Page 63 of Too Good for Words (Silverberry Seduction Seasoned Romance)

“Notice what?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Your turn to bare your soul.”

Her own misfortune didn’t compare to the dissolution of a marriage. After all, she’d gone through that. She knew the difference between a divorce and a break up. The hollow emptiness she was feeling now only seemed worse than what she’d experienced when Mark left because it was fresher, unmuted by time.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Terrance was watching her, despair and loneliness darkening his expression. Maybe her story would distract him from his own misery for a minute or two.

“Cash and I broke up.” It was her turn to avoid eye contact. She picked up her orange juice, drained the last drops, and then fidgeted with the empty glass.

“That marvellously grim ginger? I thought things were getting serious between you.”

So had she. “Yes, well, that was before Cyril and Elle ran into serious trouble.” By the time she’d recounted the events of that terrible night and the Sunday after, Terrance’s eyes were round, his mouth open in a startled O.

“He accused you of ignoring Cyril? What an idiotic thing to say.” His clear rejection of this assertion soothed a small part of Penta’s soul. “I suppose you see the irony here? Not that it’s much consolation, of course.”

“Irony?”

“Mark accused you of neglecting him for the children. Now Cash accuses you of ignoring your children to be with him.”

That aspect of the situation hadn’t occurred to her. “You’re right. It’s not much consolation. If I’m honest, Mark probably had a genuine grievance. I did take him for granted. But he should have talked to me about it, explained what he was feeling, so we could work on our marriage together. He decided it was easier to quit.”

“And what about Cash?” Terrance queried. “Was he right, to any degree?”

Chapter Thirty-One

Penta had thought of little else all week. “It’s not fair,” she burst out. “When we first met, he accused me of being hyper-vigilant, of coddling Cyril, of protecting them all too much. Then he says I ignore them? He can’t have it both ways, can he?”

“Why would he say it if he doesn’t believe it? If he wanted to break up with you, why not just say so, instead of making up illogical excuses?” Terrance’s gaze was soft yet direct.

“He did say so. Said he was poor influence and we shouldn’t see each other anymore. But that’s rubbish.”

“If that’s how he feels...”

She waved her hand as if swatting a mosquito. “He’s a good man. I don’t know why he doesn’t see that.”

“It’s often harder to see our good points than our bad. But that doesn’t mean our feelings of inadequacy should be dismissed.” She had the uncomfortable feeling he was disappointed with her and was thankful when he moved on. “What about this Tyrone? You say he’s a friend of Cash?”

“Not anymore. Cash is certain Cyril and Elle were put in danger as a way to get back at him. But nothing would have happened if Cyril had let us know what was going on, so it’s more his fault than Cash’s.”

“Would your fellow see it that way, though? If he’d said yes to Tyrone’s proposal, there would have been no reason to pressure Cyril. In his mind, the evil starts there.”

Talking this out had reminded her of something else, something she’d forgotten in the pain and sorrow of rejection. “He mentioned his past, more than once. Said it would always be there, ready to ruin the lives of people he loved.” She stared at Terrance. “I thought he was only talking about Elle. But maybe—” She broke off, afraid to finish her thought.

Terrance had no such compunction. “Maybe he was talking about you? About loving you?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, wordless with shock.

And hope.

“Don’t throw love away, Penta.” Terrance’s voice quavered, and he pressed his lips together before continuing. “We both know how precious it is. You need to talk to this man of yours. Sort things out. Don’t let a misunderstanding ruin what you could have together.”

CASH FORCED HIMSELF to operate the shop at the usual hours all week. Forced himself to speak politely to customers. Forced himself to continue the restoration of the Baby Bonnie, though it brought him no joy. But just because Penta would never have a chance to appreciate its beauty, that didn’t mean someone else shouldn’t. Besides, it was a painful reminder of the last months and he wanted it out of his shop, out of his life.

On Saturday, he locked the front door, wishing the action could also lock out the dragging depression dogging him. He hadn’t made it to the rear hall before a knock on the glass halted his steps. His first instinct was to keep going, ignore whoever the latecomer was. But they would have seen him and he didn’t have a good excuse for avoiding them.

Shoulders slumping, he turned back to the front.

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