Page 67 of Tinsel & Tools
I understood, but that didn’t change what the story meant to me. “I’ve been stuck for months, Cole. I’m not trying to upset you, but it’s my story to tell. I wanted—no, I needed—to write something I could genuinely connect with. Something real.”
He dropped into the chair next to the couch. “You know what felt real to me? That this”—he gestured between us—“would stay private. You led me to believe you were okay with that.”
“I was.” I swallowed hard and sat back on the couch. “I am okay with it, but writing is how I make sense of things. I wasn’t sure what was happening between us, and I’m still not. This story is helping me figure stuff out.”
“But it’s not just you.” He sounded defeated. “You put me in there, and then didn’t tell me.”
“No one has read it,” I argued.
“Except they will.”
We stared at each other silently for a long while. I wanted to reach for him, to pull him into my arms and kiss him until neither of us remembered what we were upset about. Still, I kept my hands to myself.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” I whispered. “Tell me how to fix this.”
“I don’t know how you can.” His words pierced through me. “It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to stop writing. I also can’t pretend I’m okay with my relationship playing out on the pages of a book when I’m not even sure what this relationship is and what I want from it.”
Cole had never promised me anything, but somewhere along the line I’d let myself believe that we could have more than a secret behind closed doors. That we were building something that went beyond broken water heaters, snow days, and late-night dinners.
Maybe it was just the romance writer in me who was desperate to believe in love, and wanted something to look forward to. Not just someone to warm my bed, but someone to share the small moments with. Sure, I had Allie, and our friendship meant the world to me, but I still desired that romantic connection with someone.
Maybe I wanted it too much and ignored all the signs telling me Cole wasn’t the one to fill that role. Perhaps he and I were never supposed to be more than a fleeting, opposites-attract holiday hookup I could one day look back on.
“What if I shifted the setting, changed their occupations, and made it less recognizable?” I hesitated a beat. “Would that take away some of your worry?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but it doesn’t help me get past the fact that you didn’t even tell me. You kept writing about us without asking if I wanted to be a part of the story. For someone who was adamant about consent, you didn’t consider it here.”
Fuck.
Hearing him word it in such simple terms made me realize how badly I’d screwed up.
“I’m sorry.” Those two words didn’t feel like nearly enough. “I’m proud of the story so far, but you’re right. Not giving you a choice wasn’t okay.”
He nodded but stayed silent.
“So, how do we move on from here?”
He leaned back against the cushion. “I still plan on finishing the work at the inn. That part doesn’t change.” It felt as though the room was closing in on me. I knew what was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “But I don’t think I can keep doing this. At least not without wondering if something I do is going to end up in your next chapter.”
I wanted to drop to my knees and beg for him to understand that I wouldn’t do that again, but whatever trust he had in me had been shattered, and for two people who were only starting to get to know one another, it would be difficult to get back.
I stood again. “Got it. Give me a few minutes to pack up, and then I’ll be out of your way.”
“It’s dark out there, and you still have no water at the inn or electricity. You can stay here tonight and figure out something tomorrow.”
After hearing him say he didn’t think he could continue things with me, staying under the same roof while not being beside him would be nothing short of torture. “I’ve driven in worse.”
He got up as well. “Where are you going?”
“Back to New York.” I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed there. “We can keep things professional. Just text or email me about the B&B. Send me invoices, notes, whatever you need.”
He didn’t argue, and that was all the confirmation I needed that things were truly over between us.
It didn’t take me long to gather my belongings. When I returned to the living room, he was still standing in the same place, staring at the floor.
“Cole.” He looked up. “I promise I won’t write anything that makes you feel exposed ever again. I’m sorry I already did.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond before I slipped out the front door and into the blistering cold. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I went to place my phone in the holder when I saw two text notifications from Allie on the locked screen:
