Page 77 of Serenity Harbor

What would she gain? Only more heartbreak.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Not with you.”

She escaped the room before she said something else that would reveal the depth of her feelings to him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WHENTHEALARMon his phone trilled the next morning, Bowie was tempted to hit the snooze button, pull the sheet over his head and try to block out the whole freaking world.

His head ached like a mother, and his mouth held the sour taste of frustration and regret.

With no small amount of trepidation, he sat up in bed, and the movement sent pain clanging through him like he’d stuck his head in a tin bucket and Milo was gleefully pounding on it with a wooden spoon.

He had a hangover for the first time since his sophomore year in college, when some of the older students thought it was a funny joke to get the underage brainiac plastered.

Heneverdrank too much. It was kind of a thing with him. When a kid grew up cleaning up after his mother’s messes from drugs and alcohol, he either followed the example set forth in his childhood or found other ways to deal with stress, to relax and unwind.

Bo had always been firmly in the latter camp. He would take his bike for a long ride or go for a hard run. He didn’t like being out of his head, not able to make his own decisions. But he had been so damn stirred up the night before when Katrina walked away—frustrated and aroused and angry, all the while aware of the ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

I can’t. Not with you.

What had she meant by that? He had stayed up half the damn night trying to figure it out.

On the surface, he might have thought she didn’t want anything to do with him after he had stupidly told her the truth about Stella and their life, about MIT, about the choices he had made. But then he remembered the other words she had said.

I heard no ugliness, Bowie. Only a story of strength and character and survival, about a remarkable man.

He wanted to be that man. He wanted her to look at him with respect and admiration. He wanted her sweet smile and her kisses and her soft kindness that seemed to reach out and heal places inside he thought had long since scarred over.

He didn’t know what to do with this jumbled ball of emotion in his gut. He had never felt like this for a woman before—neverwantedto. Now he understood why. It hurt like hell, especially when she made it clear she didn’t want him in return.

That wasn’t completely true. She wanted him physically. Her response couldn’t have been feigned—yet she had still pushed him away.

What had he been thinking when he volunteered to spend an entire day with her and Milo today at the Lake Haven Days celebration? He had a dozen urgent things on his docket and was certain his time would be better spent trying to tick off items on his to-do list than hanging out watching a parade full of tractors and marching bands. He could sneak into the office while everyone on his team had the day off and probably accomplish three times as much as a normal day when he had to field questions and deal with emails all day.

Good plan.

He sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, holding his throbbing head and trying to summon the strength to tell Katrina and Milo he had changed his mind and wouldn’t be going with them, after all.

Shower first, he decided. He made his way to the bathroom and popped a couple of aspirin. By the time he showered and dressed, he felt halfway human.

He headed into the kitchen, following the siren call of coffee. Katrina was loading water bottles into a backpack, while Milo was playing with his cars on the floor, lining them up on the floor as he did, like his own version of the Lake Haven Days parade.

“Good morning,” she said. Her voice sounded cheerful enough, but he saw a hint of wariness in her eyes as she studied him. Could she tell by looking at him that his brain threatened to explode out of his skull?

“Morning,” he managed to answer. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Completely selfish on my part. There’s bound to be coffee at the pancake breakfast, but it won’t be nearly as good as the high-dollar stuff you have here.”

He paid an exorbitant amount for a special blend from a tiny mail-order company in Costa Rica. He didn’t spend much on clothes or women or fast cars, but he did like good coffee.

As he sipped, he felt the throb in his temples recede a little more.

“Do you want to take two cars to the celebration today?” she asked. “That way you don’t have to feel obligated to stay all day. You can go to the breakfast and parade and then leave from there to do your thing.”

He opened his mouth to tell her he had changed his mind and was going to skip all the celebrations. The words somehow clogged in his throat. He couldn’t do it. All the reasons he had given her the night before—about community and finding his place in it—still rang true. Now he had the added impetus, the somber reminder that this would likely be his last chance to spend any significant time with Katrina.

Everything was about to change. Debra Peters would arrive early in the week, and Katrina would return to Colombia and the child she loved.

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