Page 132 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“I know you have misgivings,” he tells me in a level voice. “Everything I’ve done, from moving to Brown Oaks, to buying the house directly across from you, to not telling you I know Oliver, gives off creepy, stalker vibes. If this were one of your grandmother’s romance novels, readers would be screaming at you not to listen to me but to get as far away from me as you can.”
Well, he’s right about everything so far.
“All I’m asking for is a chance to explain everything,” he continues. “There’s no pressure on you to believe me. If you still want me to leave Brown Oaks after this, I’ll leave and never contact you again.”
I fold my arms and regard him stonily. “How can I trust what you say? You’ve been lying to me all this time.”
“I’ve kept things from you,” he says evenly. “Things I shouldn’t have. But not everything is a lie, Kate. How I feel about you and how I feel about Lisset—that’s not a lie.”
His words seep into my skin, melting away some of my mistrust, but I’m still hesitant.
He spreads his hands in an open-palm gesture. “If you’re worried about being in the house alone with me, you can call Aaron and ask him to come over.”
After a moment, I say softly, “I’m not worried. Let’s go.”
He follows me inside.
“Coffee?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think my nerves could take coffee right now.”
It’s weirdly reassuring to realize he’s as nervous as I am. I pour us both a glass of water and we move to the living room. I take the wingback and Gideon sits on the couch, facing me. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. He has the stage now.
“I worked with Oliver at DesignPlan,” he begins. “We were in different departments, so I didn’t know him that well, but I knew of him. What I did know, however, is that he had a framed photograph on his desk of a woman in a blue ski jacket, a white beanie, and the most contagious smile I’ve ever seen.”
My chest tightens. I know that photograph. I gave it to Oliver on Valentine’s Day.
“It sounds far-fetched, but when I saw you in that photo it was like being hit by a lightning bolt. I felt drawn to you in a waythat’s difficult to explain. I never would have said before that moment that you can feel an instant connection to a person you haven’t met, but I did.”
His eyes hold mine. “And then Oliver started telling me about you, and I was even more intrigued by this beautiful, compassionate, adventurous woman he was lucky enough to be married to. But that was the problem. You were in that photo on his desk because you were his wife.”
He’s quiet, his face a rugged landscape of painful memories. “You attended a work Christmas party with Oliver. Seeing you in person, it was worse. You were everything I imagined you to be. I couldn’t stop watching you. You were vibrant and charming. I remember Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off you. Neither could I. You were a magnet, drawing people to you, making them laugh with funny stories about your work, captivating people with your wit.”
I feel tears come to my eyes. I remember that woman. She’s a wisp of a memory, like a blurred image in one of those old, sepia photographs.
“I don’t remember you,” I tell him.
“I looked different. My hair was shorter and I didn’t have a beard. But I also stayed away from you,” he admits. “I didn’t want to talk to you when you were on the arm of another man, wearing his ring. I left the party early.”
A mixture of pain and loss and missed opportunities hangs heavily in the air. I try to imagine a young, beardless Gideon at the party, but it’s as elusive a picture as the old Kate.
“Some time after that,” he continues, “I started noticing cracks in Oliver’s portrayal of a perfect marriage. He seemed to look a little too long at other women, his remarks became cruder, and he drank and partied more after work.”
My fingers tighten around my water glass. “That’s probably around the time Lisset was born.”
Gideon nods. “He didn’t say much about being a father, which I thought was odd. I suspected him of cheating, but I never confronted him. A selfish part of me was hoping you’d find out and leave him.” He makes a hoarse sound and anguish fills his face. “I had no idea how bad things were in your marriage. That he was hurting you. I’ll live with that regret for the rest of my life.”
His throat works. Even the mention of what Oliver did to me in our marriage seems to hurt him.
“After the divorce, I stayed away to give you time to move on from Oliver. Then I tried to convince myself I could live without you, that maybe I only wanted you because you were unattainable, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. My money, my travels, my work, they all left me feeling empty. I tried to find you, but you’d disappeared.”
My throat is so dry. I take a sip of my water, engrossed in his story.
“I told myself you disappeared because you wanted to be left alone, so that’s what I did, I left you alone. Then I stumbled across an article about you and your work as a food stylist.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I never read that particular newspaper. But it just so happened that the one time I did read it, there you are. I took it as a sign. And that’s when I moved to Brown Oaks.”
“You should have said something to me,” I say. “As soon as you arrived.”
“I should have,” he agreed. “I came to Brown Oaks with the intention of introducing myself and telling you about my connection to Oliver.”
