by Emma Tharp
She looks doubtful. I nod a few times for emphasis. “I will. We have just a few more days together and then I’ll have a year to recover before I see you again.”
Giselle actually winces. Dammit.
“I’ll take the dock. I’ve proven I can sleep there.”
Like hell I’ll let her sleep outside again. “You take the house. You paid for it. I’ll take the dock.”
She tilts her head. “There’s a guest cottage. Take that.”
Not the answer I hoped for, but it’s better than sleeping on wood. It would’ve been nice if she had offered me one of the other bedrooms in this house, but she clearly needs her space. I nod and walk over to her, kiss her forehead, and tell her I’ll see her in the morning.
On the way to the cottage, it feels like a strange walk of shame. It’s not like anyone can see me, but it’s still humbling. Once inside, all I can do is pace. It’s a small, fancy cottage. There’s a huge king-sized bed. Because it’s behind the main house, there’s an unobstructed view of the lake.
I watch as the lights go out in the main house one by one. She must’ve finally given up and passed out. That’s when I’m finally able to relax. And since I’m trying desperately to figure out what I can do to fit in Giselle’s life, I finally drop into the bed before dawn.
When I wake at nine in the morning, after what amounted to a long nap, I realize my mistake. My stomach sinks like I just swallowed a rock. Giselle wasn’t turning off the lights to go to bed. I think she was packing up, and shutting down the house.
I run toward the house, my bare feet pounding on the grass, to check on her. Stomping from room to room, I feel like I could be sick. The place is empty of all of her things and there’s a letter on the counter for me.
The place is yours for the next three days. Please don’t call me, I need time to think. Thank you.
I don’t know why she said all that about thinking. She’s already made up her mind. The way my phone goes straight to voice mail, I know I’ve been blocked.
Seventeen
Giselle
I panicked. I can admit that. Because when was the last time someone told me they loved me besides someone in my family? It’s been a very, very long time.
Earlier, I hadn’t been able to see my future, but in that moment, when he told me he loved me, I could.
It was terrifying.
Dean was my house-husband. I could see him sitting around in his sweats with tousled hair, caring for our child. The house would look like a tornado went through it every day. He's irresponsible and hates the city. He complains about me being gone ten to twelve hours a day. We fight. All the time. I can see it all so clearly, and feel it so deeply. And then I knew what I had to do. I had to avoid it at all costs, and that's when I realized it was time to go.
So, I wrote the note. And then, because I knew he wouldn't listen to me, I blocked his number.
Driving away in the middle of the night, I try to pretend that this is the right thing to do, the smart decision. I blare the music all the way home to drown out my thoughts and to keep me awake. With every passing mile, I miss him, but I know it’s the only way. By the time I reach the city, I have a sinking feeling in my heart because I know that what I did was the cowardly thing to do, but it’s done.
It's ten in the morning when I pull into the parking garage. I grab my suitcase and take the elevator to my apartment. I made incredible time, but felt every second of the growing distance between us. My chest starts to ache.
Leaving my suitcase in the bedroom, I don't unpack it because I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I still have days left of my vacation.
Instead, I go to the couch. The fatigue of the long drive pulls me under.
Waking up, I rub my eyes and I'm startled when I see the setting sun out the window. I slept the day away. Guess I really needed the sleep.
The rest does me good and I feel a little better. The stiffness in my neck and shoulders from the ride home has subsided. I take a long, hot shower and brew myself a cup of coffee. Sitting in my dark apartment, I stare out over the city lights trying to decide if I should go back. I'm so conflicted. My heart doesn't know what it wants and I’m terrible at dealing with my feelings. I don’t know what makes sense or how to make it right between Dean and me.
Checking my phone, he's only called once. He is smart. Maybe he was even okay with me leaving and is in recovery mode. I try to picture him at the lake house alone. Maybe he took the boat out today and went swimming by himself. I can see him watching the sunset alone and I want to be there with him.
Remembering our conversation about Dean’s skiing accident, it’s hard to deny the fact that I was deeply affected by the thought of losing him. That has to mean something. I inhale deeply and know that in the morning, I'll return to Dean. I’m not up for another overnight drive, but maybe, tomorrow, I can salvage this.
In the morning light, when the sun shines through my windows, I decide that I'm not going to drive back. I dreamed of Dean telling me to stay away from him—he wouldn’t even let me explain. Doubt creeps its ugly head in and I'm sure Dean has left anyway. He wouldn't stay by himself.
I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. What if, in an effort to get over me, he already found someone else? What if I drove all that way only to find him in what had been our bed…with another woman? My empty stomach turns as I picture it. Bile starts to rise up the back of my throat and I rush to the bathroom to be sick.
After, I sit on the cool tile floor and allow myself to do something I rarely do—cry.
I think I love Dean. How could I not? He’s caring, thoughtful, and he treats me like a queen. And I’ve been rigid in my compartmentalization of our one week a summer relationship. Because, of course I could see him on three-day weekends. And we could Skype each other and make more of an effort. But, would that be enough to sustain a relationship? I’m not sure, but I’m willing to try.
I hope I didn’t ruin everything. What have I done? And the better question is how the hell am I going to fix it? There has to be a way, but I don’t know what it is.
Picking up my phone, I dial Garrett’s number.
“Giselle. How are you?” His voice is jovial. It should be, the man just got married.
“I’m okay. How was the rest of your honeymoon?” I ask.
“It was fabulous. Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation with Dean?”
A little sob bubbles up the back of my throat. “Yes. I panicked and left him.”
“Oh, shit. What happened?”
“He told me that he loved me.”
“Okay. And that’s a bad thing?” He’s confused. I understand why. I’m not making any sense.
I get a tissue and blow my nose before going into the story. “Dean is a wonderful man, but we are two very different people. I think he’d like our relationship to be more than a casual once-a-year thing, but I can’t figure out how that would work. I’ve never felt this awful before.”
“It sounds like you’re heartbroken.”
Huh. Is that what it feels like? An empty hollow space in my chest that I know will only be whole again if I have Dean in my life. “I don’t know. I mean…yeah. You’re probably right. He’s the best man I know and he cares for me. He told me he loves me and I think I might love him, too. How am I going to fix this?” Because I really want to make things better between us.
He sighs into the phone. “You are a very smart woman. I know you can make it work with Dean. Take some time to focus on your relationship, like you would a case at work, and figure it out.”
A smile spreads across my lips. My brother is a genius. “That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Good. But don’t waste too much time. You don’t want him to slip through your fingers.”
“Got it. Thanks, Garrett.”
“You bet. Keep me posted on your progress.”
I hang up the phone and sit at my desk. Pulling out a pad of paper and pen, I ready myself to work through this becau
se I’m not willing to give up on Dean and our relationship.
Eighteen
Dean
I'd be lying if I said Giselle didn't crush my heart into a million pieces. She hurt me when she walked out on us. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt pain like that before. And it's impossible to know what to do, so I stay the three days we’re supposed to be together.
For some reason, I have hope that she might come to her senses and come back to me.
For the Fourth of July, I sit on the dock and watch the fireworks across the lake. They’re nice, but my arms ache to be around Giselle.
I cook all the food in the lake house so it won’t go to waste, and it makes me miss her more. If I cooked, she’d clean up, and vice versa. I miss the way she likes to sing off-key as she does dishes, and I long to move her hair off her shoulder and kiss the sensitive skin of her neck. It’s as if every corner of this house holds a memory of the two of us and it’s hard not to think about her constantly, wishing that things played out differently. How could I have changed the outcome? I wouldn’t take back telling her that I love her, because it’s real and she needed to hear it. But I can’t dwell on the what-ifs. Instead, I try to use my time wisely, as an opportunity to plan for the future. Sulking around is going to get me nowhere.
Our last conversation has been on replay in my head. She didn't tell me that she loved me, but she also didn't say she didn't. What she did say was that she didn't see how we could build a life together. The way I see it is that if she didn't love me, she would've stayed. She left because she loves me and didn’t want to hurt me by stringing me along. I have to believe it. It's the only thing that makes sense.
Instead of dwelling on how empty and torn up I feel, I work on what I can do now. What can I do to change my life and my plans so they fit with hers? I have to try and figure out what else I can do with my life to earn money and live where I want and to follow my passion for the outdoors and travel.
Pulling out my phone, I do an online search and find something interesting when I look up travel. There are companies that set up tours, do all the planning, collect all the money, and go on the trip.
A giant, thousand-watt light bulb goes off in my head and my mind starts racing with possibilities. It’s a genius idea. This is something I can do. I have traveled to many places. Not always fancy, but with Giselle, we've tried new things. And with other people's money, I can really make it a good time. I make a list of places I've been, things I've seen, and where I still want to go. Spending the hours of the day, I research like crazy. By the end of my vacation, after days of being alone without distractions, willing to do anything to stop missing Giselle, Snow & Sun Tours is born.
By the time I return to Vermont, I am up and running. I build a website and file the paperwork. It doesn't take much time when you're laser-focused on a goal. I did it. Every bit of it. I have learned things I never thought I'd have a reason to learn. And the next thing I know, I have a business and it's working. One or two tours per month to start, and one week long each. Business travel or personal.
Giselle tries to call me, but I let it go to voice mail. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. She left a message, but I don’t play it. Instead, I focus on building my business. I can’t get sidetracked.
My first tour is the last week of July, the Caribbean by cruise ship. The travel planning came naturally to me and I credit that to Giselle. By the end of August, I've made more money in a month than I have the previous seven months combined and I feel it, I'm on to something.
Giselle showed me what's possible. And now, I need to make sure she can see what I'm capable of, what I've accomplished. All of this is because of her, and for her. She has to know, so I reach out and pitch her firm a team-building vacation. The partners love it. To make sure she doesn't realize it's me, I don't use the name she calls me, Dean, which is actually my middle name. I was named after my father and to keep the confusion at family meals to a minimum, I’ve always been known by it. I didn’t lie. It just never came up. My business name is Jeremy D. Randall. And the weekend after Labor Day, we're going to meet again in Scottsdale, Arizona.
Nineteen
Giselle
For the last two months I've been trudging along, doing what I always do. Work, work, and more work. But I miss Dean. Terribly. And I hate the way things ended between us. So, I've put my head down and have been working twice as hard. It's what I know how to do. Karen has been helping me by bringing me out on the weekends and filling up my spare time with things to do besides dwell on how sad I've been.
Donovan and Liza invited me out for dinner. It was good to see them, but it was hard, too. It hurt seeing how close they are and the amount of love they have for each other. Normally, public displays of affection don’t bother me, but this time, it stung. They could sense that I was off and got it out of me that I left my weeklong trip early and it didn’t end well. They both thought that I should reach out to him and talk it through. I told them that I did try to reach out, but he hasn’t returned my call. I damaged us beyond repair and I have only myself to blame.
At least now I've got something to look forward to. The firm received a pitch from Snow & Sun Tours for a team-building exercise. I am fully on board and looking forward to it. Hell, after my last disastrous vacation, I'm determined to have a positive and memorable experience. This sounds like it's going to fit the bill perfectly, plus the firm is paying for it. Everyone is going to be there. To keep the firm running like a well-oiled machine, we need everyone working together. There have been minor issues lately and this promises to help us work through them, grow together, and find common ground. It sounds ideal.
As I packed my bags this morning, it was difficult not to relive some of the painful memories of the last time I used my luggage. I've gone over my last day with Dean in my head and I'm crushed every time I see the look on Dean's face. He told me he loved me and I didn't allow myself to be vulnerable with him. Instead, I left him. There's still a small ache in my chest, but I can't think about that now. It isn't productive.
On impulse, I call my travel agent on my way to the airport and book a flight to Vermont for when I return from Scottsdale. I’m going to go see Dean in person. I need to do more to try and win him back. And if he still won’t have me, at least I tried. A sense of peace comes over me as I park my car and grab my luggage.
The firm fills an entire plane. Karen sits next to me on the flight. She puts on an eye mask and sleeps the entire time. I wish I could rest that soundly on a plane. Instead, I read a self-help book about intimacy. It's enlightening since I'm not naturally in tune with my own feelings or those of others. I've been trying to read a few minutes before bed every night. Liza gave me this book and said she thought I'd enjoy it. So far, I have. Initially, I thought that this might be Donovan's way of trying to push me into finding a relationship, but that's not the vibe I'm getting from the book. It’s cluing me in on how I can better understand myself, and how I seem to be getting in my own way when it comes to relationships.
The plane touches down in Scottsdale when I’m on the chapter about vulnerability. This would’ve come in handy a couple of months ago. I tuck the book away in my purse, and give Karen a nudge to tell her it's time to wake up. "I can't believe you slept through the landing."
She stretches her arms over her head and pulls her eye mask up so it rests on her forehead. "I guess I really needed the rest. This is going to be a great trip. I can feel it."
"I think so, too."
We stand and file out of the plane. Then, we’re informed that our baggage will be loaded onto the bus that will transport us to the resort, and that we should make our way outside to wait.
I take a deep breath of the warm Arizona air and admire the palm trees and mountains off in the distance.
My heart stops and mouth is instantly dry as a bone when I see Dean standing near the buses. Just like every first time I see him, everything else falls away. The beautiful landscape behind him blur
s into nothing. My pulse quickens and my legs move me in his direction before I have a chance to think. "Dean?"
He glances up from his clipboard and gets a beautiful, white-toothed smile on his face. "Giselle. Good to see you." He points at his name tag. Jeremy.
I swallow hard. When I saw the name of the owner, I didn’t think twice that the guy had Dean’s last name. "You're the owner of Snow & Sun Tours?"
He nods and somehow his smile widens. "Sure am." He shrugs his shoulders as if this isn't a big deal, but it’s huge. My chest fills with pride for him. "Is this your first tour?" I want to know everything.
He takes a breath and looks back and forth between the buses and all of the luggage. "Babe, I'm a little busy right now. What if we talk later over wine by the fire at the pool?"
Glancing around, I realize he's the only one keeping this from being a purely chaotic situation. My cheeks feel warm and I nod before I hop on the bus. I choose a seat near the window so I can stare down at him. I can't help but admire everything about him. He's tan and his body is fit, as always. And he looks official in khakis and a blue polo shirt with the Snow & Sun Tours logo on it. His shoulders are back and he seems calm. There's something about him. He's more than he was before. And even then…he was enough.
"Is that your friend?” my senior partner in the firm, James, asks as he sinks down in the seat beside me. "I thought you told me he's a ski instructor."
I nod, still in awe of Dean or Jeremy or whatever his name is. "He was. Now…I don't know." I shrug, but I can't take my eyes off him.
The ride to the resort is twenty minutes and I pretend to sleep so James won't try to talk to me about Dean. I don't even know what I would say. I'm so confused, but I can't stop thinking about him. When we get to the resort, our bags are taken to our rooms and we are briefed by Dean and given our itineraries.
