Page 58 of Say You Will

Carrying the box with me, I lower myself carefully onto the big floor pillow near the sofa, lifting the supplies first for Janessa, then Sydney, to choose their colors.

Bronwyn screws her face up, her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth, as she trims a photo with scissors. “Dean is leaning against a railing in this photo, and I’m gonna cut him out so he lookssassy.”

She’s speaking really loudly, almost a shout, but she does that when she’s excited. Charlotte laughs, then covers her mouth with the back of her hand.

Bronwyn looks up at us, her eyes innocently wide. “What? You think my big, muscle-y husband can’t be sassy?”

Through the open doorway, and from a little way down the hall, Dean hollers in a deep, booming voice laced with humor, “Woman, behave yourself.”

Phee giggles from the hall, and we all break into peals of laughter.

Bronwyn must have seen him walking past the door and decided to jerk his chain. Honestly, I don’t know how she ever got the nerve up to tease that man.

Dean is scary looking. Or he was. I haven’t figured out exactly what’s changed. Dean looks the same, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes that I’d never noticed before. He loves Bronwyn just the way she is, and he’s not just patient with Phee, he adores her.

Henry and I could never have a life like this. Even if we were together, we’d be in an apartment in the city, and he would be busy all the time. That’s not even taking into consideration that his marriage proposal all but spelled out that if I married him, I’d be on the back burner of his life. There for the sake of being conveniently available whenhewas available.

I concentrate on my bracelet, ignoring my achey and clumsy fingers as I weave. I want to do this.

Janessa reaches down and pokes me gently. “Hey, where’s our sunny girl? You look upset.”

“Nothing is wrong.” I’m definitely not worked up over something stupid that I can’t control like wondering how Henry feels about me. This thing with him feels like braiding this bracelet. A little clumsy on my part, and with the potential to turn painful. But, oh, it could be beautiful.

“Who is that one for?” Sydney asks, noting the bracelet I’ve started doesn’t match any of the colors they selected for me to make for them.

“I thought I’d make one for Henry too. In thanks, for the pj’s.”

Bronwyn’s smile is half-cringe. “That’s sweet, but don’t get your feelings hurt if he doesn’t wear it. He’s really picky about what he puts on his body, and he’s not very sentimental. It’s not personal.”

“I know. My feelings won’t be hurt.” Honestly, I can’t imagine him wearing it at all. It’s meant as a gesture on my part, not a demand. “What he does with it is up to him. He can use it as a bookmark or shove it in a drawer.”

I probably won’t work up the nerve to give it to him at all. I hesitate. “You don’t think we’re too old for this? We aren’t teenagers anymore.”

“I don’t give a flying f—” Bronwyn shoots a sidelong glance at her mother, then corrects herself. “Fig if anyone thinks we’re juvenile. We’re grown women. We should be able to enjoy whatwe enjoy without worrying about what other people think about it. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, what you like to do to relax is your own business.”

There’s something comfortingly nostalgic in the repetitive motions involved, in the sentiment, and even the smell of the cotton embroidery floss. The world is a constant wild riot of change around us, and this one moment feels like an anchor to the best parts of my past. I swipe a tear from under my glasses. I don’t know why emotion has chosen this evening to spill over, and I work to push it back down and keep a smile on my face.

Charlotte reaches down to hug my shoulders and hand me a Kleenex. “You okay, honey?” she whispers.

“I’m being silly. It’s just so rare for us to be together like this anymore.”

“Arden and I didn’t even get to see you when you went to Europe with the girls two summers ago,” she says.

I dab under my eyes with the tissue. “Yes. It’s been too long.”

And I’ve known such a dearth of real affection that experiencing it now is inexplicably painful. I’ve been out in the cold for so long my toes have gone numb. Now, I’m sinking into what should be a comfortable bath, but instead of gentle warmth, it’s an open flame. I’ve become so desperately aware of how much I want. And want. Andwant.

If I sit in the dark, it’s easy to imagine the room around me has everything I need, but Henry’s attention, and the easy affection the entire McRae family shares . . . They’re shining a light on my empty spaces and making it impossible to pretend that loneliness hasn’t been the soundtrack to my days and nights.

I’m giving myself permission to see what happens with Henry. To remember to look on the bright side and anticipate the possibility of good things. I’ll talk to him, and I’ll take his answers at face value. If I can’t trust Henry, I can’t trust anyone at all.

nineteen

Henry

Take Your Love | Olly Murs

The library is convenientlypositioned next to the craft room, so I pull a random novel from Bronwyn’s shelves and sit myself in a chair near the open doorway. I’ve chosen an urban fantasy romance novel. I should put it back, but the blurb catches my attention. The story sucks me in fast, not only because the plot is interesting, but because it offers valuable insight into what things a woman might find romantic or sexy. It’s too soon to compile and test my romance theories. I’ll need a larger sampling than this, but I make mental notes as I read.

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