He was in a shitty mood, and he didn’t want anyone there to witness it.
“Fine.” He grunted as he stood. He was still naked, something that had never worried him before, but with Emma’s eyes on him he felt more than bare—he felt exposed.
She saw parts of him he’d never intended to show anyone. Parts he would prefer to think weren’t there at all.
He didn’t know how to deal with…with this. With her.
Silently he tugged a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the laundry basket of garments he never folded. Sliding on socks and his work boots, he covered his face with his hands and then finally, finally looked over at Emma.
She was sitting on his bed, his dark-green sheets a stark contrast to her milky skin. Her hair was a wild tangle, gleaming more gold than white in the effervescent early-morning light. She looked like she belonged out in the woods, a fairy or a sprite, and he again felt the urge to capture her in a lasting medium.
He’d do it, he thought. After she was gone, he’d sculpt her, and it would be a statue that he kept. A solid reminder of their time together. Necessary, because she was going to leave, wasn’t she? Once she and Mike had sorted things out, she would go back home to Georgia. She had a life there—a mother, a job. The guy in the suit.
His mood soured further still. None of it was her fault, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to reach out. Instead he busied himself by dumping out the used grounds in the coffee pot and lining it with a fresh filter.
“Bathroom’s downstairs.” He jerked his head at the rickety staircase she’d climbed the night before. “Nothing fancy, but it’ll do if you need to clean yourself up.”
“Thanks.” He could tell she wanted to say something more, but whatever it was, she chose to keep it to herself, gathering up her own fallen clothing. “If you have any eggs, I can make you breakfast.”
“I don’t.” His voice was so harsh even he was taken aback by it. Instead of apologizing, though, he focused his attention on the coffee pot as she padded down the stairs, his T-shirt falling down to her knees.
Damn it. He was being a jackass again. But he just didn’t know what to do with someone here, in his space, offering to make him eggs. Eggs.
This was who he was, though, wasn’t it? He was an asshole because he just wanted to be left alone. These days with Emma, it wasn’t his naturally warm nature coming out to play—those days were the anomaly.
If he couldn’t shake this mood, she’d see that that was who he really was. And maybe that was for the best—even if the thought of her parting ways with him, as she would do anyway when she went home, sat sourly in his gut like unripe fruit.
Damn it. She deserved better than this.
He carried two thick, ugly orange mugs of coffee downstairs by way of apology. Already dressed, she was sitting cross-legged on his table, working a comb that she’d pulled from her purse through the length of her hair.
She was wearing her own pants, but on top she’d kept his T-shirt on, knotting it at each side of her waist. His heart pulsed painfully. He liked the way she looked in his clothes. He liked it too much.
The one time he’d let someone in, she was going to leave, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Trying to keep his expression neutral, he handed her one of the mugs of coffee. “I didn’t know how you liked it, so I loaded a lot of sugar, a lot of milk. I don’t have cream.”
She took a sip, humming with pleasure. “Mmm. Perfect. Thank you.”
He grunted, and drained his own mug, setting it aside before turning his attention to his work. As he toyed with the finishing touches on a piece inspired by the view he’d taken Emma to see, he was still aware of her sitting contentedly beside him, sipping her coffee as she watched him work, asking questions about what he was doing when it interested her.
He liked it. He could picture this, mornings spent in the studio with her doing whatever she wanted, so long as she was close by.
If this was how he was feeling after a few days, how would he feel about her in a few weeks? Months? The idea was terrifying, because he knew the answer.
Letting her go was going to be hell. And after losing his mom, he just didn’t know if he had it in him.
“I really have to focus today.” The look in her eyes when he spoke flatly made him feel like he was kicking a puppy, but he just…he needed space. He could smell her, see her, wanted to taste her every second that he was around her.
“All right.” Jesus, did anything upset the woman? All she did was look at him with those big eyes, watching every move he made. He wanted to piss her off. Wanted to drive her away long enough for him to breathe, to see that he didn’t have feelings for her the way he thought he did. Once he realized that, it would hurt less when she left. “Should I stop by later?”
“I have plans.” He had nothing, actually, and the slight stiffening of her spine at his harshness made him feel like he might as well go foreclose on some orphans and widows now that he’d kicked every puppy he could find.
“Well, then. I suppose I’ll see you next time I visit Mike.” Frost coated her words as she swung her legs off the table and retrieved her coat. “I’ll call my own cab. Wouldn’t want to disturb your focus.”
Shrugging on her coat, she zipped it up and somehow made the rasp sound like an accusation. He wanted to go to her as much as he wanted to push her away, so instead he did neither, keeping his gaze on his work.
The door flew open a moment before she got there, a gust of wind and brittle shards of snow heralding Mike’s arrival. He glanced between Emma’s obvious irritation and Nick’s stiffness, and hunched inward like a turtle, making a beeline for the bathroom without saying a word to either of them.
Emma stared after him, incredulity and anger radiating off her in waves. Dragging her gaze back to Nick, she managed to convey absolute disgust with a single arch of her brow.
“Right now I wouldn’t spit on either of you if you were on fire.”
He blinked, not sure he’d understood her properly, because her twang had thickened, making her words nearly indecipherable.
She slammed the door, and he heard the crunch of her boots on the snow as she stomped her way out to the road. His muscles twitched to follow her, but he forced himself to stay in place. She wouldn’t want to see him right now.
He was just thumbing in the number for Meg’s cab to make sure she had a ride when Mike exited the bathroom. The relief on his face when he saw that Emma was gone only served to stoke the irritation Nick felt in his gut.
“She is a good person, you know.” Pushing back from his table, he squared off against Mike, arms folded across his chest.
Mike narrowed his eyes, turning away to lift a carton of railway ties onto his table.
“Hey!” Nick closed the distance between them. He might be trying to push Emma away for the good of them both, but that didn’t mean he was about to let her father break her heart. “You know, some people would do anything to spend time with family members that they’ve lost. Here you’ve got some family you never thought you’d get to know.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I think I do.” Memories of his mother mixed with the vision of Emma’s face in his mind’s eye, and the ache in his chest was palpable. “You need to appreciate her before she’s gone.”
Chapter 25
Walking in snow was a lot like walking in sand. Emma’s muscles burned as she tugged her wheeled suitcase through the drifts. She could have called for a cab to take her to the studio from Main Street, but she’d wanted the walk, the burn of the frigid air in her lungs.
Today was one of the biggest days of her life.
After leaving Nick and Mike earlier, she’d gone for a walk downtown to cool her temper. She knew why Nick was pushing her away, knew that Mike might never fully come around. Still, the way they’d both treated her—it hurt. But taking in the frosty snow, the jagged peaks of the mountains, the small-to
wn feel of impending holiday excitement with the Christmas decorations she’d already admired, the smell of gingerbread when she walked past the bakery (all right, when she’d gone into the bakery for a snack), the way people greeted each other on the street—it all made her realize that, even without including Nick or Mike in the equation, she was starting to grow. She was starting to discover who she really was and who she wanted to be.
She didn’t want to leave.
Acting on instinct, she had stopped into Hippie Hive again. There was Charlie, making a batch of rolled beeswax candles. She invited her to come help. Emma had gotten lost in the rhythmic process, the heavy honey scent. When Charlie declared her a natural and asked if she wanted a job, Emma had surprised herself by saying yes.
Now she had a job doing something that interested her. She had a tiny apartment, too—Charlie had offered her the use of the studio over the shop.
She was staying. And she was still irritated enough with the two men now in her life that she wanted to inform them face-to-face that she was staying. They’d both think it was because of them, and it wasn’t—at least not totally. If either of them came around, great. But until then, she was going to ride the high of true independence for the first time in her life.
She’d packed up her cabin, gotten a cab ride back to the end of Main Street. Instead of heading straight back to Hippie Hive—straight for home—she’d decided to take a quick detour to the studio.
It wasn’t much warmer inside the studio than it was outside. Still, Nick stood alone at his table, arms bared as he rubbed a wire brush ferociously over a wide metal sheet.
Surprise lined his face when he saw it was her—he must have been expecting Mike. Wariness quickly followed as she entered, dragging the snow and her suitcase with her.
When his gaze landed on the suitcase, he shuttered all emotions. She knew he was feeling something, but it seemed he wasn’t going to let her see what that was.
“You’re leaving.” His tone was completely flat.
“Actually—” She opened her mouth to tell her that she’d decided to stay. She took a grim satisfaction in the freak-out she was about to witness.
“Don’t.” He held up a hand, stopping her cold. “Let’s just call it as it is. We had a fling. We had fun. Let’s not clutter that up.”
“A fling?” His words knocked the breath out of her. She knew he was pushing her away because he didn’t want to get hurt, but she never imagined he’d try to turn the connection between them into something that sounded, with the inflection he put on it, just plain tawdry.
“That’s what it was, baby.” Baby today, instead of Peaches. “Don’t tell me you thought it was something else.”
Setting down the wire brush, he turned to face her. The sudden watery look in his eyes contradicted his words. “I thought I made it clear that that was all I was interested in.”
“You son of a bitch.” She could cry, she could scream, she could leave. All options she would have chosen over confrontation back in Georgia.
She wasn’t in Georgia anymore.
“Don’t you dare try to cheapen what this is.” Leaving the suitcase where it was, she closed the distance between them, stopping when she was close enough to jab her finger into his chest. “Flings don’t have each other’s backs. Flings don’t share the things that haunt them in the middle of the night.”
He paused, eyeing her warily, seeming startled at her outburst. Well, too bad. She was done with behaving properly.
He hesitated, and her hopes rose. Maybe, just maybe, he was strong enough to admit why he was doing this.
“Maybe good flings do that,” he finally managed, gaze dropping to the floor. “This was a good fling.”
A strangled scream caught in her throat, choking her. Nick’s head jerked up. She stared at him, hands opening and then clenching into fists again. She gaped, trying to speak, but couldn’t get the words out.
She’d never been so angry in her entire life—not even when she’d discovered what her mother and Matthew had hidden from her. There was only one person who could pull such deep emotions out of her, and right now she wanted nothing more than to chase after him with his welding torch.
Throwing her hands out, she shook her head when he tried to speak. Instead she spun on her heel, storming to the door, not caring about her suitcase.
He was doing this because he thought she was leaving. He didn’t deserve to know that she’d decided to stay.
Chapter 26
Nick watched Emma go, his feet cemented to the ground. He should go after her. He needed to apologize for the things he’d said.
But apologizing would mean admitting that there was something more between them. Could he really put himself out there when he knew what the end result would be?
This woman had entered his life like a Christmas miracle, turning his world upside down. Didn’t he owe it to her to try?
“Shit.” Grabbing his coat, he hauled out into the cold after her. He hesitated for a moment when he looked around to discover that she was nowhere in sight, but then he noticed the boot prints in the snow, leading around to the back of the building.
There was a hiking trail back there, but it was for experienced hikers only. He avoided it himself, with its narrow ledge that jutted out right over the water.
The water.
“Emma!” He broke into a run, following her footsteps. Because the trail was near open water, it was always covered in ice. He’d grown up in the land of ice and snow, and he had trouble not falling. Emma? He doubted she’d ever walked on ice in her life. “Emma!”
Three feet onto the trail and his feet slid out from under him. He hit the ground hard enough to rattle his jaw, then slid a terrifying twenty feet, stopping only when he came to the first switchback.
Ahead of him he could just make out her ponytail, so pale it nearly blended in with the snow. The wind off the water picked up, whistling in his ears, and he knew that she couldn’t hear his shouts.
He struggled to his feet, tried to run, fell again. He righted himself just in time to see her slip. Mouth open in a scream he couldn’t hear, she tumbled down toward the water.
Chapter 27
Was this what it would have been like if his mother hadn’t succeeded? Would he have found himself at her bedside, squirming on a chair that wasn’t comfortable no matter how he shifted, guilt pistoning through his veins?
Shaking his head to clear it, he forced thoughts of his mother out of his mind. This was Emma. Emma, in a hospital on the mainland. And this time it was definitely his fault.
“Hey.” Warm skin brushed his hand and he jumped, slamming his elbow against the armrest. Emma blinked sleepily up at him from the hospital bed, the stark white sheets and neon lights making her as pale as a ghost. “Stop blaming yourself.”
“Hard to do that when it’s my fault.” His voice was bitter. No matter how hard he tried to hold up the barricades, it all rushed back in—guilt over his mother, over Emma. He’d disappointed his agent, too, and had left all of his friends behind when he’d gone. He’d been searching for a simpler life, and instead he’d messed everything up yet again.
He was toxic. He’d made a mistake letting Emma in, and this was his lesson—to never let it happen again.
“Nick.” She pushed herself up in the bed, and he struggled against the urge to prop her up with pillows so that she was comfortable. “That’s ridiculous. I was the one hiking on a path I shouldn’t have been on. How is that your fault?”
“You wouldn’t have been out there at all if it wasn’t for me.” If he just hadn’t lost his cool with her that day. Hell, if he hadn’t started up with her to begin with.
He couldn’t take back what he’d done, but he could cut things off before they got worse.
“I can’t do this, Emma.” He clasped suddenly sweaty fingers around the arms of the chair. “Look, I…I care about you. I can’t pretend I don’t. But this? This is what it would be like, even if you stayed here or I w
ent there. I’m a mess. I can’t be what you need. I just…I can’t.”
Each word was a branding iron on his heart, searing her name onto the muscle so indelibly he’d never be able to forget her. God, he’d think of her every time he looked at Mike and saw the resemblance.
For a moment, hearing the soft whisper of her breath, he almost broke down, took the coward’s way out. Asked her to stay. But this was the right thing to do. She deserved a better man that he’d ever be.
Standing, he pushed the ugly chair back against the wall. Its feet screeched on the teal-streaked linoleum, jarring the silence.
“Wait. You’re leaving?” Panic flared in her eyes.
He furrowed his brow, confused—had she been given some kind of painkiller? She was being treated for a nasty bump on the head, a sprained wrist, some cuts and bruises, and for the chill she’d gotten in the water, so he supposed it was possible, but her eyes looked clear enough.
Then he understood. She meant leaving the hospital. She didn’t want to be alone in the hospital.
“Mike will be here any minute.” To the other man’s credit, he hadn’t even hesitated when Nick had called and told him what had happened—he’d just grunted into the phone, then texted the details of the ferry he’d booked.
Emma pressed her lips together until the rosy pink had almost disappeared. She wasn’t pleased with this information. The Emma of even a day before would have called him out for it. Would have poked at each of his tender spots, insisting he tell her what he really wanted.
The fact that she turned her face away and closed her eyes added to his resolve. He’d done this—turned her back into the reserved, closed-off creature she didn’t want to be.
Without another word, he turned to go, hesitating for a moment in the doorway before pushing on.
It was better this way.
Chapter 28
They’d kept Emma in the hospital for three days. Mike had stayed by her side, though she couldn’t say she knew him much better than she had before.
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