Page 102 of Where Roads Lead

“Elsie.” I held my hand out to her, which she accepted gladly. “I hope your bucket gets filled with so much candy tonight.” I smiled at her son, who was already yanking his mom’s arm to move onto the next house.

I closed the door behind me, while Will found his way back to the couch, already uninterested in whatever he knew I was about to say.

“Did you know—” I started before he cut me off.

“I don’t want to hear it—”

“—that every single person I’ve met here has some type of connection to you.”

“It’s a small town.”

“And every single person I’ve met not only sings your praises but has expressed some rather forward suggestions that you’re this wildly desirable man and I’m Elizabeth Bennet come to steal Mr. Darcy away out from under them.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

I gasped at the ignorance.

“Well, what about you?” he countered, clearly uncomfortable by the attention I was paying toward his reputation.

“Me?” I laughed. “What about me?”

“Are you going to pretend like there wasn’t some poor guy you left behind when you came here?”

I stilled. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m curious. And whenever I’ve tried to ask you about your life in Boston, you change the topic, or somehow lose all ability to speak, which, considering it’s you, leads me to believe there’s something there worth unpacking.”

I shook my head, trying to deny it.

“What? You’re allowed to ask questions, but I’m not?”

“Fine, there was a guy,” I admitted, hoping to leave it at that.

“I knew it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” he pressed. “That you broke some guy’s heart and skipped town? Because I hardly think it’s fair that—”

“I didn’t break his heart, okay?” The words exploded out of me, too quickly and too full of emotion to play off as insignificant. “He broke mine.”

Will went silent, eyes widening in a way that let me know my admission had taken him off guard.

As if a girl getting her heartbroken wasn’t the oldest story in the world.

“He broke my heart, and I was too much of a coward to stick around and keep living the life I was living before. It just…it hurt too much,” I told him, not bothering to explain that the humiliation of the rejection was worse than losing the man himself.

I guess I didn’t want to be seen as some shallow woman who hadn’t truly loved the man she’d been about to marry.

Or maybe I didn’t want to admit that maybe I’d never known what love was at all, because at my age, it seemed like something I should’ve already figured out.

But I guess sometimes you don’t know what something was—or wasn’t—until it’s over.

“So,” I straightened my back in a feeble attempt to regain my composure, “I rented this place, packed my car, and here I am,” I said with the most ill-timed use of jazz hands the world has ever seen.

“Elsie, I—” he started, his voice caught between apologetic and awkwardness, but I held up a hand to stop him.

I didn’t want his sympathy. Or worse, his pity. I just wanted to leave Andrew in the past where he belonged.