Page 44 of His Best Mistake

Why the hell had he done that? Had he been so traumatised by the evening’s events that he’d temporarily lost his mind? Had he been so terrified of what caring about Stella might mean he’d overreacted? It did seem that way.

But what were the chances of tragedy striking twice anyway? he wondered now. He probably had a program somewhere that could calculate the odds. There were risks to any relationship, but there were also rewards, and the rewards of having Stella in his life would surely be more than worth it because he was pretty certain he was falling in love with her.

As the truth of it hit him, Jack sat up, his entire body suddenly coming to life and buzzing with an energy that had been missing recently. So that was what this had all been about. He knew he’d cared about her, and he’d suspected it had been more but out of fear he hadn’t allowed himself to think about how much more. It was so much more, though.

God, he’d been a fool, he thought, his pulse racing. He’d been given a chance of happiness with an incredible woman who was strong and brave and really, way out of his league, and out of some insane misplaced fear that was based on pure assumption he’d blown it.

He shoved his hands through his hair and then leapt to his feet. Was there any chance he could get her back? Would she even want to come back? There was only one way to find out and whatever the answer he had to know.

Jack grabbed his coat and phone and scooped up his wallet and keys. Striding out of his office, his heart pounding, he paused only to instruct his assistant, “Cancel whatever can be cancelled; reschedule the rest. I’m going out and I may be some time.”

Chapter Twelve

“And that’s it,” said Stella to her friends, shifting on the stone wall upon which she was sitting cross-legged. “The whole sorry story. Again. For what, the third time now? I apologise about that. The problem is, I really thought I’d be fine. I mean, I’m a pretty strong person, right? I’ve got over stuff before. I thought by now it would at least hurt a little bit less. But I’m not fine. I’m in bits. I keep crying and I don’t think it’s just the hormones. It’s pathetic. I realise Jack and I only spent a short time together but it was really intense and I fell in love with him and I miss him so much.”

She sniffed and blew her nose. “I can’t stop thinking about him and I can’t even try and forget him because of the lemon. And he’s just not interested any more. I don’t understand it. One minute he was trying to get me into bed and the next he was basically throwing me out. His replies to my texts are so brief they’re barely there, and do you know the worst of it? I could have practically written the script. I’ve fallen for someone who hasn’t fallen for me only this time it hurts so damn much it makes all those other times look like, I don’t know, childhood crushes or something.

“Why did I ever imagine things would be different with Jack? He never gave me any indication that he felt something more. That was all me and my stupid fantastical dream factory, which means my judgement is still completely rubbish because for all I know he was just trying to replace Mia and their baby with me and ours, and God I wish I could have a drink.”

She paused to hiccup and sighed long and raggedly, while absently rubbing her abdomen. “The only good thing to come of all this navel gazing is that I now realise I am enough. Maybe not for Jack or Ben/Brad or anyone else, but I’m certainly enough for the lemon. I’m going to be the best parent I possibly can be, and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? If I cling on to that the rest will somehow fall into place, don’t you think?”

There was no response. And while that was to be expected since she was talking to the sheep it would nevertheless be nice to have some answers, thought Stella, her breath catching on a sob. She’d been here at the cottage in the Highlands for four days now and she was in just as much of a state now as she had been when she arrived.

When she’d left the hospital, left Jack, she’d had no idea how much it was going to hurt, how deeply she’d fallen. It had all been a bit of a blur. She’d been so fired up with adrenaline and fuelled by disappointment and misery she hadn’t exactly been thinking straight.

Now, though, with the adrenaline gone and reality hitting she knew, and it was agony. With nothing else to do, she’d had all the time in the world to dwell on what could have been and mope. She hadn’t even felt like painting. The canvases she’d brought with her remained untouched, the paints unopened. All she wanted to do was sketch Jack, and it was pathetic how hung up on him she was.

Pathetic too how she just didn’t seem to be able to do anything. The weather up here was far more clement in late March than it had been in January but she found it hard to drum up much enthusiasm for the heather sprouting on the hills and the greenery that was appearing. She knew she should probably go for walks and keep fit but she just didn’t have the energy.

The cottage wasn’t giving her the peace she craved this time around either, although in hindsight that wasn’t entirely surprising. Her decision to come up here had been a spur of the moment thing, and she’d totally forgotten that it might hold memories not conducive to getting over Jack. Inside, there were reminders of him everywhere, so she tried to spend as much time outside as possible, mainly talking to the sheep since they were close. Over and over again she’d spilled out her heart, as if the way to get over him might suddenly come to her if she went through it often enough, but that plan hadn’t worked out at all.

At least he didn’t know how she felt about him, she thought, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the weak spring sun in the hope it might warm her up. There was some comfort in that.

Whatever happened in the future, she’d handle it. If Jack did decide he wanted to be part of the lemon’s life she could learn to put a brave face on it, and if – or rather, when – he pitched up with someone else on his arm, she’d be civil. It might well kill her but she’d be civil. And he would meet someone, of course. It was inevitable, since he was kind and generous and gorgeous and lovely, and, oh dear, she was welling up all over again.

Would she ever stop crying? she wondered, blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. Would she ever feel normal again? Would she ever meet anyone for whom she was enough? What was wrong with her that made her so easy to reject? How was she supposed to change if she didn’t know what she ought to be changing? Why was everything so damn hard? All she wanted was someone who would love her the way she loved him. Someone who accepted her for what she was, flaws and all. Someone who –

“So this is where you’ve got to.”

*

When Stella jumped and wobbled on the wall as she sharply twisted round, Jack cursed and thought, perhaps a bit belatedly, that surprising a pregnant woman, his pregnant woman, may not have been the best way forward, but, God, it was good to see her.

The last twenty-four hours, many of which he’d spent trying to track her down, had been pretty bloody abysmal. Once he’d realised what an idiot he’d been by denying how he felt about her, all he’d wanted to do was grovel for forgiveness and then tell her everything. No messing about, no delays, just the truth. To his intense frustration and growing sense of alarm, though, she?

?d been nowhere to be found, until he’d recalled what she’d said about the cottage being a refuge and decided it was definitely worth a shot.

When he’d seen her sitting on the wall in the distance, his heart had leapt so hard he’d feared it might escape his chest. He’d crossed the field in what had to be record time, all fired up with determination and purpose, but now he’d found her, now he was here, he realised that the knot tangling his stomach wasn’t excitement. It was nerves. He was nervous as hell and scared witless because the last time he’d seen her he’d been harsh and cruel. His entire future rode on his ability to somehow undo that. God knew it wasn’t going to be easy but whatever happened he was not going to blow it.

“Jack,” said Stella coolly, the myriad emotions that had sprinted across her face when she’d clapped eyes on him now hidden behind a mask of neutrality. “This is a surprise.”

He thrust his hands in the pockets of his jeans largely to stop himself from reaching for her and just getting straight on with the kissing part of his plan, since that would likely result in a slap across the face.

“A nice one, I hope,” he said and cleared his suddenly dry throat.

“Why on earth would you hope that?” she said, arching an eyebrow. “I honestly can’t think of anyone I’d rather see less.”

No. Right. Well. Obviously. He’d been brutal. And it crushed him, along with the lack of emotion in her voice and the absence of warmth in her expression, which didn’t bode well. But dammit, he had to pull it together; he really did, because he hadn’t come all this way only to fuck it up in the first five minutes. “I can imagine.”

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