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Griffin took a sip of tea. “What did Christy Joy say about the building I mentioned?”
She was grateful he’d changed the subject and added a piece of broccoli to the shrimp on her fork. “She wasn’t pleased with the site either, and for exactly the same reasons. It’s too large, the location is terrible, and it’s probably too expensive, to boot.”
“So she wants to keep looking?”
Her nerves raw, she blurted the truth. “No, she’s pressuring me to convince you to let us stay where we are.”
Annoyed, Griffin leaned back in his chair. “We’ve already been over that argument. The answer’s no. Now I know you love walnut shrimp. Why aren’t you eating?”
Darcy looked away. The table sat beside a window, but it was already too dark to see more than deep shadows outside. She refused to offer lame excuses for her lack of appetite, but if the weekend were any sample of what their life was likely to be, and she was positive it had been, then she would always have to handle the occasional crisis alone.
If it had been their child who was lost, no matter how briefly, would he be furious with her?
Since Friday, Christy Joy had been decidedly cool to her, and when her thoughts were as tangled as her emotions, she didn’t need the additional burden of her partner’s disdain. She gave up all hope of feigning an appetite and laid her fork across her plate.
“You’re both making impossible demands on me,” she complained, “and it’s damned uncomfortable being stuck here in the middle.”
“Somehow, I didn’t think discomfort was the effect I had on you.”
A teasing light glowed in his dark eyes, but she was in no mood to be cajoled out of her pain. “I understand you have an extraordinary talent, and you owe it to the world to perform, but it’s difficult being left behind where anything might go wrong.”
“I asked you to come with me. You wouldn’t have had to sit in the hotel while I rehearsed either. Chicago is filled with interesting places to visit, museums and—”
“Yes, I’m sure it is, but that’s not really the issue.”
Griffin studied her downcast expression a long moment. “If the real problem is that you’re already sick of me, then just say so. I can take it.”
“No, it isn’t that at all,” Darcy cried. She wished he would pull her into his arms and hold her until she felt safe again, but she shrank down into herself, sending an unspoken message that she would rather not be touched.
“I wasn’t gone that long, and I did call you,” Griffin reminded her softly.
“Yes, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Thoughtful? You make it sound as though I were some distant cousin who calls occasionally to inquire about your health.”
Darcy just shook her head. “I don’t want to argue.”
“Good, neither do I, but I don’t know what the hell we’re talking about here. Maybe I should just go home and when you feel like talking, you can give me a call.”
Darcy nodded numbly. “Take the food, please. I won’t be able to eat it.”
“Then toss it out,” Griffin responded as he rose from his chair. He leaned down to brush her cheek with a kiss, then paused on his way to the door. “Did you file a request for a passport?”
“No, but I thought about it.”
“That’s scarcely flattering, but it would still be a good idea for you to have one. You might actually want to travel with the next guy you meet.”
Darcy braced herself, but he showed a great deal of restraint by not slamming the door on his way out. Her anguish got the better of her then, and she began to sob with hoarse gulps. She’d known nothing in life was ever certain, but with her once-trusted partner barely speaking to her and the man she cared about more determined to occupy a building than a place in her heart, tears were her only comfort.
Chapter Eleven
After another nearly sleepless night, Darcy awakened Monday morning to find a soggy coastal fog clinging to the ground. It was far too wet to burn off before afternoon and, contemplating a day as dreary as her mood, she pulled on a bright pink long-sleeved jersey and blue floral overalls to affect a spring-like cheer.
She made herself a poached egg on toast the way her mother had prepared them for her as a child and sipped tea while she ate her breakfast. She still had no appetite, but the nostalgic food offered a surprising amount of comfort on an otherwise bleak day.
After washing her dishes, she set a few of her philodendron out on the back porch to soak up the moisture in the air. She brewed a second cup of tea, poured it into an insulated cup and pulled on her bright green Defy the World windbreaker. As ready as she would ever be, she walked on over to the nursery, but her step lacked its usual bounce.
She entered her office intent upon ordering roses for the Peavey wedding. A couple of smaller jobs had come in last week, and they also needed her attention, but that morning her sketches were as distracted as her thoughts and she sent them sailing toward her wastebasket rather than attach them to her clipboard.
