Page 58 of Journey to You

The thought alone made a mockery of his need for time.

Time for what? Time to second-guess himself at every turn? Time to dredge up every reason why he couldn’t do this? Time to distance himself from the wild, out of control feeling that loving Tam fostered?

The way he saw it, he was all out of time.

She’d had the guts to lay it all on the line for him.

So what was he going to do about it?

Real life was far from rosy and happy endings usually required a hell of a lot of hard work and compromise. He knew that better than anyone else.

But damn it, he wanted that happy ending, craved it with every ravenous cell in his body.

His gaze landed on the phone. He had the resources and the contacts worldwide to make anything happen.

How hard could it be to organise his life for the next month in order to follow the woman he loved?

He snatched up the phone.

Only one way to find out.

Twenty-Seven

Tamara lay on the wooden massage table, wriggling around to get comfortable while clutching a skimpy towel to cover herself.

Her mum had extolled the virtues of Ayurvedic therapies at length, a firm believer that all aspects of life—from people to animals to diseases—were combinations of the three energy elements: air, fire and water.

Tamara had been told herdosha—constitution—was predominantly air, meaning she was prone to worry and anxiety.

As the therapist, a woman of indeterminate age dressed in a simple white sari, positioned a pot of hot oil directly over her head, Tamara thought she had every right to be anxious.

“Relax,” the therapist said, her voice a low, soothing monotone. “This will help rebalance you.”

Easy for the massage therapist to say. She wasn’t the one about to get hot oil dripped onto her forehead. However, as the first trickle flowed gently onto Tamara’s forehead, she exhaled in relief and closed her eyes, filled with a serenity she’d been craving for a week.

She’d returned to India to centre herself, to recapture the feeling of belonging she’d experienced during her trip, and whileshe’d been more grounded in the last seven days than she had in a while, a strange restlessness still gripped her.

She’d expected an instant fix for her edginess in coming back. Crazy, considering what she’d been through, but at least she could relax in Goa without fear of opening a newspaper, turning on a television, or surfing online to find evidence of Richard’s disregard leering at her. She’d never been more grateful that she’d shut down her social media accounts after he died and ignored online tabloids.

The oil stream stopped and she squinted through one eye, watching the therapist straightening the oil pot before she delved bony fingers through her hair to her scalp.

“Too tense, too tense.” The woman tut-tutted, digging her fingers deeper until Tamara sighed, determined to ignore her negative thoughts and luxuriate under the expert tutelage of massaging fingers.

“Breathe. Let the oils help you.”

Great, she’d stumbled across another wannabe fortune teller. Though from the tension in her muscles, it didn’t take a psychic to figure out she was anxious about something.

“Sandalwood is good for stress, frankincense for fear, gardenia for anger,” the therapist droned. “Breathe, let the oils work for you.”

Discovering her husband was a lying cheater and his mistress had told the world about it, led to loads of stress. Not to mention the baby bonus. And Tamara was scared; scared she’d made the wrong decision in leaving behind the one man who’d brought joy to her life in a long time. As for anger, she thought she’d left that behind when she walked away from Sonja and all she stood for.

“Yourdoshaneeds soothing, many treatments.Abhyangaand aromatherapy today, meditation tomorrow, colour and gem therapy the day after. Yes?”

Tamara could handleabhyanga—this massage was to die for—and the oils and meditation at a pinch, but she had the feeling this wise woman was giving her a sales pitch along with the amateur psychobabble.

Mumbling a noncommittal response, Tamara concentrated on relaxing her muscles and blanking her mind. It didn’t work. Her thoughts zoomed straight back to Ethan. What was he thinking? Doing? Feeling?

It had taken her limited supply of courage to see him again after she’d stormed out of Ambrosia the day she’d discovered Richard had a love child by his mistress.

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