Page 95 of Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra)

Whitney was the only person willing to speak honestly to me. When I went to visit her and the baby, she said, “You’re totally pining for him.”

“I am not,” I said dismissively.

“You are. Pining like a whole forest of pine trees.”

I held the baby against me, smelling the delicious baby smell on the back of his neck. “I’m not pining. He’s the one who left me. I’m not pining.” I didn’t know which one of us I was trying to convince more.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, not believing me.

“Maybe I’m pining a little,” I admitted a minute later. “I don’t want to see him. Or talk to him. But I set up a Google alert with his name. Does that make me weird?”

“Oh, sweetie. It’s on the list.” She set aside her laundry to sit next to me. “You should call him.”

That wasn’t going to happen.

To get through it, I told myself I didn’t need Rafe. He obviously didn’t need or want me. He could walk away without a second glance. He never called. He didn’t email or text me. There were so many times I considered reaching out myself, but pride got in the way.

When I spoke to Pastor Dave about it, he talked about something called transference—that I might have taken all my negative and hostile feelings about John-Paul, a scary person who hurt me and whom I didn’t want to think about, and transferred them to Rafe, a safe person whom I loved and did want to think about. That it was easier and safer for me to be mad at Rafe than John-Paul. I told him I had plenty of anger for them both.

Not to mention the anger I had at myself. I hated that every time the phone rang, I hoped it would be him. That every time there was a notification that someone from the guild had logged on toWorld of Warcraft, I longed to see the name Hatchet. That when I got a notification of an email or a Facebook post, I hoped he would be the one who had done it.

I hated that everywhere I turned in my own home, in my town, there was a memory of him. I couldn’t get away from him even if I wanted to.

And now, when there was a knock at the door, I was mad about how my heart did a funny flip-flop. When I opened it, I didn’t really expect to see Rafe, but I still had that letdown feeling to see Max standing there.

“Come on in,” I told him. “Aunt Sylvia’s not here.”

“I know,” he said as he took off his faded ball cap. He had that tan line around his head that most of the men in this town had because they wore hats all the time. “I came to see you. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sit,” I said. I asked if I could get him anything, but he told me was fine.

He played with the brim of his hat. He seemed nervous. I’d never known Max to be nervous about anything. “I came here to ask for your blessing to marry your aunt.”

I smiled for the first time in a long time. “That’s awesome! But you don’t need my blessing. You two can make your own choices.”

“I’m old-fashioned that way, and you’re the only family she has left.”

“Okay. You have my total blessing.” Despite my excitement, I had to ask, “But what about her—”

“Her MS?” He cut me off. “The vows I’m going to take say sickness and health. We’ll work through it. Nothing’s guaranteed. I could go out tomorrow and get hit by a bus and need to be taken care of for the rest of my life. None of us know what’s coming, and no, she’s not perfect. But neither am I. We’ll be imperfect together, and that’s good enough for me.”

We chatted for a while longer, and he left much happier and more relaxed than when he arrived. I went out to the barn to brush Marigold. Another constant reminder of Rafe. I thought about what Max had said and the conversation I’d had with the pastor so long ago. About how I had expected Rafe to be perfect and had set him up to fail.

Was that what was happening now? That because Rafe didn’t perfectly act the way I expected him to, I was angry with him? Had I made it so he couldn’t win, no matter what he did?

Did I want the perfect robot or the imperfect human?

A couple of days later, I was sitting next to Aunt Sylvia, Max, Amanda, and Austin in church. The pastor was giving a sermon about forgiveness and trust that seemed to be pointed directly at me. In my purse I had Lemon’s invitation to her engagement party. It was less than a week away.

Rafe would be there. Would he dance with someone else? Had he already moved on? My heart constricted at the thought.

When we got home, I expected Max and his family to join us for dinner, but Aunt Sylvia sent them home.

“Sit down.” She pointed at the kitchen table. “You and I are going to have a conversation.”

“A conversation about what?” I asked, suddenly uneasy. I sat, and still-recovering Laddie padded over, laying his head in my lap.

“Theconversation.”

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