by Kaitlyn Rice
“Shh.”
Trevor kept his eyes on the winding road. “I meant to say I’m sorry.”
“We both wanted the other night, and I thought it was incredible, too. Don’t apologize.”
He glanced her way, met that blue-eyed gaze. “I’m not apologizing for what happened. Only for what happened afterward.” He shrugged. “I left. I didn’t call.”
“I don’t think I expected you to, really,” Isabel said. “We could have tried to claim every possible second, but that might make things harder in the long run.”
This time he held her gaze for a moment. “You’re pretty amazing, do you know that?”
She blinked at him, her eyes troubled, then turned forward in her seat. “I’m just trying to find the best way to deal with a tough situation.”
Exactly his thoughts.
Exactly his feelings.
But he’d missed out on knowing, and he wanted to know: had their relationship affected her as much as it had him? Though he’d dated his other girlfriends for much longer, he remembered them with an idle fondness. He couldn’t imagine looking back at his brief time with Isabel without missing her fiercely.
They drove in thick silence, and soon they passed the place on the highway where they’d met. Though the landscape was similar for a long stretch, Trevor had memorized the shape of the rocks and the break in the trees just beyond where they’d stood.
He wondered if Isabel knew where they were.
“There it is,” she murmured. “Would you have dreamed all that could happen in only seven weeks?”
“Eight.” He knew it was eight, because he’d counted the days on his calendar.
“Seven from that first day to the other night,” she said. “Eight to the wedding.”
Right. He’d counted the days until her departure, hadn’t he? She must be thinking of their night together as the end.
As he should.
“I thought that guy on the highway was so exciting,” she said. “Vital. Gentlemanly. A sexy man living a grand life in a grand place.”
He glanced at her, frowning. “Change your mind?”
“On the contrary.”
“I haven’t always been a gentleman, though, have I?”
“How would my mentioning that help?”
Isabel was generous, Trevor thought. “I am living a good life, I think,” he said. “It’s always kept me happy.”
Before, he thought, but he bit his tongue. And because he felt her looking at him, he added, “I thought you were hot.”
“You thought I was an idiot.”
“No. Just…gullible. I could tell you had no clue about how sexy you were, standing there in your short skirt and long legs, offering a wide-open smile to a man you’d just met.”
She frowned. “I might have been gullible, but I…well, I had a good feeling about you, right off the bat.”
“You didn’t know me, though.”
“Maybe not. My hunch was right.”
He was glad she thought so.
His hunch had been right, too. He’d known he was attracted. Definitely in lust at first sight. And intrigued by her small-town charm. He’d known, after he learned Isabel’s identity, that he should maintain a distance.
But he hadn’t.
And she’d wrecked his heart in seven weeks.
They arrived at the shop, and Trevor loitered in the doorway while Isabel spoke to the clerk. The two women worked with the delicate headpiece, adjusting the fit, but the entire transaction took less than ten minutes.
Then Trevor was striding toward the Jeep with his arms full of suits and thinking he wasn’t ready to return Isabel to the lodge.
He was much more inclined to kidnap her. He could take her along on his month-long escape. Maybe after a month he’d be able to breathe when he thought about her leaving.
They loaded the Jeep and took their seats, and Trevor stuck his keys in the ignition.
He toyed with them. After a moment he turned to peer at Isabel. “Look at that! We’re sitting in front of the very store that makes the best pie in the U.S.A.” He nodded toward the glass-front bakery with that very claim printed in white lettering across the door.
She turned her head to look, then gazed at him again. “Wow. Guess you Boulder folks are lucky.”
He nodded. Their teasing couldn’t lighten his mood.
“Actually, Angie told me that the cherry pie is very good,” Isabel said. “She had hers à la mode.”
Trevor’s gaze probed hers. “Want to get coffee, test this claim for ourselves?” He paused. “Talk somewhere besides the Jeep?”
She smiled brilliantly, and he responded in kind.
They weren’t supposed to do that.
So they got out of Trevor’s Jeep and went into the shop to order pie and coffee.
Although the cherry pie was excellent, neither of them ate much. They sat across from each other at a small round table in a brightly lit, modestly decorated room, sipping coffee from red ceramic mugs and talking about Saturday’s wedding.
Darla and Sam had written simple vows and invited fewer than thirty people. Trevor and Isabel agreed that their friends were doing things right.
They talked about Isabel’s business—she had orders awaiting her at home. They talked about Trevor’s preparations for the upcoming school session, and his efforts to organize his house after his six-week stint up at the camp.
He said nothing that was on his mind.
He didn’t ask his questions.
Did she love him?
Would she entertain thoughts of staying in touch?
Of staying?
After they’d finished their second cups of coffee, Trevor grew tired of hunting down safe topics.
He eyed Isabel. “Ready to go, then?”
She stared at him. “To the lodge?”
He shrugged, his thoughts unfocused. “Or somewhere else, if you have any ideas.”
He wanted more. He couldn’t ask.
Isabel would leave after the wedding, and for the life of him, Trevor couldn’t think of a way to say goodbye to her in any way that would honor their relationship.
Or satisfy him.
Chapter Thirteen
Isabel peered at Trevor, wishing she knew how to fix this. How to make both of them feel better. She reached across the table and ran her index finger along his forehead frown. When she lifted her hand away, his scowl was even fiercer.
And apparently he was waiting for her to decide.
Where to go?
Callie would tell her to return to the lodge. Anything else would prolong the pain.
Josie would advise her to savor every experience.
“I hope you’re suggesting that we go to your place,” Isabel said, because at this moment Josie’s way sounded the least painful. “Because I’d love to see it.”
Had that frown grown fiercer?
“My place,” he said. “Uh. Guess we are close. And we have time.” He sighed, shaking his head. Staring at her. Still frowning.
The man was too intense. That was what Josie would say.
Isabel wondered if all of his breakups were this traumatic.
“Think we can handle it all right?” he asked. “Being alone, I mean. I do live alone.”
Isabel’s cheeks grew hot. She felt brazen again. “Oh! Well, I didn’t mean—” She had no clue what to say. She had meant to suggest everything he was probably thinking.
Making love one more night with a man who made her feel.
“Actually, that’s a good idea,” he said, his forehead clearing. “But we should plan to do something.”
With a narrow-eyed gaze, he stared out the bakery window, considering. “Want to make dinner together?” he asked. “We’d have to decide what to make, and go by the grocery store.”
That sounded like something dedicated lovers would do. Did he know? “Sounds perfect.”
They telephoned the lodge to tell Darla and Sam about their plans, and an hour later Isabel sto
od in Trevor’s entry hall, holding a watermelon. He was right behind her, carrying two grocery bags.
“Go on in.” He strode around her and led her through a living room with oversize furniture that made the large room look cozy. “I’d better get these eggs in the fridge,” he said when she paused to look around. “And you can set that melon in the sink.”
She followed him into a surprisingly well-equipped kitchen—all clean white walls and shiny chrome appliances—and rid herself of the cumbersome melon.
“I’m starving. How ’bout you?” Trevor yanked a couple of cans from his bag, stacking them near the stove.
They’d each rejected the U.S.A.’s best cherry pie, not too long ago. She wasn’t hungry. Isabel had hoped to see his house first. Maybe try to talk more. “You want to cook and eat now?” she asked.
“That was the idea, right?” The dear man glanced at her, looking as if he might jump a mile if she said boo, then returned to his grocery unpacking.
Some of Isabel’s best memories revolved around her kitchen at home. Some of the most relaxed times. Kitchens made people chatter and relax. “Okay. We’ll cook and eat now,” she said, eyeing the full sink. “Where’s your bathroom? I need to wash up.”
He turned around, his hands full of lemons.
“Never mind, I’ll find it.”
She trooped back through his living room, admiring the oversize wood stove, then made her way into a wide, arched hallway that was papered in the same cumin-and-paprika-colored pattern as the living room.
When she passed a huge room that must be Trevor’s—the first open door down the hall—she peered inside. A king-size bed beckoned, its red silk sheets exposed to her prying eyes.
She could imagine him there, strong legs tangled in those sheets.
She could imagine both of them there.
She scurried past. Her thoughts might put the two of them in that bed, but she couldn’t be that brazen. Judging from Trevor’s serious mood, he might refuse her.
She continued along, searching for the bathroom.
“You okay, Isabel?” he called.
“I’ll be right there!”
She found the bathroom at the end of his hallway and stepped inside. The room was about as big as her bedroom at home. She’d just turned to see a gleaming gray tub when she heard Trevor’s footsteps. He had followed her down the hall.
“You have a hot tub in here?” she asked.
“I’m a runner and climber,” he said as he stepped inside. “There’s nothing better than a hot soak when your muscles are tired.”
She turned to look at him, realizing that the space wasn’t so large. Not with both of them sharing it, surely thinking about all the incredible sex they could have had but wouldn’t.
“Ever been in a hot tub?” he asked.
“Nope.” She shrugged. “One more thing I haven’t done.” This conversation couldn’t be casual, but Isabel tried. She turned to approach the sink on another wall, but he caught her wrist.
“What the hell, want to try it?”
She turned, eyes seeking his, and his kiss saved her from answering. Somehow he managed to keep his lips attached to hers while he reached around to open the taps. Moments later they discarded their clothing and plunged into the tub.
Before they went far enough for it to matter, Trevor said, “Condoms aren’t really an option in a hot tub.”
Of course Isabel moved away from him, but he pulled her back into his arms. “We can do other things.”
Isabel explored and tasted, experiencing several firsts, and wondered if this evening would forever rate in her memory as her most erotic. She knew the thoughts would always make her feel wickedly sexy, even if she was alive at ninety-nine.
Later Trevor helped Isabel out of the tub and handed her a towel. Dressing alongside him felt right. They talked and handed each other clothing items and soon returned to the kitchen for that dinner and conversation.
Trevor looked loose-limbed. Isabel felt…grown-up, as if she’d finally stepped out of childhood and into the richness of adult life.
She’d do it all again, even knowing it had to end.
He scooped mayonnaise and Dijon mustard into a bowl while Isabel stood next to him, reading the recipe they were following. She opened a drawer, then shut it and tried another. Finally she peered across at him. “Measuring spoons?”
“Don’t own any,” he said.
She reopened the first drawer, pulling out a regular tablespoon. As she measured herbs and spices into the same bowl, she said, “I like your house, Trevor.”
“Thanks.” He sliced a scallion and dumped in the pieces, then she opened a can of salmon and flaked the usable pieces inside.
He added egg; she crumbed and added crackers.
“Butter?” she asked.
“In the fridge door.”
She located the package and brought it across while he formed patties. As she located a pan and heated the butter, she wondered if he’d noticed how well they worked together.
Or did all of his lady friends benefit from his willingness to work in a kitchen? Isabel didn’t like thinking about Trevor with other women, but that’s where they were headed, wasn’t it?
A life of abstinence, or other people.
As he nestled the patties inside the sizzling pan, he asked, “Do you think sometimes people can be so attuned to each other that they fall in love fast, and stay in love?”
Had the unbeliever learned something from her, too? Isabel hoped so. “Sometimes,” she said. “My older sister married her first love, and they’ll celebrate their eleventh anniversary this year.”
“Wow.”
“Callie and Ethan make commitment look worth it,” she said. “If it weren’t for them, I’m not sure I’d have even dated Roger.”
Why had she mentioned that name? She didn’t want to spoil the mood. But Trevor turned over a salmon cake, seemingly unaffected, and a wonderful smell permeated the room.
“I love being around you,” he said as he flipped patties.
“Thanks. I think we get along.”
“I’m in love with you, you know.”
Isabel glanced at his shirt, his pants. She studied his actions.
He’d said that out of bed and fully dressed.
He glanced at her, his lips tilted up. “What?”
“That was the first time you said those words with your clothes on.”
She took the spatula from him and set it on the counter so she could turn him around and hug him. He felt warm and sturdy against her, and she absorbed his strength.
The words felt so big—so tough. The time since she’d met Trevor so short.
But she did love him. She did. She’d remember him as the first man she truly loved. Maybe the only one.
“I love you, too,” she finally said against his ear.
“You do?”
She gave him a long kiss that said so.
When she backed up, Trevor eyed her with a frown. “So what do we do about it?”
Do?
Oh. He was bringing up that question. The question they’d talked about and hadn’t been able to answer.
What did they do? Well, they got on with their lives.
He’d ended relationships before, presumably more than once. She had never even settled things with Roger.
One of the salmon cakes popped.
Isabel peered at Trevor, who didn’t react. She turned to pick up the spatula but simply held it. “I don’t know,” she said. “You always hear of spinsters who never married because they had a passionate affair in their youth. I suppose I thought I’d be one of them.”
“You intend to become a spinster?”
“I don’t know. But I know I’ll never forget you.”
“Am I insane to think you might stay here?”
Smoke curled out of the pan. Trevor swore and pulled the cakes off the burner just as the smell of scorched fish reached Isabel’s nostrils. She turned over the cakes. The bottoms were v
ery brown.
“Plates?” she asked.
He opened a cabinet and pulled out two, and she concentrated on dividing the salmon cakes while he turned off the burner.
She put the spatula down and stood scowling at it. “I need to get this clear. You’re asking me to move here to Colorado, to hang around. To date.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shift his weight. “Yes.”
Now she turned to look at him. “I don’t know, Trevor. I work from a house that is designed for my business, and I lead a full life. I never thought I’d even consider moving for a…a boyfriend. It sounds impulsive, and I’m twenty-seven years old. I’d like to be a mother, someday.”
His eyes were dark with questions. “So this is really it, then?”
“We talked about this, Trevor.” She spoke softly, soothing him even while she craved comfort for herself. “This has to be it.”
Both of them turned to stare at the salmon cakes. They had bags of chips and jars of pickles waiting on the table.
They had soda in the fridge and a melon in the sink.
Isabel left the kitchen. She might have headed for Trevor’s Jeep, but he followed her and grabbed her hand.
“Stay awhile.”
She frowned.
“One evening, Isabel. Stay with me one evening. I’ll take you home later, but tomorrow’s night’s the rehearsal dinner. After that…” He turned his palms up, raised his brows.
Hadn’t she already decided to experience what she could? “I know,” she said. “Okay. For a while. But let’s drop the subject of what comes next.”
The room filled with silence as he looked at her, not sharing what he was thinking.
A heaviness settled in Isabel’s stomach. “We could destroy what time we do have left,” she said.
“Okay.” One corner of his mouth rose, but his gaze was sober. “Want to go back in and try to eat?”
She shook her head, tears of regret pricking at her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”
He nodded, paused to consider again. “Want to go out? I could show you some of my favorite places here in Boulder.”
Maybe if she were in a different mood. Everything had changed. Trevor wanted something from her she couldn’t give. He’d wanted it enough to ask her for it, and she’d had to refuse him.