by Shirley Jump
“It was the most delicious pie I ever ate, Emily.”
They had stopped outside the dining room, lingering by the doorway while Carol put the finishing touches on the table. Harper sat in the corner, waiting and hoping for a scrap.
Emily stood within inches of Cole. Close enough to touch, to see the gold flecks in his eyes, to get wrapped up in the tempting scent of his cologne, the draw of his warm body. She moved away, headed for the table before she did any of those foolish things.
“How could you say that pie was good?” She reached for the pile of silverware on the corner and placed it beside the place settings. Avoiding the desire washing over her, the need to kiss him again, as strong as when they’d first dated. Damn. When would she stop wanting Cole? The separation and divorce would be much easier if her body got on board with her brain. “I forgot the sugar. That was the worst pie ever.”
Cole slipped in beside her, tucking the folded napkins under the knives. “It was the most delicious pie ever, Emily,” and he paused a beat until she looked up at him, “because you made it with love.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head and stepped away. Oh, how she wanted to believe in that look in his eyes, the words he spoke, but she was afraid, so afraid, that if she did, they’d end up traveling the same path as before. They’d done it countless times over the years. Now, with a baby caught in the mix, Emily couldn’t afford to hold on to a fairy tale that she knew had an unhappy ending.
“Unfortunately, you need more ingredients than love to hold a recipe together and make it work,” she said and turned away before he saw the tears brimming in her eyes.
* * *
Cole had to admire Carol, the inn’s owner. She could have brokered a Middle East peace treaty with ease. She’d sensed the tension between Cole and Emily the instant she sat down at the table, and managed to shift the conversation to subjects that kept the room feeling light and lively. As they ate, they talked about the weather, the repairs to the inn, the Patriots’ chances of making it to the Super Bowl. Fun, easy, small talk.
“Did Emily ever tell you the story about the lake’s history?” Carol asked Cole as she laid warm plates of homemade apple pie before them. Melting scoops of vanilla ice cream puddled over the flaky crust. The impressive dessert could have starred on a magazine cover.
Emily let out a little laugh. “Oh, not this one. It’s not even true.”
“It is, too,” Carol said, then grinned. “Or at least partly true.”
“Let me guess,” Cole said. Even though he was stuffed from the amazing roast chicken, potatoes and green beans, he dived into the pie with gusto. “Barrow’s Lake has its own resident Loch Ness monster?”
“No, no, though that might draw in more visitors, and that’d be good for business.” Carol put a finger on her lips. “Hmm...if only I could buy a Loch Ness monster in the pet store.”
“Two words,” Cole said. “Inflatable toy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for the summer tourists.” Carol laughed. “Well, our lake story is a little more innocuous. Way back, years ago, before the invention of the car—”
“When dinosaurs roamed the earth,” Emily added.
“Well, maybe not that far back in time. But close.” Carol leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement as she told the story. “There used to be two families, one on either side of the lake, one with a daughter, one with a son, about the same age. They didn’t know each other, and in these years when this area was just beginning to get settled by people in wagons and log homes, there was no Facebook or Skype or high school to bring them together. Then John Barrow, one of the original Barrows to settle here, opened a little store smack-dab in the center of the road between the two families. You can still see the remains of its foundation, past that big pine tree.” She pointed out the window. “The shop wasn’t much, just a general sundries kind of place. The teenagers ran into each other there one summer day, and fell in love. They’d meet at the store every afternoon after they finished their chores and spend time together. But the families were at war over something no one can remember now, and the teens were forbidden from seeing each other.”
“Nevertheless, they sneaked away every afternoon,” Emily put in, “because they were deeply in love and couldn’t bear to be apart.”
“That’s right. Sometimes true love is stronger than parental rule.” Carol grinned. “And that was how it was for these two. But oh, the ruckus it raised in their families. So one stormy fall night, they made plans to run away and get married. Before they could leave, their parents found out and rushed down to the store to interrupt the rendezvous. The kids panicked, took a boat and rowed out to the middle of the lake, thinking they could make it across and leave from the other side. The storm that night was strong, and the water rough, and the boat capsized. Sadly, both kids drowned.”
“That’s terrible,” Cole said. Even though the event had happened decades ago, he could imagine the heartbreak and loss, particularly on such a small community. “How devastating for those families.”
“It was an awful tragedy, and one that haunted this area for years.” Carol gestured toward the moon-kissed lake outside the windows. “There are people who say you can still see the ghosts of the doomed lovers in the fog that rises over the lake at night.”
“And according to Carol, if you’re out in that fog, you’re destined to fall in love.” Emily grinned. “When us girls were teenagers, we’d run outside if we saw the fog, but none of us fell in love with the boys here for the summer.”
“That’s because none of them were right for you,” Carol said. “You have to be with the right one for the fog to work.”
Emily laughed and got to her feet, grabbing the empty plates as she did. “And all the stars and moon have to be aligned just right, too. It’s a legend, Carol, and not one I believe in.”
Carol wagged a finger at her. “You’ll see. Some foggy night, true love will come your way.”
Emily didn’t answer that. Instead, she brushed open the swinging door with her hip and set the plates in the sink, then filled it with soapy water. By the time she returned, Cole and Carol were talking about the repairs on the Inn, instead of silly age-old legends.
Just as well. The last thing she needed Cole to do was drag her down to the lake in the middle of the night because he believed some legend about dead teenagers would fix their marriage. No kiss on a foggy night was going to repair the damage the years of distance had created.
Maybe if they had gone to counseling when the problems first started, it would have righted the ship’s course. She’d asked Cole to go, but time and time again, Cole had put off the appointment. She’d given up after a while and stopped asking him. If their marriage was important to him, she’d reasoned, he would have made the time to save it.
Then again, she hadn’t gone on her own, either, or fought very hard to get Cole to the appointments. She’d been just as guilty about finding other things to fill her time. Maybe because deep down she was afraid to confront the issues between them—and find out they were beyond fixing.
“You know, Cole, it doesn’t make much sense for you to drive all the way into the city tonight,” Carol was saying as Emily picked up the platter of chicken, “when I have rooms right upstairs. Why don’t you stay here? It’s the least I can do to thank you.”
Cole stay here? Emily prayed he’d say no, that he would do what he always did, say he needed to leave in the morning to get back to the office. But no, he grinned and nodded instead. Damn. Having him stay here was a definite complication, especially to her hormones and her heart. She needed to stay firm in her resolve and not be swayed by a smile.
“That’d be great, Carol. I’ll have my luggage sent over in the morning.” Cole rose, stretched his back and let out a yawn. “Just the thought of driving back to the hotel makes me exhausted
.”
“Well, I’m exhausted just hearing you talk about it.” Carol gave the two of them a smile. “I hate to ask this, but I’m really tired. Lots of early mornings and a little stress over this renovation/sale thing. Would you two mind clearing up the rest of the dishes? I’d like to get to bed early.”
Emily shot Carol a curious look, but the innkeeper just muffled a yawn and kept her gaze averted. Emily suspected Carol of a little matchmaking, what with telling the story of the two doomed lovers and asking Cole to stay at the inn. Maybe with Carol out of the room, Emily could make Cole see that his being here wasn’t a good idea. “No problem. See you in the morning, Carol.”
Carol thanked them, then hurried out of the room. Harper stayed behind, ever hopeful for scraps. Cole and Emily gathered the rest of the dishes and brought them into the kitchen. “You don’t have to help,” Emily said to Cole as she slipped on an apron and tied it behind her back. “I know how you hate doing dishes.”
He shrugged. “I used to hate it. Now I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”
“You’re doing your own dishes?” She shot him a glance. In his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like a guy who did his own dishes, a million miles away from the wealthy, driven CEO. “You’re not having a maid do them?”
“It’s not like I cook a gourmet meal every night,” Cole said. “I usually have one plate, one cup and a fork to wash. No need to pay the maid to do that.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She’d let the household help go, too, after their separation. She’d seen no sense in paying people to clean up after one person. Plus doing her own housework kept her busy instead of focusing on how Cole’s absence made the house echo in ways it never had before.
“Nothing drives home the fact that you’re alone like washing your dishes.” Cole took the clean dishes from the strainer, swiped them dry with a towel and put them in the cabinets. “I guess that’s when it finally hit me.”
“What did?” Emily stowed the leftovers in the fridge.
Cole put his back to the sink and crossed his arms over his chest, the pink-and-white-striped towel a strange juxtaposition in his muscular hands. “That this wasn’t a fight we’d get over in a couple days. That this separation could be permanent. I’d come home from work and look at that plate and cup and fork in the sink and think...” He let out a gust and shook his head. “I’d think how sad they looked.”
“Really?” Over the years, Cole had rarely opened up about his feelings. She’d asked him what he was thinking, but most of the time, he’d withdrawn and in the end, she’d be left feeling cold, alone. This was the most he’d shared in a long, long time.
“All those years we lived together, I don’t think I ever noticed if we had five plates or fifty,” he went on. “I couldn’t tell you what the pattern was on our silverware if you paid me. But I notice the plates now. I notice when there’s one.” He nodded toward the sink. “Or more than one.”
Her heart softened. She put the empty serving dishes in the soapy water, then picked up one of the plates and started washing it, instead of falling into that vulnerable look on Cole’s face and in his voice. “I notice now, too,” she said quietly. “It’s like the plate and cup are lonely.”
“Maybe I should buy a whole set.” Cole grinned. “Or just bring mine back home so they’d be together again. Happy. Complete.”
The thought of him returning, of the two of them being happy and complete, together again, caused her heart to race and her throat to close. Hope warred with caution. She concentrated on getting the plate clean, watching the bubbles circle and circle the rim. “We’ve tried that before, Cole. It didn’t work.”
“What’s that saying about success? That it’s about not giving up?”
She could see the saying now, one of those kitschy posters that she had hung in her college dorm, then again in their run-down first apartment because it was the only wall decor they could afford. By the time they moved to the big house, the poster had been relegated to a landfill. But the saying and the image of a determined competitor in a tough tug-of-war had stuck with Emily. “‘Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go.’ William Feather said it,” she said.
“I’m hanging on, Emily,” Cole said softly. “I really am.”
She placed the clean plate in the strainer, then picked up the next one. “Why?”
“Because we had something once. And I think we can have it again. And because I’m ready for change.”
How she wanted to believe him. Her brain reminded her heart that he had said all this before, and gone back to his workaholic ways as soon as the crisis passed. How could she know this time would be any different?
Another clean plate in the strainer. She tackled the third one. The only sound in the room was the running water and the soft clanging of dishes. “Change how?”
“Working less. More vacations. More time for you and me to get back to where we were.”
She’d heard all these words before. Dozens of times over the years, and every time, she had believed them, only to be hurt in the end. Granted, the time he had spent working on the repairs to the inn was the most time he’d ever taken off work before, and maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant he had changed. Hope kept a stubborn hold on her heart, but she refused to give it space and room.
Not until she’d asked the most important question.
She rinsed the last plate, put it in the strainer, then tackled a pan, keeping her gaze away from Cole’s. “And what about a family?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “Family? Emily, we’re far from ready for kids.”
It’s what he’d said a thousand times over the years. Every time she’d brought up kids, he’d said it wasn’t the right time, or that they’d talk about it later. She pulled the plug, let the soapy water drain, and placed her hands on the rim of the sink. All that silly, foolish hope in her chest drained away, too.
“When do you think we’ll be ready? When we get a bigger house or the company reaches another sales goal or we have another million saved in retirement?” She snorted and turned away from him. “It’s never the right time, Cole.”
“We’re a few pieces of paper away from being divorced, Emily. I’d say that’s the worst possible time to have a child.”
Emily sighed. “Yeah, Cole, it is.” Then she left the kitchen and headed up to her room, where the pillow would muffle her hurt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
COLE SLEPT THROUGH his alarm. Slept through the buzzing of his phone. Slept through the sunrise. He’d slept in the best hotel rooms in the world, owned a mattress that cost more than a small car, and yet he had never slept as soundly or as well as he had in the double bed in the pale blue room on the second floor of the Gingerbread Inn.
He rolled over, blinked a bleary eye at his phone and decided whoever was calling him could wait a little longer. This...decadence filled him with a peace he had never felt before. Whatever was happening at work would be there later, while Cole just...was. Right here, right now, in a cozy bedroom across the hall from Emily, in a quaint inn in Massachusetts. He lay in the bed, watching the sun dance on the floor, while birds chirped a song above the faint sounds of a distant lawn mower.
Then he heard the soft melody of a woman’s voice, singing along with the radio. It took him a moment to realize it was Emily’s voice. He hadn’t heard her singing in...
Hell, ten years. At least.
He pulled on his jeans and padded barefoot out of his room and across the hall. Her door stood ajar, the bed made, the room neat and clean. When had Emily become a neatnik? She’d always been the messier one in their relationship, something that had driven him crazy when they were together. Then, when he was on his own, he’d missed seeing her makeup on the bathroom counter, her coat tossed over the dining room chair, her shoes kicked off on the bedroom carpet. H
e’d tried leaving his own things out but it wasn’t the same. He hesitated only a moment, then took a single step inside the room. “Em?”
The bedroom was empty. Light and steam spilled out of the attached bathroom. The shower was running, and Cole could see the familiar outline of his wife’s curves behind the translucent white curtain. Desire rushed through him, hardened against his jeans. How long had it been since he’d been with Emily?
Months. Three, to be exact. A long damned time.
He hesitated. He knew he should leave but couldn’t tear his gaze away from her shapely outline, the curve of her breasts, her hips. She was hidden by the curtain, yet he knew every dimple, every valley, every scar. He knew how to make her moan, how to make her smile, how to make her...
His.
Except she wasn’t his anymore, and he needed to face that. Accept it. Move on.
Since the separation, he’d told himself he should take off his ring. Date again. But he hadn’t. No woman had interested him the way his wife did. And maybe never would. He missed her, damn it, for more than just the warmth of her body against his.
The water stopped with a screech and a shudder of old pipes. Cole told himself to move. Leave. He didn’t do either.
The song ended and a commercial came on the radio. Emily’s voice trailed off as she reached up and tugged down the towel draped over the shower curtain. She jerked back the curtain and let out a shriek. “Cole! You scared me. What are you doing in here?”
Shit. He should have left. Now he looked like some overeager hormonal teenager, which was how he felt whenever he was around Emily. Even now, even after everything.
“Your, uh, door was open. And I heard you singing and...” He forced his gaze up from the hourglass shape outlined by the fluffy white towel. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you singing.”
A flush filled her cheeks and her gaze shifted to the floor. “I’m a terrible singer.”