Page 48 of Holiday Hire

I gape at him.

He adds, "Time to end this game."

My rage boils. I hurl out, "What are you talking about? I don't need attention. I need space. We need to work on things. We need to think about what we both want and need. Then, we can decide what we want to do."

"Meaning?"

"If we still really want to be together!"

Tension builds as Lance leers at me. My insides quiver harder. I finally said what I'm afraid might happen.

He asserts, "I don't need time and space, Phoebe. We're meant to be together, and you know it. So tomorrow, you're going to get your shit, then we're going to get on a plane, and we're going to go back to Pismo. We'll get married. You don't need to worry about working. Everything will be fine." He parks the car and gets out, going directly to the house.

Once again, I'm reminded how he's never opened my door. Not that I can't do it myself, but I didn't realize how nice it was that a man actually thought about you enough to do it—even when I'm just the nanny.

I open my door and get out, taking my bag with barely anything in it inside the guesthouse.

Knotty pine walls, brown leather furniture, a vase of fresh fall flowers, and a huge set of bull horns adorn the space.

He snickers. "Man, this is as country as country gets, isn't it?"

"What is wrong with you?" I scold.

"Nothing's wrong with me. What's wrong with you? You've been here a few days, and you've forgotten your roots," he replies scornfully.

Every ounce of hurt and anger erupts within me. I roar, "I haven't forgotten anything! I haven't forgotten how you disappear for days at a time! And I haven't forgotten how you used to want to spend time with me, and you no longer do!"

"I flew across the country to come get you."

I scoff. "You didn't fly across the country. You flew across several states. Let's be honest."

"You're an ungrateful person, Phoebe. You give me no credit for making things right between us and then you act like you're perfect."

"Don't you dare blame me for this! I didn't stay out for countless days and ghost you!"

"Oh, go cry a bit more. And for God's sake, grow up!" he roars.

I take several large breaths, trying to stop trembling.

He claims, "You're overreacting, just like you always do."

I ponder his statement.Am I overreacting?Shouldn't I give him some credit for coming all this way?

Lance looks at me with puppy-dog eyes and lowers his voice. "Are you trying to tell me you don't want to be with me at all?"

His question and expression tug at my heart.

He adds, "Are you going to throw away our love and all the years we've been together?"

I blink hard. I'm so confused. If Lance could be the Lance he used to be, I'd say no in an instant. But I remind myself that I don't know who he is anymore.

His voice sounds scared and full of hurt when he asks, "You don't want to be together anymore?"

"No, that's not it," I reply, unsure of what I want but also fearful of making any big changes.

He arches his eyebrows. "Really? Seems to me that that's the message you're trying to give me right now."

"It's not."

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