t complain as she gets us all a second round. By the time we’re done with our second desserts, I have a stomach ache, but somehow I feel lighter. Simone locks the café up behind us and gives us both a hug, and we go our separate ways.
I may not have a man in my life, but at least I have a daughter, friends, and a business I care about. That should be enough to be truly happy, shouldn’t it?
28
Wesley
In the second week after Simone and I break up, Grant asks me what happened. He only does it once. I brush it off with enough bitterness that he doesn’t bring it up again. We work together in near-silence most of the time, but I don’t mind. Grant doesn’t seem to, either.
Being outside and working with my hands helps. It tires me out, distracts me enough that when I get home, I barely have the energy to shower and eat before I fall asleep. Day after day, I work myself ragged to avoid the thoughts eddying in my mind.
I’m less alone than I was for the first few months I lived here after my parents’ deaths. I have a job with Grant, Eli lives in my grandfather’s cabin—but I feel infinitely lonelier. I hadn’t realized how much Simone added to my life. How her presence lit everything up so thoroughly that the darkness inside me was hardly a sliver of what it is now.
Still, I don’t let myself admit that I might have made a mistake.
She never cared about me. This was all about money. It’s always been about money.
I failed to make money of my own and lost my fiancée. Then I lost my parents, crawled out of debt, but I don’t deserve the money in the trust. I don’t deserve what my parents worked for. Any woman who says I do must be trying to get a piece of it for herself.
Right?
I googled that bag Simone carried on her shoulder for months—it’s worth thousands. Depending on the condition, anywhere from nine to twelve thousand, to be exact. It’s not just a designer bag, it’s a status symbol for the ultra-wealthy.
But I’m supposed to believe she never wanted anything from me? Please.
A few days later, I venture into town and see Simone at the café. She’s sitting in her usual chair, sipping an iced coffee, tapping on her laptop keyboard. That blue bag is propped on the chair next to her.
When her eyes—same color as the bag, I realize—flick up to mine, her mouth tightens and her eyes drop back to the screen.
My chest constricts. Just a couple of weeks ago, I could have walked over to her and made her laugh. She would have graced me with one of her brilliant smiles.
Now, I get nothing from her.
I guess that’s all I deserve.
The voice in the depths of my heart that screams I’ve made a mistake gets louder. As the sun gilds Simone’s hair, as fiery as her spirit, I wonder if that voice might be speaking the truth.
I’m a coward, though, because I just end up ordering a coffee and walking back out of the café, thinking—or maybe hoping—that I feel Simone’s eyes on my back.
Another week passes. Simone and I don’t speak. It’s…over. I know that, but it’s still hard to accept it.
My uncle invites me to his new place for a drink, and on my way there I glance at the light spilling out of Simone’s apartment window. She’s cut me off so thoroughly, so completel
y, without so much as a word—but I know I deserve it. What I said to her…
Shaking my head, I grip the steering wheel a bit tighter and make my way to my uncle’s place. He and Alina greet me at the door and invite me into their tastefully decorated, trendy, soulless home. It looks like they’ve plucked it out of Architectural Digest but forgot to put any of their own personality into it. Eli is nowhere to be seen, and when I ask, I find out he’s handed in his resignation.
“After thirty years of working for me, he finally retired,” my uncle says as he claps me on the back. “If you ask me, there’s something that pushed him to do it. Or someone.”
My smile is tight. I nod. “Dorothy.”
Sean taps the side of his nose and shrugs. “We all have a weakness.” He glances at Alina, who gives him a coy little blush and a giggle. His gaze shifts back to me. “What about Simone? She’s not around anymore. What happened?”
“Didn’t work out,” I grunt.
“That’s a shame,” Alina says, but her eyes gleam and I swear her lips seem to curl at the corners. As if she’s happy that Simone and I broke up.
My uncle gives me another hard clap on the shoulder and snorts. “Women.” As if that explains anything, or comes close to touching the way I feel about the whole situation with Simone.
We sit down for a drink and talk about my uncle’s new store, which will be open within a year. Alina flits to his arm and back to the kitchen, playing the perfect host.
I feel…alone. So alone. When Simone was by my side, even when we were faking it, I had someone in my corner. She was so good at navigating these situations without looking like she was even trying. Without her, I feel lost. Adrift. Floating away without a tether.
“Well, what is it now, fourteen months?” My uncle swirls a tumbler of bourbon. “Fourteen months left until you turn forty-five?”
I grunt. “Fourteen months till your payday.”
“Oh, come on now.” Alina waves a hand. “We don’t think of it that way.” But she and my uncle exchange a glance, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. They’re not sympathetic. They don’t want what’s best for me. Alina just wants to attach herself to a successful man, and my uncle is all too happy to play the provider. As long as I’m miserable and alone, they profit.
This whole situation is a clusterfuck. I can’t trust Sean and Alina.
I thought I couldn’t trust Simone, either, but is that true?
She walked away from me without looking back, and unless she’s seriously conniving and manipulative, I think she means it. She never once spoke about my inheritance or made me think she even remembered it. She never spoke about marriage—if anything, it seems like she doesn’t want to get married at all after trying it once before.
“So it’s really, truly over between you and Simone, huh?” My uncle takes a sip of his drink, his eyes boring into me.
My gut twists. “Yeah. It’s really over.” I make a show of checking my watch. “I should go.”
When I drive back down Cove Boulevard, Simone’s lights are off.
The next day, I gather my courage and head to Four Cups again. I know I made a mistake. It took me weeks of brooding to realize it, but now I need to fix it. I need to tell her that I was an ass, and I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to.
Simone’s in her usual seat, her brows drawn together as she works on something on her laptop.
I touch the chair across from her. “May I?”
She shrugs. “Sure.” Icy tone, expressionless face.
Okay. So this isn’t going to be easy. I probably deserve that.
With a deep breath, I sink into the seat. “I’m sorry,” I start.
She looks at me, fingers still poised over her keyboard, then slowly lowers the screen.
Gulping, I look down at the table. There’s a ring of moisture on the wood that I trace with my fingers. “I was an ass, Simone. I’m sorry I said those things to you.”
“Thank you.”
“My head was a mess with my uncle and Alina here, with the inheritance, and then your ex said things that spoke directly to my fears.”
“I know.” Her voice is quiet, but not exactly soft. Not friendly or warm.
I chance a look up at her eyes, and my hope withers and dies. There’s nothing in her face—nothing—that makes me think she’ll want to rekindle things with me.
“I was wondering,” I say, clearing my throat, “if you’d want to come over for dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”
Simone holds my gaze for a long moment and finally exhales, her shoulders dropping. Dark smudges mar her under-eyes, and her hair looks even wilder than usual. As if she hasn’t slept right in days. She looks in my eyes, then down at my lips, my shoulders, and finally drags her gaze back up to meet mine.
Then, like a slow push of a dagger to my heart, she shakes her head. “No, Wesley. I don’t want to have dinner with you.”
My breath staggers, and it takes all my discipline to keep from sinking in my seat. “Simone, I want you to know that I know I fucked up. I was out of line. It won’t happen again.”
Her eyes flicker, but her back remains straight as a rod. “You said things to me that I can’t just forgive with a snap of my fingers. I’ve replayed our conversation in my head a thousand times over the past weeks, and every time I think about your words, your voice, your face…it makes me think I never knew you at all. A man worthy of my love wouldn’t throw dirt in my face like that. He wouldn’t accuse me of such awful things. I hoped you were the type of man I could love, but it was a fantasy.”
“Simone—” My voice falters.
“I appreciate your apology,” she continues, her voice so cold. So distant. “But I just can’t… I can’t be with you, Wes. I’ve worked too hard to be independent—to be my own woman—to throw it all away for the sake of a man who doesn’t even see me for who I am.”
“I see. I see now.” There’s an edge of desperation to my voice that I can’t quite hide. I need her to understand.
She snorts gently, shaking her head. “You thought I concocted some scheme to get my hands on your trust money. You think I cared about your money in the first place. You didn’t listen or absorb anything about the way I acted, the opinions I expressed. You ignored all the times I told you about my divorce and how hard I’ve worked to pull myself out of that dark hole—and how I wouldn’t trade my new life for anything. I celebrated every success with you, every new client. It should have been obvious where my priorities lie. But none of that meant anything to you, Wes. You didn’t listen or understand or believe. I spent eleven years of my life with a man who didn’t see me as a person worthy of respect, who didn’t support my ambitions, who didn’t build me up to be better than I am on my own. Then I spent eight years building myself back up again. I accept your apology, and I appreciate it, but I’m not going to have dinner with you.”
Simone holds my gaze for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Then she opens her laptop back again and glances at the screen.
I’ve been dismissed.
When I walk out into the springtime sunshine, with buds forming on the trees and birds trilling all around, I almost wish it was grey and dreary again. My truck waits for me across the road, but I find myself heading to that little brown door beside the café.
This was supposed to be my surprise for Simone. It was supposed to be a present for her, to congratulate her on all her new clients, on her business’s growing success.
The steps still creak, but the air no longer feels musty. It smells like fresh paint and cleaning supplies. I stand on the threshold at the top of the stairs, looking over the freshly renovated space, all the work I’ve poured in on evenings and weekends when I’m not working with Grant. All the new skills I’ve learned, shoved into one little space.
Then my shoulders drop. She won’t want this—not from me.
29
Simone
A hand drops on my shoulder as I watch Wes walk away from me. Fiona’s smile is tight and sy
mpathetic, her eyes soft. “How are you holding up?”
“Oh, you know.” I grimace. “Now I know how you felt when Grant left for New York City last year.” Except you got your happy ending.
“Is it… Is it really over?” Fiona slides into the seat Wes just vacated, intertwining her fingers as she rests her elbows on the table. She drops her chin into her braided hands, arching her brows.
I nod. “Yeah.”
After my fight with Wes, I ended up going to Fiona’s for a cup of tea and a cry on her shoulder. That was, what, three weeks ago? Feels like a lifetime. Every day has lasted a year.
“He seems sorry,” Fiona says, her eyes searching mine.
“Sorry isn’t good enough. He accused me of plotting to steal his inheritance, Fiona. Me! Like I would want to get married to anyone again, for money or not. It made me feel like he didn’t know me at all. Like he didn’t see me.”
Fiona hums. “Where did Nate go after he showed up here?”
“Damned if I know. I’m assuming the earth opened up and dropped him back down to the fiery pits of hell.”
Fiona’s lips tilt into a grin. “Why was he here, anyway? Did you tell him you moved to Heart’s Cove?”
I lay my arms on the table and drop my forehead on top of them. Then, mumbling, I admit the one thing I haven’t told her: “I had sex with him last year.”
“What?”
“I know.” I groan. “I know it was dumb.”
“When you went and had lunch with him in L.A.?”
I nod, my forehead still resting on my arms. “I told him I was planning on moving here, and he asked me if he could come visit. I said yes, because I was post-orgasmic and my brain was malfunctioning. Then everything with Wes happened, and I just…forgot.”
“Did he tell you he was coming?”
“I ignored three or four of his calls. And a few texts.” I lift my head, cringing at the look on Fiona’s face. She’s wincing. “I had a moment of weakness, Fi. I won’t sleep with him again. Not after his little display in here—and to be honest, after we had sex, I knew it would be the last time.”
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 21