“First off, nothing about that was supportive. Second, since when did this become a story about me? The whole plot revolves around you and Noah.”
Her head rose, and she pinned me with a look. “Fine. Consider you and Landon a subplot then. One we all”—she twirled her finger in a circle—“want to see play out.”
I sighed. “It’s not that simple. He probably thinks we’re all insane.”
“Because we are. There’s no getting around that. But he’s nuts as well, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. Weren’t you paying attention during your little quote-off?”
“Except he has his own reasons for agreeing to this.”
“We all do.” She paused, head tilted. “What are his reasons?”
My shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t know. Something personal. He wouldn’t tell me.”
Her mouth pinched at the side. “Interesting.”
The door opened, and Noah took a step over the threshold. “You ladies coming?”
* * *
That morning, I would have said the universe had turned a blind eye to my predicament. You know, the one where I was actually developing feelings for my pretend spouse. The one where I felt like I should save him from my crazy self and family. The one where Plan B: Avoid Landon Novak had somehow shifted into Plan C: Remember Plan A, Paste a Smile on My Face, and Suck It Up (because obviously, my conversation with Ken yesterday and his offer of marriage counseling was proof that Plan B was killing Plan A).
But now…well, now I thought the universe had some kind of twisted sense of humor. Because now that I wasn’t trying to avoid Landon, he seemed a mile away. Really, it was only feet or yards (sorry, not good at guesstimating measurement, but he was always within sight, so it wasn’t miles), but the bubble of personal space between us had grown. Pretty much to the size of four adult bodies.
Think of we six like a living, breathing game of Pick-Up Sticks. You played that as a kid, right? Anyway, the universe had us in its hands, then let us go, but somehow always managed to arrange us so Landon and I were at opposite ends of the group.
And you know the crazy part? Even though we were in a cabin in the middle of the woods, I couldn’t smell his piney scent. And I kind of missed it. For half a second, I’d entertained the idea of going outside and hugging a conifer just so I could take a deep inhale of his intoxicating fragrance.
Maybe that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was probably the side-eye looks Ken kept shooting me. Ones filled with compassion and openness. His eyes practically shouted, “Annie and I are here if you need us.”
I wonder if he had the same conversation with Landon that he had with me.
That list for Claire to repay me for this favor was growing. I was definitely adding a day trip to Powell’s bookstore in Portland. And no whining from her would be allowed. If I wanted to stay from open to close, I would. Even that amount of time wouldn’t allow me to peruse the nine color-coded rooms and over thirty-five-hundred sections the city-block-large bookstore housed.
Just the thought of standing there with almost a million books surrounding me calmed some of my frayed edges.
But then everyone in the room laughed, and I blinked slowly, realizing I hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation for the last ten minutes at least. For some reason, my lack of response to the joke or story or whatever drew everyone’s attention. Claire beamed a What has gotten into you? message my way through her raised brows and downturned lips. Ken and Annie flicked me a glance that clearly conveyed Ken had told his wife about my apparent marriage troubles and they were praying for me.
Landon studied me with a question in his expression. I’d caught him staring at me like that a few times. Like I was some sort of computer code that he couldn’t figure out. My ones and zeros didn’t line up in a way that made any sense.
And that was it. The little tailor in my brain that had taken a break from picking away at the seams of my sanity while I’d visualized a mountain of books around me picked up the pace once again. A thousand little Betsy Rosses, but instead of creating something monumental, they were working like a well-oiled machine to destroy any fabric of stability.
I had to get out of there.
Standing, my gaze caught on a shed near the edge of the lake, a kayak leaning against its side. “Can I use your kayak, Mr. Abrams?”
He seemed surprised, because let’s face it: my request came out of nowhere. But he graciously gave me permission.
“Thank you.” I didn’t really want to make eye contact with anyone, but the manners Mom had drilled into us, especially at political functions, forced my gaze around the room. First, to Claire and Noah. “I just need time to think.” Then to Annie and Ken. “And…pray.”
My gaze slid across Landon, but I couldn’t let it rest there. With a little wave, I forced my feet to a normal pace, taking a deep breath when I stepped out of the cabin. Bad idea, because that woodsy freshness meddled with my brain even more.
It wasn’t until I was moving the kayak aside to look for a paddle that I heard my name.
Where is that blasted paddle! I acted like I hadn’t heard anything.
Landon stopped at my side, his palm warming my shoulder. “Ashleigh.” He said my name again, and dagnabit if my pulse didn’t spike at hearing it from his rich baritone.
“Listen, I came out to tell you that…”
