by Liz Talley
He didn’t think he could do this anymore.
“I’m sorry if you felt that way,” she said, her expression sincere. “Maybe I have been content with the way things are. And, yeah, you’re different than any other guy I’ve ever been with. But that doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of you.”
“Yeah, guess there’s not much diversity in the dating pool around here. I know I’m different. I like that I’m different,” he said, staring past her, not wanting her to see any residual hurt that might be lingering in his gaze. Part of him was embarrassed at letting his true feelings show, the other part resigned to owning those feelings of inadequacy. “All the dudes look the same—plaid button-downs or camo. Just trying to bring some variety to Magnolia Bend.”
Something seized him. He couldn’t end it just because he’d come down with a case of clinginess. He needed to throw himself a life preserver and pull himself to safe ground. Make light of their first disagreement. Turn the situation to something that wouldn’t feel like it could drown him.
Abigail walked to him and brushed her hand over his naked chest. “Don’t be mad. Okay? You’ve been so good for me.”
He couldn’t resist asking “How?”
“You’ve made me feel like I’m worth loving again.”
“Love?” he said. At that word his heart gave a jolt. He couldn’t love Abigail. Care about her? Sure. But not the L word. He couldn’t fall in love because he wasn’t that kind of guy. Time and again, he’d proved he couldn’t stay with just one woman. This was something he’d accepted about himself, mostly because the panic attacks he’d suffered while engaged to Marcie had proved he wasn’t a normal guy who could settle down. He couldn’t commit. That was what every woman he’d ever been with screamed at him eventually.
Besides, Abigail wasn’t looking for a forever guy.
If she were, she would have found someone already. Plenty of staid, family men around town. Hell, she had Cal sniffing around, nailing shit and trying to be useful again.
Leif was her boy toy, a virtual emotional handyman, patching up her esteem and improving her morale. Yeah, that was him in a nutshell—“easygoing, good for a roll in the hay” Leif.
But maybe that wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe he now wanted more for himself.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Abigail’s eyes had widened at the L word. “Wait, I didn’t mean love. I know we’re not going there. I meant you have given me back a piece of myself I had put away on the shelf. These past few weeks of laughter, flirting and feeling absolutely daring and desirable, have been so good.”
He pulled her to him, resting his chin on her head. “I’m glad for you.”
But what had Abigail given him?
He’d come to Magnolia Bend in order to find the truth, but instead the empty hole in his life had grown wider. He’d seen the small-town closeness, the way the community supported its own, and feared a faceless man who wouldn’t want him. He’d known he had a void—he just never knew he longed to fill it with anything like what Cal had thrown away.
God, who had he become?
Leif didn’t have an answer for that.
Because he couldn’t move forward until he found his father…until he knew his past. Nothing about Abigail could change that.
So maybe, as much as he wished it wasn’t true, being with Abigail wasn’t good for him at this point. Her pretending him away in the light of day made him feel marginalized, reinforcing the fear of rejection he had with regard to his father. He didn’t want to be a rent-a-stud. He didn’t want to be whiny and pathetic. He didn’t want to fall in love.
So if all he and Abigail ever had between them was sex, then why bother continuing?
At some point, he and Abigail had stopped being about fun, and teetered on the precipice of something that could hurt. Maybe it was time to retreat and reassess. Maybe it was time to think about what he needed.
He’d given Abigail what Hilda had originally suggested her cousin needed—button-popping and panty-dropping.
Mission accomplished.
Abigail pulled back. “Birdie’s going to stay with my parents Saturday night, and Alice Ann will be minding the bed-and-breakfast while I’m at the wedding. Maybe when I get back we can take another moonlight swim?” Her eyes teased, tempting him to dump his last few thoughts.
Instead he dropped his arms, stepping away. “You know what? I think taking a little break would be a good thing.”
“What?” she asked, before wrapping her arms around herself. “What do you mean?”
“We should take a step back. Reassess.”
“Reassess? Wait, are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore? Because I didn’t invite you to my brother’s wedding?”
He swallowed. “No, I just don’t like feeling the way I feel right now.”
“How do you feel?”
“Look, I just need some space.”
“Oh,” she said, her face reflecting hurt. He’d seen that look before. This was how it always felt when he pulled himself away from a relationship…except this time he held the same pain inside himself. Abigail hadn’t changed the rules, but he’d changed how he felt. Maybe it wasn’t fair of him, but he couldn’t help it.
“Look, I’m not trying to be a little bitch over my feelings. And I’m not taking my toys and going home. But some time to work through what’s going on in my life would be good. So let’s give each other some breathing room. Okay?”
She swallowed. “Sure. Breathing room.”
“So I guess I’ll see you in class tomorrow night? Then we can see about—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I get it. This has been good, but we knew it wasn’t going to last. Don’t feel like you have to, uh, uphold some kind of commitment to me.”
Leif didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure how things went south so quickly. It was like a bitter last bite of pecan pie with nothing to wash the taste from his mouth. “So…”
“Let’s do a clean break. You’re wrapped up in finding your father, Birdie’s being a pain in the ass, Cal’s just Cal and we’ve got the festival. Things are complicated. Let’s undo one of them. Besides this was getting…I don’t know.”
But he did. They were both getting too attached to each other.
“So let’s just, um, stop before things get hard,” she said.
Something tore inside him, but he knew she was right. They’d been dancing too close to the flames. If they didn’t step away, they’d catch fire and burn. “Maybe this is for the best.”
But it didn’t feel that way.
A horrible heaviness sank in his gut and the back of his throat ached.
Abigail turned her head away. “So this is it. I don’t think I’ve ever really done this before. The last guy who dumped me sent me a text and the one before that just left. I’ve never actually broken up with anyone before.”
Leif rubbed his hands over his face. “But we’re still friends, right? I mean, we have to see each other.”
“Yeah. Sure,” she said, but her chin wobbled a little. “I gotta go. It’s really late, and—” She sniffed, turning toward the doorway. “I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“No,” she barked, not turning around. “I know the way.”
And then she hurried from his room, her soft-soled boots swishing a goodbye on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Leif clutched his chest, fingernails digging painfully into his skin as the front door opened…and then closed.
The shutting of the door made the whole nightmare that had just played out final.
He’d just called things off with Abigail.
God, he was a freaking dumb ass.
He jogged down the hall. He had to catch her and tell her he had been wrong. So what if they got burned? Wasn’t the journey worth it? That’s what all the songs said, right? So he had to make her come back. He had to make her see he’d been insecure and stupid and…
As he opened the
front door, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His gaze reflected desperation.
Right.
This was what he’d been worried about—he’d gone off the rails. He was in Magnolia Bend to find his father…not mess around with love.
He watched Abigail disappear along the path to Laurel Woods, the tall lanky grasses closing behind her as if she’d never been there. Never been part of his life.
He could see his breath in the cold night and very slowly he stepped inside and closed the door.
It was for the best.
Had to be.
But his heart didn’t believe him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ABIGAIL BARELY MADE it off Leif’s porch before the tears started falling.
Part of her was shocked at what had just happened, the other part hurt. How could he think so little of her? To think she was embarrassed of him? To dismiss what they had like it was nothing.
Sure, she knew they would end things someday. There was no other recourse.
But, God, it felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest.
She pressed a hand against her mouth and stopped, leaning against a rough tree, trying not to fall apart. So much for being a modern woman who slept around and didn’t give a rip about the guy. Massive fail.
Her breath puffed into the night as she struggled to swallow the grief threatening to flood her.
You don’t love him, goose. He’s just a guy. He’s just a stupid man. You were using him for sex. That’s it. He wasn’t going to stay. This wasn’t love. Get a grip.
She said all the right things to herself, but her heart was having none of it. Her heart seemed to firmly believe she’d fallen totally and emphatically—right down to the exclamation marks—in love with Leif Lively, artist, teacher and tofu-weenie roaster.
Damn her heart.
Abigail wiped the dampness from her cheeks, determined to deal with it. No other avenue was open to her. She didn’t have the luxury of going to bed with a box of tissues, a pint of ice cream and her DVD copy of Pretty Woman. She had stuff to do. A daughter to raise, an ex-husband to chase off her porch, her brother’s wedding to attend. She still had to find a gift and get her nails done.
Exactly. Abigail had plenty to do. She probably wouldn’t miss Leif at all.
A sob escaped and she pressed her hand tight against her stomach, battling against the emotion. She could do this. She had to do this.
So she pulled away from the tree and took one step. Then another. Then another. Away from Leif.
As she reached the end of the path, where the view opened up to reveal the grand house, she inhaled deeply, remembering who she was. The moonlight fell softly on the massive columns of Laurel Woods and on the naked branches of the trees, a sort of mysticism enveloping the grounds. The house had survived the Civil War, a fire and neglect, defiant against all that tried to bring it down. A grand old dame shaking a proverbial fist at fate.
So, too, would Abigail survive.
She’d heal from her failed attempt at conducting an affair…from falling in love, or whatever it was, with Leif.
They were just friends now.
Could she even handle seeing him in that capacity?
She’d have to. But not tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even the day after that. By Monday, she’d be fine.
*
SHE CLUNG TO the belief that she’d be fine by Monday. Despite her determination, on Saturday night after watching John and Shelby exchange the vows given to them by her father, she felt far from okay.
Maybe it was the gorgeous ivory Empire-waist dress Shelby wore that was so similar to Abigail’s own gown. Or maybe it was seeing her brother’s tears as he tenderly took Shelby’s hand and promised to cherish her always. Or maybe it was the fact she felt both deliriously happy for her brother and madly melancholic at the same time. And her mental state wasn’t helped by having to deal with Birdie’s refusal to wear a dress or the fact her daughter had sweet-talked Shelby into letting her bring her father. Pretty please, Aunt Shelby? It was the “aunt” part that had sealed the deal. So Abigail spent much of the reception—held at her parents’ house—hiding from Cal.
“Hey, you look like you lost your best friend,” her mother said, finding her almost concealed by the damask drape in the dining room.
“Huh?” Abigail asked, jarred from her contemplation of the dormant bushes outside the window. She glanced toward the formal parlor, where most of the guests stood chatting with one another. “What best friend?”
“I meant you look troubled. Or are you sad about marriage in general?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m just dealing with…stuff.”
“Is it the art teacher? Leif?”
“What?”
“Birdie said you’ve been seeing him.”
“We’re friends.” And we had fabulous sex. And I may have fallen in love with him.
But she didn’t say that, of course.
“Oh,” Fancy said, tracing the condensation collecting in the corner of one windowpane. “I had hoped.”
“He’s not my type.”
“You have a type?”
“Everyone has a type. Besides, he’s not staying in Magnolia Bend.”
“Well, no one said you have to stay in Magnolia Bend.”
Abigail jerked her head toward her mother. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have a business here and this is where Birdie goes to school. It’s where you and Dad are. I’m not giving that up for a chance at—”
“Love?”
“I’m not in love,” Abigail said as fresh pain throbbed within her. Like a cut she’d thought healed, her wound reopened to throb anew. Then the anger came. She’d done this to herself. Waded into a shallow pool, thinking she’d be safe, then grabbed helplessly for something to hold on to when the earth beneath her feet shifted, sucking her into a vortex. Despite her strong efforts to remain casual, cool and collected, she’d been pulled into love, was mired in desperate emotion.
Hell.
“Well, Leif hasn’t left town yet,” Fancy said with a soft smile. “Nothing is hopeless.”
“I’m not a starry-eyed girl. To act like it is silly.”
Fancy narrowed her green eyes. Her wispy red hair was perfectly coiffed for once, complementing the emerald dress that accented her curves and camouflaged her tummy. Nestled between her age-defiant décolleté was the single ruby pendent Dan had given her on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, telling her she was indeed a prize above rubies. This woman was a true steel magnolia and she didn’t bullshit when it came to her children. “Love is supposed to be silly, Abigail Ann. Don’t you dare miss out because you’re worried about looking foolish. That would be stupid.”
“Who wants to be a fool, Mom? I’ve been there and done that with Cal.”
“And you’re letting him win again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Honey, there’s not one person in this town— outside his own mother, maybe—that doesn’t think Calhoun is the stupidest man in all of Louisiana. What he did, well, people don’t forget that easy. But you’re letting his insecurity and foolish choice to let you go keep you from living and loving. I’ve sat by for years, biting my tongue—”
“Ha,” Abigail sniffed.
“—waiting for you to have the guts to shuck him off your back. But you let that memory cling to you. You wear it, and last week when I saw you at the grocery store, your eyes were sparkling, your cheeks were pink and you looked like a woman who’d been well-pleased. I came home and told your father that you’d finally kicked that asshole to the curb.”
Abigail looked around. “Mom.”
“I don’t care who hears me. I don’t even care if Cal hears me. You deserve to fall in love, to laugh, to have a future beyond being everyone’s servant. You live for everyone else and not yourself. And that, my dear, is unacceptable. Now, I must go save Shelby’s parents from Uncle Carlton. He’s telling them about his hemorrhoid surgery.”
Abigail sighed and leaned her forehead against the chilled glass. She should go home. She didn’t feel like celebrating and her mood wasn’t fair to John or Shelby. She’d just turned to leave when her father, still wearing his vestments, tapped his champagne glass. The talking quieted.
“Usually the best man makes the toast, but tonight I want to be the first to lift my glass to the happy couple. Both John and Shelby walked a difficult road to get to this moment. Despite the potholes, dead ends and the proverbial rocks in their shoes, they have persevered in finding love again. The good Lord knew what each of you needed.”
John and Shelby looked at each other with such tender intimacy, it made tears well in Abigail’s eyes.
“Here’s to John, Shelby and the triumph of love,” her father said.
“Hear, hear!” several people said, lifting their glasses. Abigail swiped a glass off the side table and lifted it, too. Taking a huge gulp of chilled fizziness, Abigail caught Birdie’s eye.
The girl smiled for the first time in forever and raised her glass of grape cocktail toward Abigail. Fancy always had fake champagne for the grandkids at any special event. Seeing her daughter’s smile was like balm on the wound that ached inside her. Birdie might be difficult but she was worth it.
“She’s looking more and more like you,” Cal said from behind her.
“Well, I am her mother,” Abigail said, turning to the man who had occupied her thoughts only moments ago. “She looks like you, too. That stubborn chin and those long fingers. Too bad she’s not a boy. She would be a great wide receiver.”
“Or guitar player.”
Abigail didn’t want to spend time with Cal. “She’s a good artist. I think she’s found her thing.”
“Are you okay?” He looked at her with a yearning that made her shuffle backward.