Page 99 of A Beach House Beginning

She crossed her arms even tighter around herself, a clear message that she wanted him to keep his distance. Better that way, he decided.

The silence stretched between them, tight and awkward now. He opened the door of his truck. Before he could climb inside, she spoke quickly, as if afraid she wouldn’t be able to get the words out.

“I think it would be better for Hope if you stayed away between now and when you leave.”

Instant objections rose in his throat, even though he’d thought the exact same thing earlier in the evening. He hated the idea now as much as he had then.

The thought of his life without the three Sullivan women in it filled him with dread—Hope, with her endless courage, Ellen’s quiet dignity and Christa.

He studied the woman in front of him. As always, her loveliness seemed to take his breath away, seemed to strike some elemental chord deep inside him.

Christa, with her slow smile and her green eyes and the steel core of strength that carried her through adversity.

He was in love with her.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, fighting with everything he had against the overwhelming need to pull her into his arms.

He definitely needed to get the hell away from Sage Flats.

“I’m sorry, Jace. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate all you’ve done. But it’s going to be hard enough on Hope when you leave. I have to think about her best interests. I think this way is better.”

Better for whom? The absence of the three Sullivan women was going to leave a gaping hole in his life. Maybe she was right, though. Maybe it would be best to leave before he was in this too deep to climb back out.

“All right,” he said promptly. “I want to do what’s best for Hope.”

“She loves you already, Jace. With every day you become more important to her. She’s dealt with enough loss in her life. I can’t bear to sit by and watch her deal with this, too.”

“Can I email her? Call once in a while to see how she’s doing?”

She shrugged. “I can’t stop you. It might make this a little easier on her.”

“I guess this is goodbye, then.” His voice sounded ragged, raw, and he was stunned at the ball of emotions lodged in his throat. “Tell Hope and Ellen that for me, will you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. He saw in the moonlight the slender tracks of tears on her cheeks. Was she crying for Hope or for herself?

Did it matter?

He started to climb into his pickup, then froze. Before he could talk himself out of it, he climbed back out. In a single quick motion, he pulled her into his arms one last time.

She gasped his name when his mouth descended on hers, but she didn’t yank away. Her mouth was soft beneath his, warm and sweet, and a deep wave of longing and regret and tenderness washed over him.

All too soon he knew he had to end it or he would never be able to leave. He wrenched his mouth away and brushed a thumb against one more tear trickling down her cheek.

“Goodbye,” he murmured.

This time when he climbed into his truck, he didn’t climb out again. He just fired up the engine, backed out of her driveway, then drove away, fighting with everything he had not to look in his rearview mirror at what he was leaving behind.

Chapter Seven

Two days later, Christa still felt as if all the joy and color had been sucked out of her world. The weather perfectly matched her mood, a gray, ugly day full of clouds but no rain.

At least rain might clear her head a little so she didn’t feel this constant, grinding pressure, the fear that she’d made a terrible mistake.

She had to stop, had to snap out of this funk. Her work was suffering, she was short with Ellen and Hope and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the aching emptiness of her life.

To her relief, Hope didn’t seem to share her dark mood. At least not right this instant. Christa glanced in the rearview mirror, where Hope was peering out the window, anticipation on her features.

“Do you think Jace will be there?”

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