Page 26 of Almost Home
Mom perused the menu and chatted about other things—not my work, or who occupied the building even now, or Bruce’s arrival tomorrow. But I couldn’t stop thinking of any of those things—big surprise. And now that she’d put the idea in my head, I couldn’t shake the dread that Bruce really might like Sarah. In fact, there was no way he wouldn’t. She was beautiful and smart and had done a great job so far. She was flexible and responsible, and there was no way I’d get out of this without doing or saying something stupid.
What the hell was I doing? I didn’t want Sarah for myself. I’d been through the aftermath of that once already—or maybe notoncebut repeatedly over time as waves of grief over losing a child you never knew hit at the oddest times and missing someone you’ve loved most of your life despite every damn thing telling you to stop came right along with it.
However much I might not want Sarah, some aching, almost monstrous thing in meneededher. I couldn’t escape it, no matter how I reminded myself of how she’d walked away andkept walking.She’d apologized but it didn’t change the past.
But Bruce… Bruce didn’t have the baggage. And if I didn’t own up to it, then why wouldn’t he go for her?
There was just not a chance of escaping this without potential misery forcing my hand.
And when it did? My mother would be first in line to let me hear about it.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Sarah
Jane came knocking at four, and despite my discomfort at leaving an hour early, Wilder insisted I go.
“I’m heading out, too. I would’ve kicked you out.”
I held in a smile because I’d realized all I did was smile around the man. I probably looked like a lovesick teenager. I’d been one of those with him, and parts of my draggy, soft heart still felt like one. It had to be thanks to the apology and sharing all those thoughts with him so recently, but still. Not a good look.
“He insists, and so do I. Come on, darling. Put your things in your car and we’re off.” Jane blew a kiss to Wilder, then slipped out the door.
I gathered my purse, lunch bag, and water bottle, then signed off my computer according to the protocols I’d learned in the training.
“Have fun,” he said, loosing butterflies in my chest.
He hadn’t walked back to his office, but since I didn’t especially want him to know that I was aware of everything he did when in a room with me, I’d done my best not to think about him standing there. I really could not be having a reaction like this every time he spoke to me.
In fairness, I hadn’t, had I? When he insisted on my leaving early, I hadn’t found that thrilling. Not entirely, anyway.
“I think maybe you should be saying, ‘Good luck.’” I tucked my water bottle into my purse and pushed in the chair.
“Fair point. Good luck.”
I shot him a smile this time, my stomach flipping at the exchange. He was so much more talkative than last week. A sad barometer for improvement considering we still didn’t speak much, but I’d take the progress. I’d happily accept the silly butterflies in my stomach in place of the dread and heartache that plagued every second of my time here before I apologized.
And if a bit of that lingered… it made sense. Not like my quick apology changed everything between us. The history we shared was still there, miles of road behind us. And my feelings, knotted up into a little ball though they were, lingered, too.
“See you tomorrow.” And with that, I left him to lock up while I faced down Jane.
It really was a facing down of sorts. As kind as she was, I knew we’d have to talk about what happened in one way or another. It was one aspect of being here I hadn’t confronted in the year-plus I’d lived in Silverton, and I needed to stop avoiding it. I couldn’t be certain we’d do that today, but she wasn’t one to stay quiet. Thus far, though, she seemed intent on moving ahead, not punishing me for the past. That kind of thing probably wasn’t Jane’s style anyway, but until we’d confronted our history, I would be… cautious.
“So, what are you reading these days?” she asked as we strolled the short path past the mill building, then the diner, to Silver Street.
“I’m actually between books. I mostly read romantic suspense, though.” I’d just finished a ten-book series and felt more than a little bereft.
“Oh, me, too! I’ll read a thriller now and then but haven’t been in the mood. I also love a good historical fiction.”
I smiled to myself, vividly remembering her reading whenever she had a spare moment. She liked to stay busy, but she let herself relax and read every day for at least a little while. I’d loved that about her since my parents hadn’t been readers. They watched the news, maybe read the paper, but certainly no leisure reading.
“I always loved that you were a reader,” I said.
“I felt the same way about you.”
My heart warmed. Part of me wanted to launch into apologies right there and get them out of the way, but a larger portion of my heart and mind wanted to enjoy this time. To savor the moment between this woman who’d felt like a second mother to me, and who’d understood me in ways I suspected my own mom never had. So instead of the lengthy speech I’d need to make at some point, I forced myself back into the simplicity of our current activity.
“Have you heard anything about who owns the new store?”
