by Zoe York
He’d seduced her. Talked her into marriage.
Tricked her into another relationship where she wasn’t getting what she deserved—and Adam wanted to fix that, but it was harder than he thought to figure out how to take the next step. And that they were sleeping together again only made it that much more complicated.
Because while Isla had said at the outset that she no longer believed in love, that she no longer could see herself marrying for love, deep down Adam knew she was more than capable of loving. She was love. Love emanated from everything she did. In her generous spirit, in her friendships, in the way that she cared for him. Even the way she worried about her ex-husband, wanting him simply gone, and not punished brutally. The thoughtfulness with which she carried out everything, how she made decisions. She was a loving human being.
No matter how unconventional their relationship was, it was a marriage Adam took seriously. And yet it wasn’t just that he couldn't bring himself to say the l-word—he couldn't bring himself to even consider it.
That had been fine until he read the letter from Brett.
He had thought it was enough to be a good partner.
Now his guilt ate at him from the inside. And every soft gesture from his wife, every caring kiss, and even her playful banter made him feel like a fraud.
When she came out, her step lighter than when she’d entered the building, he pushed himself out of the truck and went around to open her door.
“I think it went well,” she whispered before climbing into the passenger seat. “Thank you.”
For what?
They stopped in Owen Sound to do some fancy food shopping, then headed home. He thought he was hiding his dark self-doubt from her.
He was wrong.
“What is on your mind?” Isla finally asked over dinner.
He didn’t want to lie to her, and he didn’t know how to say any of the shit in his head out loud, so he shrugged.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay.”
“Maybe it’s work stuff.”
“Is it?”
He made a face. “No.”
“Then…”
“There’s a part of me that worries I’ll never be good enough for you.”
“You’re very good for me.”
“That’s not the same thing.” It came out like a bark, not at all how he wanted to speak to her.
Her soft gaze didn’t waver. “How is it different?”
“You deserve…” Love. Fuck, he could not say that he didn’t love her out loud. It wasn’t true. It just wasn’t… “I regret how we started. That’s part of it.”
“I don’t.” She wrapped her hand around his, but it felt like she was leaning across a chasm to hold on to him. “We needed time.”
The unspoken next sentence was that she’d taken that time and come to a place of being ready for a relationship again. One she already knew how to do, because she’d give all that love to her ex, and he’d squandered it.
Like Adam was squandering it, just in a different way.
“I told you before. I’m broken inside.”
She took a deep breath. “You don’t feel broken to me. No more than anyone else. When I’m with you, I feel how good you are. You’re nothing like him.”
“Am I not?”
“No.” Her eyes shimmered. “Who told you that you aren’t enough?”
Everyone. “Who hasn’t?”
“Me.”
That smacked the words out of his mouth better than if she’d taken her hand to his face.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked and he didn’t even care. “You’re right. You are the best part of my day. You are my favourite person in the entire world.”
It wasn’t enough. He should tell her he loved her, but the words couldn’t form. He wasn’t sure, and he wouldn’t say something that wasn’t true. How could he not be sure? Because he was broken.
He pushed to stand, and she caught him by the wrist. She dragged him to stand in front of her, and she wrapped her arms around his hips, and pressed her face into his waist.
“I should get some rest. I was thinking I might sleep by myself tonight.”
“Oh.” She lifted her head, her expression searching and guarded. “Okay.”
“The shifts are getting busier,” he said, a weak excuse she saw right through. Her gaze cooled even as she nodded.
He’d just lied to her face.
If he hadn’t felt like a monster before, that would be enough to put him in that category.
Slowly, she stood and pressed her palm to his cheek. “All right.” She blinked, slowly, her eyelashes dusting her cheeks. When she blinked her eyes open again, tears clung to the sooty ends like diamonds. “Just remember that I know what this is, between us, and what it isn’t. You don’t need to beat yourself up for not being something I never asked you to be.”
A painful shudder tore through him, and he deserved every bit of it.
“Good night,” she said softly, then disappeared into her room.
He didn’t hear her alarm go off the next morning.
When he finally padded downstairs to see if she’d slept through it, he found her bedroom dark and empty.
She’d gotten up and slipped out to the bakery before their paths would cross in the morning.
He sank onto the side of her bed and buried his head in his hands.
He was still sitting in his truck at the station when Owen pulled in beside him. Richard’s truck was next to arrive, and if he didn’t make it inside in the next five minutes, he’d be officially late for the unofficial start time of an hour before his shift.
And still he sat there.
Owen tapped on the passenger door window, and Adam gestured for him to hop in.
“Work, wife, or life?”
“Wife,” Adam muttered. “We had a fight last night.”
“It happens.”
“It feels like it shouldn’t?”
Owen made a face. “Yeah. But it does. Just tell her you’re sorry.”
“I will.” Tomorrow. Fuck, these twenty-four-hour shifts got in the way of doing the right thing quickly.
“Doesn’t hurt to start with a text.”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t pull out his phone.
“What did you do?”
It was what he didn’t do. “I pushed her away. I think I’ve done something unforgivable.”
“Nothing is unforgivable if you own it.”
Adam shook his head. “This is.”
“Try me.”
“We— I— I don’t feel love. Inside. I feel other things, but not that. And I thought it was fine, but it’s not.”
“That’s what you did to Isla? You told her you don’t love her?”
For once, Adam knew he deserved every bit of judgement Owen would throw at him for that failure. “Pretty much.”
“Did she tell you that you were lying to yourself? Because it’s pretty fucking obvious that you love her.”
Adam jerked his head up, confused, because his brother didn’t sound mad. He was laughing—and that made Adam see red. “I didn’t lie to her.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “Okay.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you. What is this fucking bullshit? What the fuck do you think love is, if not how you treat your wife like she’s the most precious thing in the entire world?”
Adam thought his head might explode. “You don’t think I want to love her? Of course she’s precious. But...”
Owen raised his eyebrows. “But what?”
Doubt clogged Adam’s throat. He didn’t know. He just felt it, a dark yawning hole in his chest where love was supposed to be. Where confidence and surety were supposed to be. “I don’t know how,” he finally muttered. “I’ve never wanted it, never seen it. It’s abstract.”
“But you’re sure you’re incapable, and so this thing that walks like a duck and talks like a duck can’t be a duck? Look, maybe you’re not ready to fully embrace what love is with your
wife…I can’t say I haven’t experienced resistance to it myself. But a time will come when you know, and then it will seem like the simplest thing in the world.”
“I don’t know.”
“But you will. And right up until the moment that you do know, you don’t, and it feels like you never will.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’ve been there. But it will click into place. And I know this is the worst fucking timing. I get that. So text your wife, tell her that you’re sorry, and tell her that you’ll talk when you get home tomorrow. And then actually fucking talk to your wife. Tell her about the doubt, and the darkness. Let her hold you.”
Jesus. “Just like that.”
“Yes. Just like—” Owen swore under his breath. “Look, we were all just doing our best back then, but I think we could have done better. Will and me. Maybe we should have talked more about what Mom and Dad had. How much they loved each other. I dunno. But fuck, I’m sorry. You know?”
Adam screwed up his face. Yeah, he knew. He nodded wordlessly, then exhaled. “Yeah.”
“If you need to go home sooner…”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
He pulled out his phone.
Adam: I’m sorry for last night. That was shitty of me.
Isla: Yeah. It was.
Well, he had walked right into that one.
Adam: I miss you.
She didn’t reply.
The last person Isla expected to walk through the doors of her bakery mid-morning was Owen Kincaid. And from the stormy look on his face, and the fact he was in uniform, she had a good idea he knew she’d fought with Adam. Those brothers didn’t keep many secrets from each other.
“Owen,” she said carefully. “What can I get for you?”
“I was hoping you might have time to talk.”
The Kincaids were nothing if not direct when they wanted to be. “Sure.” She gestured at the espresso machine. “Can I make you coffee?”
“Sure.” He frowned at it. “Does it make regular black coffee?”
She stifled a laugh. “Nope.”
“Surprise me, then. Listen, I wanted to give you this.” He handed her a heavy cream envelope with a gold emblem in the corner. “It’s an invitation to a New Year’s Eve gala in support of the Military Family Resource Centre. It’s what passes as a fancy event around here.”
She slid the card out of the envelope. It looked like it would pass as a fancy event anywhere. Black tie or formal wear. “What do I owe you for the tickets?”
“Nothing. Bring my brother, talk him into wearing a suit.”
She couldn’t accept tickets she might not even use. “I don’t know—”
“I do.” He made a face. “Look, I don’t want to get in his way. He needs to talk to you in his own time. But you are the most important part of my brother’s life. More important than his career, more important than us. Watching him with you has been… I spent a long time worrying I was going to fuck that kid up.”
“He’s not a kid,” she whispered.
“I know that now. Ah, hell, I’ve known that for a long time, but I wasn’t ready to let go, because then my job would be done, and I didn’t do it very well.”
“He thinks the world of you, you know.” She lifted her chin, full of pride for her husband. “When he talks about his childhood and the years after your parents died, he’s fiercely protective of your choices and how you put him and Josh first.”
“He told you that?”
“More than once.”
Owen grimaced, then looked down at the ground. When he looked up, his eyes were damp. “I underestimate him sometimes.”
“Tell him that.”
“I will.” He pointed to the invite. “You get him in a suit. It’ll be a good night.”
“Thank you.”
She was touched, she really was, but she wasn’t going to push Adam on this front. If he wanted to retreat, she wasn't going to fight him. She knew exactly what the deal was. Their relationship was a friendship. A kinship, she had thought once, and that word reverberated inside her now. More than a friendship, but not what other people thought.
And she didn’t expect any more of him than he was willing to give her.
On the other hand, she wasn’t going to give him more of herself than he gave in return. That was the mistake she had made in her first marriage, and she would not repeat it, no matter how much she loved Adam.
And she did love him, she had realized along the way, in small incremental chunks of evidence.
She was fine with that new feeling. It was for her, and a relief of sorts, to realize she could hold love in her heart again. It did not need to be reciprocated.
Actions, investment of energy…those needed to be reciprocated. She wouldn't give him more than she got back, but she could hold in her heart more feelings than he felt for her. She could see that for months he had held an attraction to her which she hadn't reciprocated and he had been generous of spirit in waiting for her to be ready. So she could return that same favour with love.
Maybe he would fall in love with her. Maybe he wouldn't. It didn't matter as long as he was being a good husband to her.
She pulled out her phone and looked at his last text message.
Isla: I miss you, too.
***
The next morning, as Adam had a few other times after a shift, he swung by the bakery to say good morning to his wife.
This time, though, she wasn’t alone behind the counter.
Bailey Patel was practicing her barista skills.
Since they weren’t alone, he had to rely on his expression to privately convey everything he wanted to say. I’m sorry. I really did miss you. It’s hard to spend twenty-four hours away from you. When can we talk?
“Do you want a decaf flat white?” Isla asked, her expression pointedly neutral.
So, not now. “Yes, please.” He leaned against the counter and watched as she showed Bailey how to steam the milk. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
Bailey gave him a surprised look, like why didn’t he already know that about his wife?
Well, there was a lot he didn’t know about her. And even more she didn’t know about him. They were at the start of the marriage, not the end of it—never the end of it—and they were a work in progress.
Just like him as an individual.
“Culinary school,” Isla finally said. “It was a good way to get out of knife skills practice. Most instructors appreciate a perfectly poured latte.”
She glanced to the side, as if a funny memory had just occurred to her.
He leaned further over the counter. “What?”
She gave him a faint smile. “I almost moved to Australia. It was a passing fancy—like, I thought about it for a week—but I heard they have amazing coffee shops there, and thought maybe I could just backpack my way around their beaches. Did you know they have ten thousand beaches? It would take twenty years to hit all of them, even if you kept moving to a new beach each day.”
Adam straightened up and came around the counter. Fuck distance. Fuck expressions he couldn’t read. He grabbed her in his arms and smooshed her against his chest. “I’m fucking glad you didn’t,” he growled in her hair.
She squeezed her arms around his waist. “Me, too.”
When Bailey finished his coffee, Isla told her to make her boss one, too. “I’m going to head out with Adam for a little bit, okay? I know covering the counter isn’t in your still-to-be-written job description, but…”
“Go.” Bailey practically shouted the instruction. “I’m drunk on power, leave me to it.”
When they got in his truck, he started it, but didn’t put it into drive right away. He had to apologize properly first. “I’m sorry about the other night.”
Isla curled up on the passenger seat, bringing her knees around so she was facing him. “What happened?”
“Complicated feelings. I’m not great with them, clearly.”
“Yo
u said some nice things about me, but you pulled away at the same time. That’s a mindfuck.”
“I know. I see that. It won’t happen again.” He squeezed the steering wheel. “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Okay.” She didn’t ask where. And when he reached across the console, she let him hold her hand.
He drove them to the school. And as they sat in the parking lot of the building where his brother was now principal, he told her what it was like to be a teenage boy walking those halls like a ghost. An orphan with four older brothers who found small faults in everything he did. “When I went here, it was just the high school.” He pointed to the sign. “Now it’s a community school, with the elementary grades in one wing and the high school in the other.”
“Wow, really?”
“Cutbacks. And this school was always too big as the high school. I think they expected a population boom that never happened when they built it.” He took a long sip of his coffee, then threaded his fingers through Isla’s again. “So when I started here, I was living with Owen. We’d just moved into the house he lives in now. That little bungalow. Josh and I were sharing a room, although most nights he slept in the living room. Things were tense, but we were all surviving. And there was this girl who liked me. We were both in grade nine, and she’d already had a boyfriend. She wanted to kiss me, and I freaked out. Not my finest hour.”
Isla’s gaze burned against his skin, but he liked the feeling. He wanted her to peel back his outer layer and figure him out, because he was struggling with that himself, and he trusted her to dig around in his messy bits.
But he couldn’t outsource this. He had to look at who he was, and where he came from. “I don’t remember what I said to her, exactly. I probably blacked out a little, that’s how much the kiss rocked me. But a few days later, she found me and told me it didn’t have to mean anything. I…I don’t think that was supposed to have a lifelong impact on me, but it did. Layer in there some shit about knowing that my brother knocked up his girlfriend, and not seeing my parents’ relationship—not through any kind of growing-up eyes, anyway, and here I am. A thirty-year-old man who believes a little too strongly that none of it has to mean anything. But with you, it does. I need you to know that. You mean everything to me. I want to show you I mean that. I’m not going to ask you to take me at my word, because words are cheap.”