I followed her across the yard, up the porch stairs, and back into the house. The cat was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t unusual for this time of day.
Side by side, we toed off our shoes on the entryway rug. Candace insisted on setting the table, so I pointed out the necessary cabinets and drawers. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d remember her way around the next time.
It was definitely too soon to start thinking that way, but I didn’t seem capable of casual at this point. Despite all my internal warnings and self-assurances, temporary was going to have to be enough where Candace was concerned. And if I found myself heartbroken come January, I only had myself to blame.
She asked me more about the house and the garden during dinner. We talked and ate, and Candace complimented everything I made. It was nice making a meal for two instead of meal-prepping for one and freezing leftovers.
I liked having her in my space and seeing her comfortable enough to ask for seconds and offer to help wash dishes. I didn’t let her, but I liked that she asked.
While I loaded the dishwasher, I told her to go snoop around the living room. “I know you’re dying to.”
Her cheeks went pink, but she laughed and made a beeline for my bookshelves.
I kept one eye on her as I rinsed our plates and cutlery. Her attention was focused on some of the framed photographs I had positioned around the room. They were mostly landscapes that I’d taken, several from Craggy Peak, others from Juniper Point and Lake Archer.
As I was closing the dishwasher door, I noticed Candace take a step back and survey the room, a frown drawing her dark brows together. It was almost like she was looking for something or doing a final once-over for an item she’d missed.
The paranoid part of me thought she was probably confused, checking for photos of a daughter I didn’t have. She probably assumed that here, in the privacy of my own home, there’d be some evidence of the little girl I never mentioned or discussed, even if I didn’t feel comfortable sharing her with the world.
I realized, all at once, that this wasn’t going to work. If Candace and I were going to have something—even temporarily—I couldn’t keep lying to her about my past. I didn’t think I could stomach it.
It was one thing to have strangers and neighbors gossiping about me behind my back, or to my face, in some cases. I didn’t really care what those people thought because they weren’t important. They could have the lies and chew on them foras long as they liked. It was unsettling to think Candace might believe those same rumors. And expecting her to swallow the lies made the thought of being with her impossible.
As I watched her turn in a slow circle to better take in the room, I knew I needed to make a choice.
I could put a stop to whatever was happening between us. Keep my secrets and my lies.
Or I could tell her the truth—something Candace deserved if we were going to move forward.
After drying my hands on a kitchen towel, I took a deep breath and walked into the living room.
“Can we sit down?” I asked. “I need to tell you something.”
thirteen
MARK
“What’s up?” Candace asked slowly, eyes shadowed with worry.
She was sitting next to me on the couch, but I’d never mistake this for a relaxing movie night. There was distance between us, with the weight of the upcoming conversation, and I’d been the one to put it there.
I swallowed thickly, then licked my lips. “Listen, Candace. I don’t really date.”
“Ohhh,” she murmured as if a lightbulb had gone off. “You prefer hookups.”
“What? No. I don’t—I don’t do that either.”
“Because you don’t like women?” she wondered.
A startled laugh jumped up and over the truth trapped in my throat. “No, Candace. I like women. Well, I like you.”
She smiled a little at that. “But you don’t date.”
“Not really. No.”
Candace looked thoughtful. “Because you have a daughter?”
I watched her for a long moment, unsure how to begin. It wasn’t a story I’d ever told. I knew Candace was leaving. I knew this thing between us—new and tentative—was temporary at best, destined for failure at worst.
