Her eyes sank closed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. They say war is hell. So is love.”
“Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me that when I am trying to get over him.” She gestured at her surroundings. “When I am in this office trying to focus on work, trying to pick up the pieces. Trying not to hurt every single day.” She petted Gertie, who still leaned against her leg.
“See? You get it.” Connor bent at the waist, scrubbed the dog’s head one final time, and then leveled his eyes with Sofie’s. “You’re hardening up, too.”
He was right. She was.
Conversation over, he moved for the exit. “Mind if I prop the door open?”
“Not at all. Let me put Gertie in the back, and I’ll help.”
“No, I got it. You and Gert take a walk,” he instructed. “Take some time.”
At the “w” word, Gertie launched out of her relaxed lean and dragged Sofie, still attached to the other end of the leash, for the door. Connor chuckled, maneuvering out of the way as Gertie dashed outside and Sofie scrambled to keep up.
Take some time, he’d said. Sofie knew he’d meant take some time to think about what he said.
She did—she thought about what he said for the next two days.
“Lacey, honey, make sure you rinse the soda cans before putting them into the recycling bin,” Sylvia instructed.
Lacey rolled her eyes and Kinsley laughed. Sofie may have laughed, but there wasn’t a single part of her capable of levity at the moment. Kinsley and Sylvia went out back to admire her mother’s herb garden, leaving Sofie and Lacey alone in the kitchen.
Sofie took the now rinsed cans from her sister’s hands and dropped them into the bin next to the trashcan.
Lacey dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Sofie nodded and walked to the window overlooking the backyard. Gertie dashed after a squirrel, barking. When she successfully treed it, she sat on her haunches and waited for the rodent to come down.
“Why do you have a dog?” Lacey asked, coming to stand next to her.
“She belongs to a client. How goes the wedding plans?” Sofie hoped the question about her sister’s upcoming nuptials would bring the dog discussion to a screeching halt.
Her prim sister pushed her smooth, straight brown hair behind her ear. “Jeff was a jerk.”
Shocked, Sofie blinked over at Lacey. She was in agreement, of course. Lacey’s first fiancé was a completely wrong fit for her, but hearing her admit that? Flooring.
“I never thanked you for being honest.” Lacey offered a chagrined smile. “Too proud.”
Lacey was that. Type A, perfectionist, and afraid to make a mistake.
Her sister’s eyes, a pale shade of green, met hers. “I don’t want you to plan my wedding, Sofe.”
Well. That nice talk went south quickly.
“I want you to be in it.”
“What… what about everyone dating the groomsmen…”
Lacey nodded at the dog who was now getting a tummy rub from Kinsley. “Is your tall, dark, and sexy client available?”
Sofie’s mouth dropped open. “How did you…?”
“I read the Gazette, Sofie. I recognized that dog the second you walked her in here. And don’t think I didn’t notice the owner of Pate Mansion and every inch of his fineness.” She stroked Sofie’s arm. “Whatever happened, I’m sorry. I can see things didn’t go the way you wanted.”
“You could say that.”
Moment over, Lacey stepped outside, turning to face Sofie before she let the screen door shut. “Oh, and I can keep her for you for a few days. Kenneth’s house has a great yard.”
“Thanks, Lace.”
Oddly enough, it didn’t feel strange to have the tension lifted between them. Things felt like they’d finally snapped into place—like everyone was where they were supposed to be.
Maybe Donny was where he was supposed to be. Maybe her destiny didn’t involve him at all.
With a sigh, she turned from the chattering females outside and tracked down her father, who was in his basement retreat. Golf played in the background, and Sofie plopped down into the recliner across from the couch.
Her dad hit the Mute button.
“There she is,” he said, his gentle tone suggesting he’d picked up on her sour mood as well. She really had to get better about hiding her devastation.
“Here I am.” She watched the TV without watching it, feeling his eyes on her. Finally, she turned her head.
“Are you going to tell me the real reason behind you bringing a giant dog that is obviously half yours to our house?” he asked.
“Why are you so smart?” She gave him a wan smile.
“You’re welcome. You inherited those smarts.” He tapped his head.
“Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Did the fellow who owned Pate Mansion give you the dog?”
She grunted. “Guess that Gazette article made the rounds.”
“Hid it from your mother,” he said. “She’d ask questions. You know how she is.”
So Lacey must not have mentioned it, either. Huh.
“He… um. He had to go to New York… permanently. He left the dog. Here. And I’m… uh, watching her.”
Her father’s eyes crawled up his forehead. No doubt sensing she’d left out a few pertinent details.
“Okay, then. Now are you going to tell me the whole truth about this guy, the dog, and the mansion, or do I have to guess?”
“Please don’t, Daddy.” She gave him a pleading look.
“Sofia.” She could tell by his expression he wasn’t going to let it go. “I have been watching you go through something for the past couple of weeks. And it hasn’t been fun for me to watch. But you know me. I don’t get involved unless my girls need me. Do you need me?”
If anything brought forth the tears she’d been damming over the course of those weeks, it was her father’s blatant offer. A few spilled down her cheeks.
“I need you, Daddy.”
He patted the couch cushion next to him and Sofie stood from the recliner and moved into his waiting arms. He hugged her close, keeping his arm around her. With the TV flashing silently in the background, he silently waited for her to spill.
So she started at the beginning.
“I met him seven years ago. Donny was the one. I mean, I thought he was the one. Turned out he was just the one who got more than he bargained for, then left town.” Sofie averted her gaze and asked her lap, “Do you know what I mean by that? Because this would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to spell things out.”
Her father’s hand on her arm moved up and down. “I think I do.”
“He inherited the mansion and came back to sell it. When he came back, so did the feelings I had for him. But what I didn’t know was he had feelings for me, too.”
Those feelings had resurfaced and bubbled over—for both of them. Donny gave her a do-over, and in a way, gave himself one. As promised, he’d made love to her, and she felt certain that was a first for him, too.
“He loves me,” she said, the pain of that admission raining down on her like acid. “He said he’d never loved anyone before. He was raised in an abusive home. Gertrude Pate turned her life around at the end, but Donny’s father died having never apologized for what he’d done to him.”
She could hear the frown in her father’s tone. “Abuse.”
“Yeah.” Sofie’s voice broke on the word. “He has these amazing tattoos. He got them to cover the scars. So many scars,” she whispered. Then almost to herself she said, “You know my infinity tattoo?”
“The one I see when you wear the bathing suit I think you shouldn’t.”
“That’s the one.” She chuckled but it quickly faded. “Donny got an infinity sign to match mine. He said I’m one of his scars, Daddy. But a good one… If that makes sense.”
Her father was quiet for a moment before he admitted, �
��Makes sense.”
“I guess I thought after we connected on such a deep level… After we both admitted how much we loved one another…” She shook her head, the loss stinging like a fresh cut. “I thought I could save him.”
Her dad was quiet, his eyes on the television screen, but she knew he was thinking. That was his way. She waited, folding her legs underneath her and picking at the hem of her skirt.
“Remember when we went on a family camping trip?” he said, interrupting the silence. “I think you were about eight years old. Cumberland Falls. Beautiful place.”
“I remember sleeping in a tent on top of a very sharp rock.” She smiled to herself. “I remember loving every minute of it. And I remember Lacey complaining constantly, because her hair was frizzy and there was nowhere for her to plug in her curling iron.”
Her father laughed. “And Kinsley was glued to your mother’s side.” He elbowed Sofie gently. “But you, you were my partner in crime that trip. Remember the walks we took to get firewood?”
“And the falls. We hiked a mile to get to them.”
“Worth the extra effort.”
They were. The falls were majestic, and at the time, the most beautiful landmark she’d ever seen.
“And you found the bird,” he said.
The bird. She had forgotten. Completely forgotten.
“Oh yeah. The one with the broken leg.”
“You were bound and determined to save that little sparrow. It had taken a dive-bomb out of the nest. I knew there was no prayer it would survive.”
She remembered now. “I kept him in a Pop-Tart box with some grass. I wrapped the box in a towel.”
“You stayed up all night,” he said. “Or tried, anyway.”
“You took a shift.” She smiled up at him.
He smiled back. “It meant so very much to you.”
“Even though you knew it was futile.”
“Even though.”
Sofie dragged in a deep breath, understanding why he’d brought up the bird. Understanding everything. “It was dead by morning. I couldn’t save him. No matter how much I wanted to.” Tears she’d rather not cry spilled over.
He gave her a squeeze.
“You’re saying I can’t save Donovan,” she said.
“No.” Her father took her hand. “Sofie, sweetheart, I’m saying you already have.”
Hope flared in her chest. Hope she had no use for. But her father, in a way, had a point. Donovan, who had never been in love, had fallen in love with her. He may have left the dog behind, but not before he gave in and called her “Gertie.” He’d also cared for and slept in the house he proclaimed to hate—pouring his heart into repairing the fireplace. Placing a heart-shaped stone in its center.
Maybe she had saved him. From his anger, his unhappiness. From his haunted past.
Then why didn’t he stay?
“But he left.”
Her father hummed in the back of his throat. “Is he worth the extra mile?”
She thought of Donovan’s cautious smile, the way it felt to be held against him, to be lifted into his arms. She thought of the stories he told her—stories he’d never told anyone. In a way, he’d gone the extra mile with her. Had trusted her more than he’d ever trusted anyone.
I’ve never loved anyone.
But he loved her. And told her as much as he slid into her body, held her tight, and kissed her lips. Another tear tumbled from her eye.
“Yes,” she answered. “He’s worth it.”
“Even if he doesn’t come back to Evergreen Cove? Even if he breaks your heart again?”
“Still worth it.” She swiped the tears from her cheeks. Nothing could hurt more than the way she hurt now. Nothing could make things any worse.
“It’s okay, you know. It’s okay to look like a fool. It’s okay to hope against hope. It’s okay to put yourself on the line, go the extra mile, even if it is futile. It’s okay to see potential where everyone else sees failure.”
He pulled her closer. Sofie rested her cheek on his shoulder, her eyes unseeing on the flickering television screen.
“I wouldn’t take back one minute of sleep I missed to sit up and watch over your doomed bird,” he said.
“Because it meant something to me.”
“Arguably, losing that little bird made you who you are today.”
“Because I tried.”
“Because you believed. Not enough believers in this world, you ask me.”
He unmuted the Golf Channel and together, she and her dad watched the screen.
She thought of the bird. The waterfall. Gertie.
But mostly, she thought of Donny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Donovan learned a long time ago drinking didn’t solve problems. Especially his problems. Drinking, women, smoking… none of the vices worked. Which was why he’d adopted the “straight through” approach. Straight through was the only way to erase the pain.
Erasing the pain of losing Sofie wasn’t an option, so he’d have to settle for dulling it.
He emptied the liquor into his glass, his vision going blurry. His living room—Aless’s living room, technically—was furnished with cheery beach furniture and white wicker. Huge, looming white shelves filled with books Donovan had never read took up an entire wall. The kitchen was eat-in, the bathrooms tidy, the sunroom too bright in the mornings.
Nothing about the cheery rooms, the pastel colors, the modern furniture, was Donovan’s. Nothing here was him… except, well, him.
“Yay, me,” he growled, chucking back the last shot.
Up until tonight, he’d been enduring. Enduring hadn’t worked. So now he was drinking. He was relatively sure the drinking wasn’t working, either, but luckily he couldn’t tell with his vision swimming in and out.
And anyway, who the fuck cared? Who cared what he did to himself? About how blind stinking drunk he got? About his beach-vacation décor? About the fact he sliced his finger open building Bill Yost’s brick fire pit yesterday. Not a big deal. Until he’d excused himself to bandage it and thought of Dog’s sliced paw. Then he thought of when he sliced his finger open on the great room’s fireplace. Then he thought of Sofie trying to patch him up.
That had sent him to the kitchen where he’d dug a half a bottle of rum from under the sink and started in. He didn’t have any fight left in him—no more pragmatic arguments cooked up to appease his inner tormenter. And so he decided to wallow until he couldn’t feel anything. Or maybe he’d wallow and feel way too much… which was what stage he was in now.
Gertie. He let out a dry laugh. Sofie thought it was sweet to name the mutt after his grandmother. Because Sofie was sweet. Sofie…
God.
Sofie.
His Scampi. The girl who’d seen more in him than anyone else ever bothered. The girl who gave him her virginity, held on to him tight while he slipped into her tightness. The girl who found a way to forgive him. Seven years later, she let him haul her into his arms and make love to her on the washing machine.
He’d wanted to turn her inside out. She turned him inside out instead.
Why? Why the hell did she let him do anything with her after the way he’d treated her the first time? Who in their right mind would let him that close? Would practically move in with him when she knew he was leaving?
That last thought brought about the memories of lying skin to skin with her. Donovan never thought of himself as a cuddler, but whenever Sofie was next to him in bed, he wanted her touching him. He wound his arm around her and pulled her against his side, her breasts smashed up against the infinity tattoo on his ribs. She’d sleep there, her hand over his heart, her leg draped over his while he basked in the quiet between her breaths, not caring if his arm went dead, or if his shoulder cramped. He wanted her close. And she stayed close.
She loves you.
Correction. She loved him.
Past tense.
No way did she love him now.
He frowned at the
liquor bottle, wishing there was more rum, thinking in Captain Jack Sparrow’s boozy accent, Why is all the rum gone? and earning himself a drunken laugh that faded and faded fast.
Night blanketed the guesthouse, the lights at Alessandre’s lit for safety only. Aless was in Evergreen Cove and was flying back home after the closing tomorrow. Donovan squinted at the clock. One a.m.
Not tomorrow, then. Today.
Donovan’s mansion—Donovan’s legacy—would be sold to Alessandre and become a D’Paolo bed-and-breakfast. Pieced and parceled off, the bedrooms would be outfitted with locks and furnished with matching, elegant armoires and beds. Vacationers visiting the Cove would stay in a landmark, sip tea in the great room with the newly rebuilt fireplace, and relax and read in the library.
The library.
He sat up too fast, head swimming from the alcohol, heart beating erratically as those two words echoed off the halls of his head. Dully, his brain chugged, but he managed to make out one clear thought.
No.
The library, the great room, the ballroom, hell, the kitchen. The maple tree at the back of the property, the cobblestone drive. The utility room.
The shower.
God. The shower.
Hell no.
The idea of strangers in the rooms where he and Sofie had made love made him heartsick. Especially the library. Where he told her he loved her.
He still did.
Dammit. He still fucking loved her.
Proving rum the worst ally ever, pain crept in and latched on to his chest, spreading through his lungs and seizing his next breath. Part of him wanted to curl up and hide. Do that wallowing thing he’d set out to do when he uncapped the bottle.
But the twelve-year-old boy inside him, the one who’d straightened his back and thrown a punch at his old man, uttered two words. “Straight through.”
Donovan reached for his cell phone and dialed Alessandre’s number. He had twelve hours to stop the sale. If Aless didn’t answer, he’d call Scott Torsett, the prick. Or maybe the realty company. He’d call every number they had. Send a fax. Wait… he didn’t have a fax machine.
He frowned at the empty bottle in front of him. Rum certainly hadn’t improved his problem-solving skills.
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