by Renea Mason
"That's horrible. I'm so sorry." I squeezed his hand.
"It is for her, but don't waste your sympathy on me. I should have known better in the first place. The reason I supported her financially and never pressed charges was because I was responsible. If that was my child…I was the catalyst for her downfall. I can't forgive myself. And for what, meaningless sex?"
"Lachlan, she had issues. It's impossible to be sure you were responsible."
"Nice of you to say, but the "why" never really mattered. When you set things in motion, sometimes, it's impossible to stop them. I damned her the night I took her to my hotel room. Regardless of who she was, I shouldn't have indulged her, so I'm responsible. I had control. I chose not to exercise it."
"That was twenty years ago. We've all made mistakes."
He let out a long sigh. "Amy killed herself two months ago. Her brother was kind enough to send me the note she left. Twenty years hadn't healed the damage I'd done to her. Her brother threatened to avenge her. With Amy gone, I felt no obligation to support or protect the brother, and he didn't take it well. He's an addict, which compounds the problem. That's where I was going the day we met, to finish the paperwork and meet with my attorneys. I think it's Amy's brother who is trying to kill me."
"Oh, Lachlan, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I ruined a young woman's life, and now she's dead."
"You couldn't have known that's who she'd be. People have casual sex all the time, and it doesn't end in tragedy. She was a consenting adult."
He gulped his wine. "That's just it. Casual sex between two people, where there's no warped obsession fueling one side of the equation, probably has no lasting repercussions, but I knew better. I knew what I was to her. Instead of keeping distance, I used her to fuel my ego, and it killed her and her child, who was possibly my own." He stared deep into the remaining drops of crimson wine pooling at the bottom of his glass. The pain creasing his brow was something I would have given anything to wash away. His hand still gripped mine, as if I were the life vest keeping him afloat in his misery.
"So, that's why you seem to have built a sky-high emotional wall around you when it comes to your admirers?"
"Noticed, did you? It's all bloody frustrating. Interacting with admirers is supposed to be a perk of the job, but I have to be cautious. I do have the utmost appreciation for them, but the distance makes me come off as a dick. I'm careful not to give anyone the wrong impression."
I smiled. "Well, you never came across as a dick to me."
"Perhaps because you've never given me "that" look. You're always so indifferent to me. I almost forget who I am. When you flirted with me on the plane...so casual, so unassuming..."
"I did not flirt with you on the plane." I choked out a slightly offended laugh.
"I beg to differ. You did so quite expertly. I may have started it, but you certainly didn't shy away. You didn't care who I was, and it was liberating. For the first time, I felt I could let my guard down." He looked into my eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly."
"When did you lose hope, Katherine?"
I chuckled, but the sound had more of a biting edge than I intended. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"As you were leaving, at the airport that day..."He scooted forward to face me, nudging his knee between my legs. "You know what I mean. I just tore myself open for you and laid all my dirty little secrets out for you to see, you won't answer one simple question for me?" His thumb played over the back of my hand.
"Perhaps, if I understood the question? I have plenty of hope." I didn't mean to sound defensive.
"Name something you hope for."
"I had hoped for the agent to sign me. Why do you think I went?"
He grabbed my other hand, set it in my lap, and peered down at our joined fingers. His voice was soft, words deliberate. "Not what I'm talking about, and you know it. You're always in control, Katherine. I admire that because it's, at times, been my weakness. Please tell me."
"Why do you care?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Why should you?"
"Why did you care that I was almost killed today?"
I scoffed. "Because I'm human and capable of empathy."
"So am I, Katherine. That's why I'm asking you."
Why was he pressing me like this? Why did it matter? "Your potential death and my lack of forward-thinking in my personal life are hardly comparable situations."
"Really? So a beautiful woman who is witty, funny, and charming, suspends her life sometime between today and seven years ago, and I shouldn't be concerned?"
"No, you shouldn't." I stared deep into his eyes, trying to determine his game. "Why are you doing this?"
"Every story, Katherine, you allow your heroine to feel, but only for a moment. You talk about me having sky-high walls, I am but an amateur compared to you. What happened to you? It wasn't just your husband's death. What happened?"
My eyes stung from unshed tears and a lump of sadness stuck in my throat. "This is honestly the last conversation I ever thought we'd have."
"Why? Because I'm not a stranger on the internet. Because, now, all of those email exchanges we had are real. They're put into context. Because with me sitting here, you've lost control, and it scares the hell out of you."
I tried to pull my hands away, but he clutched them tighter. He was my mystery reader. "That was you? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to, believe me. I was afraid you'd ignore it, like when I tried to contact you via Facebook."
I hung my head, focusing on a piece of lint stuck to my carpet. I couldn't look at him. "But the things you said…"
"Exactly. Just tell me, Katherine. What happened? If you insist on having a reason before telling me, consider it repayment for my vulnerability. Now, it's your turn, so we can be even. It doesn't have to mean anything more than that."
I fought the waves of embarrassment rushing through me. He knew we had been talking since the day after the plane, but I didn't. This man had continued our story without my knowledge. Without my permission. Why would he do that? I closed my eyes.
His thumbs caressed the tops of my hands, trying to soothe me. "Please," he whispered.
I took a deep breath, holding back my tears. "About a year after Daniel died, I tried to date. If that's what you'd call it. I went out with a bunch of different people, but only a few more than once. One I liked, and I thought he liked me. It turned out I was just passing time for him while he weighed his options between two other people and me. Another I thought was going well, until he informed me it was just sex to him. Another let me know he needed to "bang a widow," so he could win the office pool. I realized I just wasn't in sync with the rest of the world. I came to the conclusion, we only ever have one chance at a happily ever after, and I already had mine. I have a lot of time left to burn, so I needed to learn how to accept what is, and see the beauty in it, instead of hoping for something pointless. Like I said in the emails, I didn't lose hope, I used it all up."
"I respectfully disagree, but thank you." He raised our joined hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles. "Thank you for sharing with me. I didn't mean to upset you last night or now. I'm sorry." He seemed to be studying every fleck of gold in my eyes with an appreciative expression.
"I know." I was the first to look away. "At least, it makes more sense now. I was wondering if I had a stalker of my own."
"I was worried you'd stop writing before I could come clean about who I was."
I stood, distracting myself from the embarrassment and stacked our plates on my palm. Unbelievable. I needed distance from him. Moving to the sink, I searched my mind for what I had said in our emails. How rude had I been?
"Here, I'll help clean up." He rose and joined me at the sink.
He dried the last dish and put it away. "Katherine, please don't be angry with me." He wrapped his arms around my waist again and pulled me against him.
"I'm not. I'm just…I'm embarrassed."
"Don't be. I would have contacted you as myself if I thought for a moment you wouldn't have rejected me." He sat the damp towel on the counter then turned to me with worry in his eyes. "I never meant to embarrass you."
"It's just hard to reconcile that I never stopped talking with you."
He combed his fingers through my hair. "I'm sure. You thought you ended us, but it's really just the beginning."
"You confuse me," I whispered.
He pressed his lips against my temple. "Good."
"Why is that good?"
"Because you're a very certain woman. You have everything all figured out. Or, at least, you think you do. If you're confused, you'll need to question your assumptions."
I wanted to look at him, but he held me against his chest. "And why is that a good thing?"
"Well, to quote an author I know, 'It just is.'" He kissed my forehead and said, "Goodnight, Katherine," before releasing me and retiring to his room.
7
Resist
The next morning, I woke with the words, "I hope you're wrong," floating in my mind. Lachlan said it when I told him love only strikes once. Was he talking about his ex-wife? What did he want with me?
I was glad I remembered to toss on my robe before heading to the kitchen. I wasn't used to having someone in my space. After rounding the breakfast nook and popping a pod in the coffee machine, I glanced out into the rear yard.
Lachlan Sinclair stood shirtless in the freezing morning air, doing various exercises.
I sipped my coffee and appreciated the view while catching up on the news on my phone. After getting caught up in an article on current events, I checked again on my visitor. What was he doing?
There were several projects in the backyard I meant to finish, but since the weather was colder, I left them for another time. Lachlan Sinclair had found the equipment in my shed and was raking leaves in my backyard into a pile. I slid my hand under my coffee cup and strode to the rear door. "Lachlan, what are you doing?"
He held up the rake. "I think it's pretty obvious."
A cold gust of wind sent a shiver through me, and I pulled the top of my robe closed. "You don't need to do that. You're a guest."
He leaned the rake against the tree and strolled toward me. "Get back inside. You'll catch a cold." He grasped my shoulders, guiding me into the living room.
"You know you don't catch a cold from being cold, right? Besides, what about you?" I motioned to his very distracting bare chest.
"I prefer the cold during my workouts. Why don't you tell me where your leaf bags are or where you would like me to put them?"
"You're not doing my yard work."
"Why not? I need to be active for a while more, and I've imposed on you, please let me do this to help give back. If you must, think of it as you helping me by letting me feel like I'm helping you at least a little."
I crossed my arms over my chest, pursing my lips to hide a smirk. "You have a hard time accepting generosity."
"Generosity is for strangers, Katherine, and if you remember, I did accept your generosity, that's why I'm here. Now I'm staying in your home. This is about me helping out, doing my fair share, not because I have to, but because I want to. I like that we have this partnership where we help one another. It's just my turn." He grabbed my cup and lifted it to his lips, sipped as he stared at me over the rim. He handed it back to me. "Now, where can I find those bags?"
"They're in the garage."
"Was that so hard?" He bent, kissed my cheek, then headed back outside.
I stood, flustered by the moment. He drank from my cup. Was doing my yard work. The innocent kiss on the cheek made my body feel so many not-so-wholesome things. How was I going to survive him being here?
Later, I sat down at my computer. Lachlan's voice carried from the guest room. I couldn't make out all the words, only the pleasing cadence of his accent. I open my word processor and typed Story #8 on the screen. I was anxious to meet the new characters and excited I could be their conduit to this world.
Closing my eyes, I tried to let my mind drift. A setting? A circumstance? A conflict? Nothing. My attention kept wandering back to the man down the hall. As soon as the questions surfaced, I pushed them from my mind. He had me feeling so many strange things. Things I couldn't decide if I wanted to feel or not. I spent the entire day avoiding him, even went as far as retreating into my bedroom with my laptop, so we didn't have any chance encounters.
When evening came, he found me in the kitchen. "You've been a busy bee today. I haven't seen you all day."
"You know, stories, they don't write themselves." I smiled sheepishly and wiggled my fingers in a typing motion.
"I beg to differ. Sometimes inspiration comes in the most unexpected places."
I was just about to find another way to avoid eating dinner with him when the doorbell rang. I grabbed his arm and, without thinking, pulled him into my bedroom. "Stay in here. Let me see who it is." I closed the door before he could respond.
Kelly and Vicky loomed in the doorway. "Come on. Why aren't you dressed?"
"I never said I was going for sure."
They pushed past me into the house.
Kelly opened my fridge and pulled out a single-serving bottle of wine, immediately opening it. "Yes, you did."
Vicky helped herself to my desperate wine selection stowed on my wine rack. "Kate, you've got to start living a little. If we go now, we can still make happy hour."
I crossed my arms. "Really, I can't."
Vicky was even more persistent than Kelly. "Come on, I heard from Brian, you remember him. He's the one that kept buying you drinks last time. He's going to be there. After that, we can go to the movies. The new Lachlan Sinclair movie is out. The one where he plays a sexy detective. I heard you get to see his ass."
I pressed my lips together tight. There was no way I could tell them. No way I'd subject him to them.
"Look, go have fun. I'm sure it's great. I'm just…I'm not…I'm not feeling myself right now. I'm probably still sick."
"So, what do we tell Brian when you're not there?"
"I don't know, tell him to buy you drinks all night. I'm not interested."
Kelly clutched my face between her hands. "I'm worried about you."
Tugging out of her grip with a smile, I assured her, "There's nothing to worry about. I'll tell you what. I'll go with you next time to happy hour. Not the movies, but happy hour."
Vicky threw her arms around me. "OK. I'll tell Brian to get his credit card ready."
"I'm not interested in Brian," I groaned.
Kelly opened the front door. "If you change your mind, call us. We'll come get you."
"I will."
I closed the door and leaned against it, regaining my composure before I let Lachlan out of the bedroom.
When I opened my eyes, his tall frame filled the doorway, holding my unopened copy of The Purple Mask. "You really should have gone with them. It's a good movie. One of my favorites I've been in. And my ass is pretty amazing."
Just great! He heard everything. Embarrassment reddened my cheeks. I had forgotten about the movie being in my room. "I'm sure it's wonderful."
"Which one? The movie or my ass?"
I rolled my eyes. "Both."
"You haven't told them you know me? They really don't know about the plane?"
"I told you I didn't tell them."
"So, I'm your dirty little secret?"
My body flushed with heat. "No, it's just not my place to tell them about you. I told you that."
"Come on, Katherine."
"Why is it so hard for you to believe? It wasn't only me on that plane. I watched every person around you take every chance they had to violate your privacy. I didn't want to be one more."
He walked across the room to close the distance between us, resting his hand on the door frame above me. His scrutiny of my expression grew so intense I had to look away. "And this…" He held up the movie case. "Did you watch it on ano
ther platform? It's sealed."
"No."
"Why not?"
How could I say it? How could I tell him? Maybe I didn't have to. "You're a wizard, why don't you tell me?"
His eyes grew wide, considering my snappy remark, then his brow furrowed. "Afraid I'm coming up blank, love? This movie is housewife crack." He held it up and shook it in the air. "I may not love all the attention it brings, but that's no reason to keep you from indulging. I certainly wouldn't think less of you. I'm just curious, according to the receipt you bought this a few days after we met, why haven't you watched it?"
"First, I'm not a housewife."
"Fair enough."
Why were we both so defensive? Oh right, I knew for me to be honest, I'd have to be vulnerable, and my attraction for him was hard enough. If he weren't here now, so close, it would be one thing, but he towered over me, his bare chest inches from my face. I could smell his cologne, feel his body heat, and his proximity made the hairs on my arms stand up.
I closed my eyes. "On the plane, we… I mean…I might have been crazy, but I felt there was some kind of connection between us." There I said it. Surely, it had to get easier. "I had honestly forgotten what that felt like, but we were just two strangers who helped each other through a difficult day. Nothing more. When I looked at you for the last time in the terminal, I swore to myself our story was over. I had written The End, and no matter how much I wanted to know what happened next, that was simply our story. It was supposed to end there, then the next day, after having the worst experience with the literary agent, I saw the tabloid on the newsstand at the airport. I was overwhelmed. It painted a picture of our story I hadn't captured. It was a different point of view, outside looking in, and the view was much more intimate. I didn't know you held me when I slept. Even though the photos didn't convey the proper context of our meeting, they made it look like, maybe…you might have felt that connection too."