He blinked, trying desperately to fight for clarity as his head spun.
She’d never craved success the way he had?
The truth she’d never truly wanted to leave her home was like a fist in his gut.
Her hand dropped, and she moved back. “So there you have it. The real truth. I don’t blame you for going after success. I only blamed you for not listening when I finally tried to tell you the truth.”
“You were just as important to me as my writing. I would have understood.”
Her soft laugh held a touch of bitterness. “I wish that were true. You told me in the kitchen on Sunday that I was everything that mattered to you. But you never chose me, Kyle. Not once.” She shook her head and turned. “I have to go in.”
His head spun, trying to sift through the words that pounded at him like nails. Her pain was unbearable, and he ached to soothe it away, to convince her she meant everything to him.
“Ophelia—”
“Don’t,” she said softly. “I feel too raw right now. I just need to go inside and be alone, okay?” A tiny laugh escaped her lips. “Maybe it was just too much truth for one night. For both of us.”
She slipped out the door and disappeared inside.
Kyle stayed in the cold, silent car, thinking about what she’d said.
Dear God, what had he done? All this time, he’d believed she hated her life in Gardiner the way he had. But then again, had he ever truly asked her? Or had he just assumed she wanted exactly what he did? Had he been wrong this entire time about how their story had played out?
And if so, was there any way he could make it right to give them a second chance?
He didn’t know.
Nausea churned his gut. Everything he’d once believed was tilted on its axis, challenging him to see things in a new light. The woman Ophelia had become was so much bigger than the girl he remembered. Tonight had only proved it.
This time, he’d make sure to listen to her and be what she needed.
This time, he intended on writing his own ending.
Chapter Thirteen
Ophelia dropped a platter of steaming bacon on the table and refilled her guests’ half-empty coffee mugs. “How are the omelets?” she asked brightly.
The older couple sighed in unison. “Delicious,” Marian said. “I had no idea fresh herbs could make such a difference in eggs!”
Her husband, Carl, forked up another piece of pork sausage and patted his belly. “Haven’t had a meal like this in a while. Ever think of visiting Boston and staying with us, Ophelia? You can have a free tourist weekend if you just cook us breakfast.”
She laughed, charmed by their easy demeanor. They were visiting their son, who’d just had a new baby, but his house was too small to accommodate the new grandparents. She’d already been treated to dozens of pictures proudly showing the wrapped-up-in-a-blanket beauty, but Ophelia didn’t mind.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, deftly clearing empty plates. “Would you like me to make any reservations for dinner? Or are you eating with your son tonight?”
“Actually, we’re babysitting and letting them get out. We’d love to get them a table at Galveston’s, but it’s probably booked up.”
“I know the owner. I’d be happy to call and tell him it’s a special occasion. I can even arrange for some flowers on the table and the crème brûlée, which has to be ordered ahead of time.”
Marian clapped her hands. “That would be wonderful! Thank you so much, Ophelia. You’re a dream.”
“We’ll make sure we leave a very high review on Yelp and TripAdvisor,” Carl said seriously.
“It’s my pleasure. Seven p.m. okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Good. I’ll leave the coffee out. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She headed back to the kitchen for cleanup, adding the call to the restaurant on her to-do list. Two more guests were checking in later today, and she wanted to have tea, hot cocoa, and cookies ready when they arrived. The rooms were made up and laundry was finished, but she needed to freshen up the main area near the fireplace. It would be nice to offer the guests s’mores tonight in front of the fire, and set up a cozy area to play board games or watch some movies on the new flat-screen TV she’d just invested in. She scribbled it on her growing list and began the cleanup.
The phone rang, and she carefully hit the speaker button with her soapy hands. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Mia. Whatcha doing?”
“Dishes.”
“Ugh. I hate dishes.” Ophelia practically heard her shudder. “And cooking. I kind of hate all types of domestic duties.”
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t own an inn,” she teased. “What’s up?”
“I want to go out.”
“I can’t right now. I’m slammed with work.”
“No, at night. Like grown-ups. It’s been snowing here for almost three straight weeks, and all I’ve worn is practical snow boots and shapeless sweaters. I love our bungalow, but there’s only three rooms to see, and Hei Hei is driving me crazy. I want a girls’ night out.”
“I can’t leave tonight. Too much going on,” she said.
Mia did something Ophelia had never witnessed before.
She whined.
“Oh please? Don’t say no. I want to go dancing and have pretty pink cocktails and wear my Louboutins. I want to talk about boys and trashy television and fashion. I’m going mad. I think I have that winter disease that makes people do bad things. Didn’t Jack Nicholson have that in the movie The Shining?”
“No, it was the hotel ghosts haunting him. You’re probably lacking vitamin E and D. I’ll bring some over for you today.”
“Harper already said she’d go with us,” Mia said.
“Really?” Her sister rarely left her home or the barn in the winter. “Boy, that’s proof you are good at your job.” Persuasion was a key trait in the world of public relations, and Mia was a savvy, talented CEO of her own successful company. “How about tomorrow night? I can get ahead of schedule today and be free then?”
Mia squealed—another thing she rarely did. “Perfect! I’ve already done some research and know exactly where we should go. I’ll tell Ethan we’ll be out the entire night and home very late.”
“Not too late,” she said.
“Very late,” Mia insisted. “I have to pick out my outfit. Do you have something to wear, or do you need to go shopping?”
Ophelia laughed.
God, she loved Mia and her love of a good designer. It was such a breath of fresh air.
“I’m sure I have something appropriately slutty to put on.”
“Excellent! I’ll make all the arrangements and see you tomorrow night!”
She said goodbye and hit the button.
“Where are you going in slutty clothes?”
Ophelia jumped, turning half around. Kyle was stretched in the doorway. From the looks of his mussed hair, sweatpants, old shirt, and socks without shoes, he had been in a deep writing mode.
Had he slept as poorly as she had? Her mind kept replaying their conversation, going over every detail. Had her confession allowed him to view their past differently? Last night had been intense, but she felt free for finally telling him the truth.
The only problem was it hadn’t dulled her attraction—or intense need—for him.
Her fingers itched to bury themselves in his hair and comb through the silky strands. She ached to kiss those full lips and have him lift her high to take the embrace deeper, lay her out on the counter, tug off her clothes, and feast on every naked inch of her body before he—
“Ophelia?”
The plate she’d been washing almost slid out of her grasp and crashed. She caught it at the last second and winced. “Sorry, I was thinking about my to-do list. Umm, Mia wants to go out tomorrow for a night of debauchery. She’s used to living in Manhattan, so this is her first winter snowbound in the mountains. She’s going a bit mad.”
&nbs
p; “Aren’t we all?” he murmured, his gaze snagging hers. “Need any help?”
“No, thanks. How’s the writing going?”
“Good.” His eyes lit with excitement, a sign he liked what he was creating. “The story is moving slow, but there’s potential. Wanted to see if we could have lunch. Talk. We can go down the road to the diner. I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night.”
She turned back to the sink and steeled her shoulders. This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid—this forced intimacy that only reminded her of their past and how she still ached for him. Their last family dinner had proved she was still vulnerable with him.
My God, she’d almost kissed him in the middle of cooking! She had to stick to her original rules—no interaction while he stayed here.
“Sorry, I’m busy all day. Lots of work to do.”
“What if I get us sandwiches and we eat here?”
“I had a late breakfast, so I’m skipping lunch. Maybe you can eat with Mia. She could use the company.”
Though she had her back turned and couldn’t see his expression, she sensed his frustration in the air. Prepared for another invitation, she got ready to give another excuse.
“What if I promised not to bring up last night at all? We can go over my pick for lawyers. I’ve narrowed it down to two, but I need help deciding who to book.”
She switched off the water, dried her hands, and faced him with pure suspicion. “You looked at my email?” He’d rejected the first two lawyers she suggested, so she’d sent him a more comprehensive list with contact and background information. So far, he’d been unresponsive.
“Of course. I wanted to see if we could make a list of the things we need to complete to get organized. But if you’re busy . . .” He trailed off, shrugging as if it wouldn’t be his fault if their divorce took years to settle. “I’m in no rush.”
Dammit. She needed that divorce ASAP.
She knew he was using it as blackmail to get her to spend time with him, but at this point she didn’t care. It was a means to the end she needed. “Fine. I can squeeze in half an hour.”
His smile lit up his face, and her heart tripped. He was so beautiful. He could’ve easily been the one in front of the camera. She bet he was highly sought-after by many beautiful, famous women. Hurt cut through her at the thought, but she knew she had no right to be jealous.
“Great. I’ll pick you up a tuna wrap and meet you downstairs at one,” he said. “If you need me, I’ll be working.”
“I’ll bring the printouts and research,” she said. “We can make some calls.”
He didn’t answer, just nodded. With one last long look, he headed back to his room.
Ophelia spent the rest of the morning making sure the inn was running smoothly, baking her chocolate chip cookies that were always nut free, and pulling out a variety of crocheted afghans to place around the rooms. She still had a few hours of work on the computer, but she’d have plenty of time for that this afternoon.
Kyle had just walked in the door when she bumped into him in the hallway.
“Perfect timing,” he said. “Want to eat on the porch and get some air? It’s pretty mild.”
“Wow, a whole twenty degrees? I could wear my bikini.”
“Thirty. And yes, please do.”
She laughed at his wolfish leer. “Sounds good. I’ll get the papers and some plates if you set up the heater.”
“Why don’t we eat first, then move on to work? I need to decompress a bit.”
She studied him, but he looked innocent enough. “Okay.” She grabbed place settings, two bottles of sparkling water, and one of the giant afghans in post-Christmas red, then stepped outside.
He’d positioned the table and chairs in front of the heater and begun to set out the lunch. They took a seat on the matching rockers, and Ophelia shook out the blanket to cover their legs for extra warmth. Then they ate.
The afternoon was cold, crisp, and clear. The heater crackled and spit warmth. Pure white covered the ground, and the mountains peeked through the clusters of bare trees. Woodsy paths led off in various directions toward a winter forest that seemed enclosed and embraced with magic.
A smile rested on her lips as she looked at the beloved land that her family had tended with hard work, sweat, and dreams. Besides welcoming and serving guests, they’d rescued hundreds of animals over the years, placing them in good homes and saving them from abusive situations.
“I missed this,” Kyle murmured in the winter hush. “The quiet. The beauty. I finally feel like I can take a deep breath and just be.”
Curiosity struck her harder than the need to keep her distance. “What is your life like now in California?” she asked. “Is it what I remember?”
A sadness clung to his aura. He took a bite of his fries. “Yes and no. The social obligations are still insane. But back then, it was new to me, and exciting. I was beginning to carve out a name for myself, and producers and agents were taking notice. As I began getting the bigger projects, I started to notice how many new friends I’d collected. For someone who reveres being alone in order to create, I found myself surrounded by endless noise and demands.”
He stared at the landscape, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “My work kept getting diluted. I was told to chip away at some of the emotion I built into the characters, and to focus more on plot. More action and violence and excitement. I figured after I had some big movies on my résumé I’d get to pick my projects, but it didn’t work like that. I was churning out scripts that began to look all the same.”
“That end-of-the-world movie made tons of money,” she commented. “It opened Memorial Day and broke records.”
Suddenly, his gaze swung to hers. Intensity vibrated from his figure. “Did you ever watch it?”
She shifted her weight. “Of course.”
“What’d you think?”
Startled, she searched for the right words. Watching his work unfold on-screen had been surprisingly difficult. Knowing she couldn’t be with him during such an important part of his life had ripped at her heart. “It was very exciting.”
His lip twitched. “And shallow, right? No characterization or bigger goal to really save the world. No true-love story to glue it together. It had two big stars, a lot of buildings blown up, monsters attacking. It was a huge box office success and should’ve made me proud. Instead, I felt like the biggest failure. I refused to attend celebration parties. I became a hermit for a while, delayed my next project because I felt emptier than I ever had.”
She’d seen the seeds of that type of compromise in the beginning, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. Frustration seethed in her tone when she spoke next. “Then why did you keep doing it? If you knew your creative soul was slowly dying, why did you keep selling out? For money? Fancy cars and houses and clothes? Did you like the women? The attention? What was it, Kyle?”
He jerked back at the rapid-fire questions. His face hardened, and a wall slammed down for a moment, barring her entry. This was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to spend time with him. The endless questions still haunted her, echoing in her mind, over and over.
Why had he chosen his career over their marriage?
Why had he agreed to become hostage to everyone else’s vision of his future?
And why had he allowed her to leave without a fight?
“There was a lot to consider,” he said stiffly. “I wasn’t a kid any longer. I had responsibilities.”
Her shoulders sagged. There were no answers here. And maybe she had no right to judge. He was the one who’d made his Hollywood dreams come true. She’d been the one to give up and go home to run the family inn.
Yet it had been the only decision left.
“Why are you really back here? You could’ve locked yourself up in some exclusive resort and gotten the quiet you needed to write. Why do you need to remember your past to write this story?”
He shifted in his chair and avoided her gaze. “I ne
ed to connect with my old self to get past the barriers I’ve built,” he said. “I’ve been dead for a year, and I’ve finally broken through. Being back here is the key.”
“Okay, but I still feel like I’m missing something. Why do you need to write this particular love story here?”
He paused, as if assessing whether he should tell her the truth or duck the question with further excuses. Frustration simmered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and kept her gaze trained on him, willing him to answer. Finally, he dragged in a breath and met her stare head-on.
“The story is about us.”
She blinked. “What? You’re writing a story about what happened between us?”
He nodded. “Yes. The story has haunted me. You’ve haunted me. I’ve felt as if I need to write and explore what happened between us. I wanted to come home in order to do the story justice.”
Her throat tightened. Pain cut through her, sharp and relentless. “Is that why you wanted to connect with me again? So I can help you write your big movie and have it feel realistic? Am I just another tool to get you to the next rung of success?”
He sucked in his breath and leaned toward her with a fierce urgency. “No, Ophelia. I swear it on my life. This story has been inside me for a long time, and I finally found the courage to write it. The only reason I want you back is because I’ve never gotten over you. It’s completely separate from the screenplay. You have to believe that.”
She searched his face.
God, she wanted to believe him. The truth seemed woven into his words, but she didn’t trust herself anymore. Her defenses were shaky, and he’d hurt her before.
Another question tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. “Have you loved anyone after me?”
He didn’t hesitate. His answer came as quickly as her question. “No. My relationships have been brief, and empty. Work took your place.”
A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Page 13