Page 90 of Breaking the Ice

Nick doubted Samantha had ever needed a man. She’d just fooled herself into it for a while because she had some time on her hands and was still enough to hear her clock ticking.

“Listen to me, Nick Hawke. Some people are really bad at asking for things. Samantha is one of them. Deep down she’s genuinely still puzzled about why you ‘like her very much’.”

Bec’s sarcasm oozed across the line.

“And,” she continued, “she’s hard to move from a plan when she thinks she knows what she wants. But trust me, I haven’t seen her happier than when she was with you at Birdie’s. Be the bigger person, Nick. Please, save her from herself.”

Nick hung up the phone that had cut off in his ear. Could Bec be right? He frowned.WasSamantha miserable? Had she just been putting on a brave face for him? The thought of her working away at a job she detested while he was off doing something he loved was disquieting.

Couldhe save her from herself?

He looked around at the shop.Yes.Actually, he had the perfect solution – probably not quite what Bec had in mind though.

He’d been interviewing prospective managers for Birdie’s all week. No one had stood out. Sure, they all seemed competentand would no doubt do a very good job, but not one of them had a burning passion for the books. Their eyes didn’t glow and their fingers didn’t itch to be reading and their noses didn’t wrinkle appreciatively at the aged bookish smell.

But Samantha’s did. And she was perfect for the job. The few months she had slummed it with him had more than proved that. Okay, it was a big step down for her and she may well tell him he was insane, but the one thing hewascertain of in their whole complicated relationship was her love for Birdie’s shop.

And, if she was as miserable as Bec insisted, then she might jump at his offer. Which would be one less thing to worry about as he strapped on his protective gear, knowing Birdie’s wonderful legacy was in safe hands.

Samantha’s stomach growled as she tapped at her computer keyboard. Nick was leaving tomorrow. The figures blurred before her and she blinked rapidly.

I will not think about Nick.

But it was hopeless when her heart was breaking. Every breath hurt. Every second that ticked by reverberated through the cells in her body, pulsed through her blood, thronged through her gray matter, telling her she was running out of time.

Running out of time.

Her heart ached and her eyes watered and her skin itched. She felt like someone had a paint scraper and was stripping her from the inside. She felt pain. Physical pain. Like she was strapped down, enduring a full-body wax. Her love slowly and painfully ripped out by its roots.

Samantha’s stomach growled again and she thought about how Nick would be tucking into some delicious baked goodie from the Teahouse about this time.

I will not think about Nick.

I do not need him. I will be fine without him.

Oh God, who was she kidding? How was she going to say goodbye tomorrow and not beg him to stay? What the hell was she doing here staring at figures she hated when she could be spending time with him?

A brown paper bag landed on her keyboard and she was about to protest when she realized it had Martha’s Teahouse advertising all over it. The sweet citrusy aroma wafted up and her salivary glands went into overdrive.

She looked up and Nick was standing in her doorway.

He looked so good smiling at her like that. She had missed his smile. So had her eggs, who cheered appreciatively after weeks of having the cranks.

“Howdy, stranger,” he drawled in his very bestLarry and Stretchaccent.

Samantha almost cried, he looked so good. She’d been such a fool. Work hadn’t been a distraction at all, it had been a vehicle for complete denial. She loved him and his leaving was going to tear her in two.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, proud of how strong her voice sounded when inside she was as shaky as Jell-O, fighting the urge to debase herself completely and confess all her deepest, darkest emotions.

“I was at Martha’s and thought you might want your usual.”

Samantha opened the bag, for once not remotely interested, and took a huge bite out of the friand so she wouldn’t divulge her true feelings. No other man had ever bought her Martha’s friands. Why was it that the one man who knew the way to her heart, who knew her better than any other, was leaving?

“Bec rang.”

Samantha stopped eating abruptly to check her phone. No missed calls. “Is she okay?”

“Of course.” His quick easy smile allayed her fears and she took a mental snapshot of this moment, committing every detail to memory.

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