Page 88 of After Indigo Irish Nights
The big stink in the air wasn’t just that he hadn’t spent the night again. He hadn’t kissed her on the mouth when he’d arrived. Her cheek still felt stained with his tepid kiss.
“I installed the GoPro and new locks,” Donal said, taking the list she’d scratched up this morning to keep herself busy and not running for the woods. “Didn’t want you worried while you were gone.”
She took the list back and scratched it off, not wanting to look at him. “Great. Thanks.” God, this was awkward.
He cleared his throat, equally uncomfortable—as he should be. “Kathleen blustered about it being overkill, but she looked relieved.”
“No one should ever have to be afraid at the arts center.”
He shifted his feet again, and the floor squeaked. “Bets.”
She dug her pencil into her paper. “What?”
“I can visit Owen and give him a sound talking to. I know we agreed we wouldn’t, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll do it.”
The only thing that would make her feel better was being close to him like they used to be.
They needed to talk about it, but she didn’t know how, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it to anyone else. Something was slipping away between them, and it didn’t matter how hard she tried to catch it and hold on to it. It kept moving further out of reach.
He sat down suddenly on the edge of a chair at her kitchen table, his green eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat again.
“Do you want some rose lemonade?” She shot up and over to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher. “I made it with fresh petals from the garden.”
“Sure.” He nodded, a quick glance in her direction before he looked away. “You must have been up early.”
That sentence was loaded. He hadn’t been there like he used to be, and they both knew it. She wasn’t sleeping well, feeling lonely and more than a little sorry for herself. Every morning at dawn, she was out the door in her garden, weeding, pruning, and then grinding and grinding rose petals to make rose lemonade. Anything to keep herself occupied.
Anything to keep her from the truth.
He didn’t kiss her anymore. He didn’t seem to want her anymore. She’d known this would happen.Thiswas one of the big reasons why she hadn’t wanted to get married, because she’d feared the physical connection would fizzle out. And here they were, not married, and it had still happened.
She felt uncertain and undesirable. Oh, hell. Her throat went scratchy from holding back the words she feared saying.
Maybe it was better she was leaving for a few days. Maybe…
God, she didn’t know.
She poured herself a glass of lemonade after remembering what she was about. When she came back to the table, she realized she hadn’t poured Donal any.
He shrugged and coughed briefly. “No bother. You have a lot on your mind this morning. I’ll let you finish your packing. I told Linc and my dad to take care of you. Have fun in France.”
When he rose, he kissed her cheek.Again. Yeah, they were in big trouble.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” Maybe it would help…
He stilled for a moment, which made her rub the space above her bruised heart. “No, I’ll keep working toward our goal here. Declan will need some rebuilding after the fight, and there are a couple more councilmen we should approach. Word is quietly spreading about the new opportunities, which might be why Mary got wind of it and sent Owen to spy for her. Bets, if you land this artist—”
“It will be a big feather in our cap.” Then she realized it might also bring in more trouble. Not something she wanted to think about.
“Call me when you know.” His mouth lifted slightly, without his usual good humor.
She watched him stride to the back door. The words caught again. But she couldn’t let him go like this. “Donal.”
His back muscles tightened. He turned around slowly, his eyes guarded. “Don’t, Bets. I don’t have answers for you.”
She swallowed thickly as he quietly let himself out.
The lemonade was sour to the taste. She set it aside and went to finish her packing. When she finished, she brought her carry-on outside and sat at her garden table. The house was too quiet and filled with thoughts she’d rather leave at the doorstep.
