Page 37 of When I Fall In Love

I look up again to meet her gaze in the mirror, hers woebegone and lost, mine ready to beat up the asshole that never appreciated my girl.

“What happened between you two?”

“It was a mistake from the start. He cheated on me for years, probably. Apparently I was cold.”

Cold? My Bee? Never. Bee was a nest of warmth and love I never wanted to be kicked out of.

She’s trying not to cry but fails. As her words sink in, all I can think of is that for the umpteenth time in her life, someone had made her feel like shit, like trash about herself, just like Lady Collingwood did. Rumors spread, and they eventually reached me. And then I went and did the same, never turning up for this girl when I should have. Next came an asshole for a husband. She was broken, and that I had even half a hand in it is too much.

All I want is to hold her now, keep her close, but she’s stepping out of my tentative hold, away from my erection that’s been pressing into her butt, telling her exactly what I want.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.

No kidding. How weird that as teenagers we never hesitated, we just acted on our wants and needs as they engulfed us. Now it’s as if we’re in a booby-trapped maze of adulthood and intimacy that wants to fuck us over, with neither of us knowing where we’re going, or willing to cave in to our desires. She’s been hurt again and again and I… if I’m honest, I’ve been too scared to love again. When you lose both parents in a car wreck and the love of your life gets amputated like all your limbs in one go, you approach people with caution and make sure they can’t take root in your heart because it would eventually hurt.

I drag my fingers through my hair. I might be losing my mind, but I still have my manners. “I’ll see you home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll let myself out.”

She walks out of my bedroom and rushes down the stairs in a blink. By the time I’ve descended them too, she’s shoved her feet into her shoes, not bothering to lace them up. Her jacket in hand, she’s out on the deck and onto her own before I can pull her into my arms and make us both regret that kiss we so desperately wanted.

18

BETH

Thanks to my late afternoon nap, I’m not sleepy, and what with being in Vermont only a few days, I still haven’t really adjusted to Vermont time. I get into bed and check my phone. It’s past midnight, and what I want is to be in Hunter’s arms, reconnecting. It would seem the passion we used to spark in each other is still there, after all these years, but I’ve been messed with enough in my life that I’d rather close up than act on something as simple as sexual desire.

To numb the heat pulsing between my thighs after that close escape fifteen minutes ago when Hunter was on the verge of kissing me, I take stock of the conversation I had with Sasha. She was slow to open up but chatting about a string of mutual acquaintances I’ve lost contact with seemed to be cathartic for both of us.

Sasha tried to hide those bruises, but they were right there, on her wrist where the flicker of firelight cast them in an eerie glow. Her apology—an apology for being manhandled by her abusive ex!—came out first. By the end of the evening, and reading between a lot of lines, it became clear she’s trying to get out of an abusive relationship. I am still riled up because worst of all, Sasha hasn’t sought any legal help, or any help for that matter, in town.

I can’t turn a blind eye or deaf ear to her circumstances and am still staring at the ceiling going through her options when my phone rings. It’s Kyle. “Hey.”

“Beth! You’re in Ashleigh Lake? I wish you told me. What’re you doing there?”

“I’m on vacation,” I say on a chuckle.

“You’re actually on vacation?”

I knew he’d be surprised. “I thought I could kill two birds with one stone and come see the farm.”

“You actually flew over to go see the farm? I’m surprised you can stomach it,” he says. “I suppose it’s good thinking on your part.”

“I thought one of us has to come see it at least, you know.”

“Yes.” He inhales deeply and quietly, almost painfully so. “And?”

That question was so slow to come, I bet he didn’t really want to ask it in the first place. “It’s looking fantastic,” I answer in all honesty. “It’s expanded quite a bit since we lived there but our cottage is totally dilapidated.”

He sighs. “No surprises there.”

On seeing the cottage that eviction day had come back to me with such force, it’s no wonder I’m still emotional. I’d been forced to keep my composure in front of Brenda but later that night I off-loaded with the man who stands between us and selling the farm. Where Hunter was an unexpected snag in the proceedings, he seems to have blown up into a real problem—for me at least—and I have no clue why.

“Listen, Beth,” Kyle says when I don’t say anything and, in his voice, I can hear he’s made the mental shift from dealing with the emotions of this place, to the business side of selling the farm. “I spoke to Brenda today when you didn’t answer my call. She said she has another developer showing interest and she hopes to up the price by seeing how far she can push the interested parties. I’m all for it, but honestly, I think it would be best for both of us if it just gets done. So whatever you do, don’t go get emotionally invested in something that can never be while you’re there.”

Oh God. My throat clamps closed at his words and I grip the comforter, squeezing it to gain control over my breathing. What Kyle doesn’t know is that Hunter was in San Francisco, that Hunter is right next door, and that every part of me wants to delve into Hunter. We have unresolved business. It’s not issues as such, more like an open ending, and that maybe… just maybe… I was really lured here to write those final passages on pages that had been left blank all those years ago.

“I’m not getting emotionally invested,” I manage to croak out and clear my throat. “I just really thought one of us need to see the place before we sign some random offer.”

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