Page 66 of BillionHeir
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The tinkle of glass teacups meeting saucers and silverware scraping against plates fills the air inside the quaint cafe that Maxwell brought us to. The soft murmuring of patrons around the room adds a warmth to the place, and the familiar soundssoothe my frazzled nerves. As much as I love America, the UK will always be home.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask once the waitress has delivered our tea.
We have exchanged a few pleasantries since I got in the car, but otherwise we have mostly stayed quiet, exchanging furtive glances when we think the other isn’t paying attention. It is a quiet and weird cat and mouse, but one I have become familiar with from our early days in Maine.
Maxwell sighs as he stirs his English Breakfast tea, staring into his cup as though he can read the tea leaves to see our future.
“I spent the whole night thinking about all the things I could say or do to show you just how sorry I am for my behavior after our night together. But it all just sounded hollow.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
“And I am aware of just how selfish it is for me to tell you how much I miss you. But maybe if I explain exactly why I miss you, you might start to understand.”
“Max—”
“No, no,” he says, holding his hand up to stop me again. “Let me finish what I was going to say. I miss the man I am around you. The man you make me want to be. I have never been around a woman who brings out so much good in me.
“I miss the way your face looks when you are surprised or frustrated or deep in thought. I miss the way you ask me about my day. I miss the way you cared, even when you didn’t have to. But most of all, I miss your smile from the moment I wake up until I finally fall asleep at night. Even then, it lingers in my dreams.”
I sit there for a second, too stunned to form a response or even a coherent thought. My heart is racing, and I feel my cheeks heat. My mind is totally blank.
What do I say to that?
I have already decided that this cannot go anywhere, no matter how sweet Maxwell can be sometimes. We are just too different. No matter how much I enjoyed our time together, or how sorry he is, nothing is going to change that.
“I . . .” I start before falling silent again. “I don’t know what to say. I just—I can’t. I am sorry.”
Unsure what else to do, I push out in my chair and rise, panicking as the legs grate loudly against the floor. Before Maxwell can say another word, I turn and dash through the restaurant and out the door.
Once I am out on the sidewalk, I wipe the tears from my eyes and scan the area, trying to get my bearings. Lucky for me, there is a black cab coming down the street toward me. When I raise my hand, the car immediately slows and pulls up to the curbbeside me. I quickly climb in and give the driver the address to the hospital.
The driver smiles at me in the mirror and nods once. “You got it, doll,” he says, pulling away just as Maxwell steps out of the restaurant looking distressed. His eyes meet mine with confusion and a hint of desperation before I turn and face the road ahead, leaving him and that tiny bit of my life behind.
* * *
“Are you alright, dear?” my mother asks when she gets back into the room after another series of tests.
“Of course,” I respond from the couch where I have been sitting lost in thought. I shake my head and rise from my seat. “Can I get you something to eat or a cuppa?”
“No, dear. I am just fine for now.” She winces as she settles into her hospital bed looking utterly exhausted.
“You need to rest,” I say, reading her face.
“What I need is a nice chat with my daughter. Here,” she says, patting a spot on the bed. “Come sit.”
I nearly tell her no. It is clear that a long day of being poked and prodded has worn her out. But the truth is I could use some comfort, as selfish as that might be right now. So, I do what I am told and settle cross-legged in the spot she made for me.
“Now,” she says as her eyes search my face, reading me the way only my own mother could. “Tell me what has been going on with you.”
“Oh, mum,” I say, wondering just how much I should tell her. “It is so complicated. Honestly, I don’t even know where to start.”
“Well, darling, just start from the beginning.”
I snort out a laugh at the simplicity she is implying.
“Okay,” I answer, dragging the word out to stall for time. “I had a man come into Sanctuary Springs. He offered me an obscene amount of money to quit and become his private nurse while he recovered.”
