“I was wondering about lunch. A sandwich in the park?”
“I can’t. Bentley has three meetings this afternoon, and I need to attend all of them. We’re leaving in about ten minutes. Rain check?”
“Of course. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up, and my unease returned. She hadn’t agreed to lunch tomorrow. She hadn’t taken a moment to say anything personal.
I would call her this evening, and we would talk it through. Maybe go see her once I dealt with the real estate agent. Although I hadn’t said anything to Sandy, I was on edge about the house and the next steps. I would tell her that as well. I was sure she would listen and help me sort out my feelings.
Perhaps we could address hers as well.
My plan was good—except, I never spoke to Sandy that night. My agent showed up at six, a folder filled with offers, and I spent the next several hours going back and forth with one buyer who was determined to buy the property. By midnight, the deal was done, the papers signed, and I was both elated and relieved. I picked up the phone to call Sandy, then glanced at the clock and hung up.
I stared at the phone. If this had been last week, I was certain I would have called her, regardless of the time. She would have been welcoming and pleased to hear my news, sharing in my happiness of the offer and understanding my relief it was done so quickly. But tonight, I was hesitant because I wasn’t sure of her reaction. I worried about disturbing her and afraid if she was dismissive or uncaring of my news that I wasn’t sure how I would handle it. I decided to wait until I saw her in the morning.
Once again, my sleep was broken and fragmented.
Jordan
I found her in the kitchen making coffee in the morning. I entered the room, determined to speak to her. She glanced up from pouring water into the coffeemaker.
“Good morning,” I greeted her.
“Morning,” she replied, pushing the button. “Coffee will be ready in a moment.”
“Great, but I didn’t come for that.”
She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. She looked casual, but her body was tense. Her tone was cordial, but I preferred it when she spoke to me in that low, breathless voice. “I expected to hear from you last night,” she remarked.
I mimicked her stance. “It was past midnight when we finished. I texted you a couple of times, but you didn’t respond.”
“I was sorting some drawers in Max’s office. I forgot my phone in the kitchen.”
“I see.”
“How did the offers go?”
I sighed and loosened my arms. It felt as if I was talking to a polite stranger, not the woman I spent the weekend with. “I accepted the highest offer. He came in at thirty grand over asking. He wanted a two-week closing, but I got it pushed back to a month. He had no conditions other than the two weeks, so we bartered back and forth for a bit. He was pretty set on it, and I wanted six weeks, but we compromised in the end.”
She smiled, a real, genuine Sandy smile. Stepping forward, she laid her hand on my arm. “Jordan, that is wonderful. Congratulations. I’ll make sure Bentley knows you need the condo in a month.”
I laid my hand over hers, meeting her gaze. What I saw bothered me. Her eyes were dull, and the pain and worry in them made me ache.
“Sandy,” I murmured. “Talk to me.”
She pulled away. “I am.”
I grabbed at her hand, holding it tight. “Something is wrong. I feel it. Talk to me,” I repeated.
She didn’t try to deny it. “Not here.”
“Lunch?”
She paused, then nodded. I felt a flash of relief. If she talked to me, I could help her sort out whatever was going on in her head.
“Okay, I’ll pick us up a sandwich.”
“All right.”
The air around us was tense. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I lifted my cup. “I’ll take that coffee if you’re still offering.”
Smiling, she held out her hand for my mug. “Of course.”
But her eyes remained troubled, and I fought down the feeling that lunch was only going to make things worse.
* * *
She waited for me on the bench we often had sat on in the past when we would share lunch. During those earlier days, when we were simply two people drawing comfort from each other. I studied her as I grew close, once again noting her pallor and the anxious set to her shoulders. One of Sandy’s greatest gifts had always been that of repose. She rarely fidgeted or squirmed. She didn’t play with her hair or drum her fingers restlessly. She was calm, never resorting to theatrics or displays of temper.
Today, her leg swung as she waited, and her fingers drummed on her knee. I knew how high her anxiety was as I approached. I sat beside her, offering her the sandwich and iced tea I had brought her.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said. “The deli was busy.”
“I can’t go with you to Van’s wedding,” she blurted out.
I paused in unwrapping my sandwich. That wasn’t what I had expected her to say—but it was as good a place to start as anywhere, I supposed. I put the sandwich back in the bag, my appetite gone.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“To me, yes.”
“I can’t have people thinking we’re a couple. I don’t want to disappoint Van, so I will attend, at least for the ceremony, but I’ll be going on my own.”
Disappointment flooded my chest, but something in her voice made me pause. She sounded regretful, as if the decision caused her pain. I needed her to open up to me. We could work this out together.
I turned to face her fully, ready to battle this out with her. “Odd, I thought we were a couple. You certainly acted that way this past weekend.”
“This weekend was wonderful, but it can’t happen again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m don’t want…this.” She waved her hand between us, the gesture dismissive and upsetting.
“What are you talking about? We had an amazing time being together. What changed?” I asked, mystified.
“I’m not ready to be a couple again.”
“We felt like a couple on the weekend,” I repeated. “Very much so.” I angled my head to the side, watching her closely, my voice rough as my anger built. Her eyes were blank, the spark I liked so much missing again. “Or is that it, Sandy? We’re a couple only when you decide we are? Was this weekend just a little side trip from real life? Scratching an itch, so to speak?”
If possible, her skin became paler—almost a sickly white. “No, it wasn’t like that. You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did.” I cleared my throat. “Then what are you saying?”
“I can’t do this, Jordan.” She waved her hand back and forth between us again. “I’m not ready. I’m sorry, I thought I was, but I’m not. I can’t be in a relationship with you.”
My heart plummeted, but I tried to remain calm. “What changed?” I asked again. “You seemed happy this weekend.”
“I was—I mean, I thought I was, but then I went home, and I realized that it was a mistake.”
“A mistake,” I repeated, hating that word.
“Yes. I got caught up.”
“In?” I let the word hang, pain lancing through my chest as she kept talking.
“In you. In the possibility of an us.”
I wanted to grab her, shake some sense into her, and get her to stop this craziness. “It was more than a possibility. I thought it was a fact.”
“No.” She shook her head furiously. “I’m not over Max’s death yet. I’m not ready to move on.”
I didn’t want to let her go. I needed to reach her, to make her understand I would be there for her and help her through this. I stretched out my hand to touch her, to let her feel I was right there.
“I know this is hard. I understand—I really do. But, Sandy, my darling girl—”
I didn�
��t get any farther. She jumped to her feet. “Don’t call me that!”
I blinked at her vehemence.
“I was ‘my girl’ to Max—that was his name!”
I held out my hand. “I’m sorry. It slipped out. Sit down and we’ll talk this out.”
“There is nothing to talk about. I told you I can’t do this.”
“And I have no say in the matter?”
“No, you don’t. You’re ready, I’m not. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
“Don’t say that. You have too much love to give. You’re too wonderful to live the rest of your life alone.”
“I wish people would stop saying that. Stop telling me how to live my life. I do just fine on my own.” She almost snarled in her anger. “Max was ill for so long, I had to do everything on my own. So, you don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I do.”
She brushed off her skirt. “I can’t do this, Jordan. Not now. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I regret that more than anything else. But I can’t be with you when I’m still in love with my husband.”
I had to say it. I stood and met her eyes.
“Your husband is dead.”
Her eyes grew round and filled with tears. “I know that.”
“Yet, you act as if you’re betraying him.”
“I slept with you.”
“Yes, you did. And I slept with you. I thought it was only us in that room, but I guess Max was there as well. Ghosts do that if we let them. Hang around.”
“You’re a horrible man.”
“No, I’m a hurt one. I shouldn’t be surprised by this, but I am. I thought you were on the same page I was, but I was obviously wrong. I misjudged what we had. What we felt.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I wish I could express how deeply sorry I am.”
“I know you are. I can see it. I wish you could step back and let me help. We could work this through together. Slow down and take our time to—”
“No.”
Her voice was firm. She had made up her mind, and I had no choice but to accept her decision.
“Well then, I guess lunch is over. I guess…we’re over.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Funny, I never took you for a coward, Sandy.”
“What?” she gasped.
“You are. I think you’re scared of what you feel for me. I think it frightens you so much that you’re using your dead husband as an excuse.”
“Go to hell,” she seethed.
“Oh, I’m already there.”
We glared at each other, our pain bleeding into the air.
She straightened her shoulders and wiped her cheeks. “The office…”
I laughed without humor. “Of course you’d worry about that. Don’t think about it. I won’t cause you any embarrassment. I’m well aware of who would win that fight. I won’t bother you—we’ll just go back to being coworkers.” I snorted with derision. “I think that will be easier for one of us than the other.”
Her muffled sob made me feel horrible. My anger drained away, leaving hurt and pain behind. I gentled my voice.
“Just promise me something, Sandy.”
“What?”
“If you change your mind, come and see me. I promise, I’ll listen.”
Then I bent and kissed her damp cheek.
I wasn’t sure whose tears I tasted.
I hurried away before I could find out.
* * *
Saturday, I taped up another box, nodding in grim satisfaction. Packing was going well. I had been at it every night this week and all this morning. I had to stay busy. It was the only way I could deal with the hurt and the pain that hit me in waves. I wasn’t sleeping much, so I was at the office early and coming home late, wishing at times I had never decided to sell the house.
But there wasn’t anything I could do about that now. The fact was, perhaps a new place would be a fresh start in every way now. No memories of Anna or of Sandy would haunt me there.
At least, I told myself that.
I bent to lift another box when the doorbell sounded, and I set it aside to answer the door. A courier waited, handing me a large, flat parcel. My heart fell when I saw it, knowing full well what it was. I signed for it, then carried it to the living room. I set it on the sofa, carefully unwrapped the box and the packing material, and stared at the contents.
It was a print of the painting Sandy had loved at the museum. I had purchased a copy and had it framed and paid extra for fast shipping. I had planned on giving it to her as a surprise, hoping she would want to hang it in my new place and come visit often to see it.
Except now, she wouldn’t be coming to my new place, and I wasn’t certain she would want this gift, even if I gave it to her in the context of friendship. She’d already given me back the shawl I bought her—still in its wrappings. I’d found it on my desk when I returned to the office from a meeting. I had stared at it, unsure what to do, then simply put it in the trunk of my car and left it there. It was too painful to bring inside.
That odd ache was back in my chest when I woke in the mornings, if I was able to sleep at all. Only this one was new and fresh. Deeper in some ways. Anna had no choice but to leave me. Sandy walked away. I knew I needed to stop thinking about her.
Yet, I couldn’t.
We had been cordial and professional the rest of the week after she broke things off with me. As a rule, we didn’t often have much interaction, so if I didn’t see her every day, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. This week, however, I constantly had papers for Bentley to sign, invoices for Maddox, and reports for Aiden to go over. It felt as if I was in the executive area several times a day.
Sandy was polite, courteous, and removed. She always waved me in or let whatever partner I needed know I was waiting. She offered coffee and a blank smile, her voice carefully neutral.
It broke my heart to see her increasing fragility appear before my eyes. She looked wan and tired. Broken. It reminded me of how she looked after Max died, and once again, there was little I could do to help her since it seemed I was the cause of her altered state. She didn’t want my comfort, even though I was desperate to give it to her.
To their credit, none of the boys said a word. They treated me the same, although I saw their worried glances toward Sandy and the confusion in their eyes when they looked at me. I knew I didn’t look very good either.
All of us were suffering in silence.
I huffed out a sigh, wondering if I should give the picture away. The sudden rumble of thunder startled me, and I went to the window, lifting the curtain. The skies had darkened as the hours passed, and I’d been busy packing. A storm was coming, the clouds heavy with rain.
I dropped the curtain, feeling the ripple of uncertainty pass through me. Sandy hated storms. Last weekend, I had held her, soothed her during the worst of the squall. How would she make it through the storm today? What would distract her?
I shook my head. It wasn’t my business—Sandy made that clear. She wasn’t my business.
Except, as the thunder rolled, I didn’t care. I knew she’d be scared, and I hated that. Hated the fact that she would face it alone, the way she had decided she had to face everything. On her own.
I looked at the picture and made a decision. I wasn’t done yet. I had things to say and Sandy was going to hear them.
Determined, I slid the picture back into the box and headed to my car.
I was lucky and found a parking spot two houses down from Sandy’s place. The rain had eased off, now just a gentle beat against my window. The thunder was muted and low, but I knew it would build again. According to the weather channel, it would come and go for the rest of the day.
I took advantage of the break and grabbed the box, carrying it up the steps. I entered the porch, the door squeaking in protest as I opened it, and I set down the picture.
I knocked on the inner door. Waited. Knocked again. Then I rang the bell. There was no sound from within. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. With a sigh, I gave up—it was obvious Sandy wasn’t home. Maybe with the storm approaching, she’d decided to go see Colin. Or Reid. At least she wouldn’t be alone. The rain picked up outside, and I decided to leave the picture behind. She would see it when she got home.
I pulled a pen from my pocket and wrote a quick message on the box.
Memories of a wonderful weekend
Think of it with a smile.
Always, Jordan
Maybe it would start a conversation and we could go from there—slowly. She might return it to me. I had no idea, but I hoped she would keep it. I prayed it might spark something in her that made her reach out.
The porch door squeaked again, and I let it slam shut behind me, too tired to worry about it. My head felt heavy as I returned to the car, my footsteps dragging. I slid behind the wheel and let my head fall back, closing my eyes. They burned with unshed emotion.
I had been so sure, so certain of us. That I was ready to move forward, that Sandy was ready. We meshed so well all weekend. Making love to her was akin to being reborn for me. She awakened all my senses, and now it was painful returning to that semi-numbness. Yet without her, I didn’t even want to try. I had no desire to date anyone else, build something with a stranger.
Because in the past few days, I accepted the fact that I was in love with Sandy. And the depth of my love wasn’t something I could turn off or transfer to someone else. She was the key to my future, but I had perhaps pushed too hard, and now that future was lost.
I wiped my eyes and turned the key, waiting patiently for the windows to clear. Realizing I had caught my coat in the car door, I opened it and tugged the wet hem inside, slamming it shut. I pulled away, driving slowly, noting the thunder ramping up, and the rain coming down harder.
I glanced in my rearview mirror and froze. Behind my car, running and waving her arms, was Sandy. I slammed on the brakes.
Vested Interest Box Set Books 4-7 Page 86
