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His eyes fall away again. I can’t make promises.
I want to say, I know.
“What would your house be like there?”
Now our gazes latch again, and my heart feels warmer.
“Smaller.” His chest sighs, although I don’t hear evidence of it. “Nothing like the one in Boston.”
“What is your home there like?”
“Too big. On a busy street.”
“You want seclusion. Something warm and cozy.”
He swallows.
“Something to remind you of this cottage.”
When he looks back up at me, his face is apathetic, but his eyes—they’re filled with fury. “You said no strings.”
“There are no strings.” And yet my pulse begins to race.
He shakes his head once, his jaw tight.
“You don’t want to take me with you. You think I don’t know it?” I sit up, blinking at the dresser, where Mum’s photo faces down now. “I was drinking, but I still remember. You said nothing.”
He sits up beside me. I refuse to look his way.
“I said I loved you.”
I blink quickly. “Yes. I know.”
“I love you, Finley.” He wraps his arms around me, dragging me close. “Maybe I shouldn’t have ever said it, but how can I keep that to myself?”
Tears spill down my cheeks. “Thank you for saying it.”
“Don’t thank me. I hurt you. And now I have to leave.”
“That’s how it goes. I knew it would be.”
At the start, I didn’t think I would feel this way. Couldn’t fathom I might want to really go with him over the ocean. Now I can’t imagine staying.
“I trust you,” I whisper. “I trust you more than anything. More than I fear those awful waters.”
“I can’t take you with me.”
Fury rises in me. “Why not? Tell me the official reason.”
“You know why.”
“You don’t trust yourself to steer clear of temptation. You think it will hurt me if you don’t.”
“Finley, you’d be way out of your element. You’d need me there.”
“I’d have you,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, and I cover my face. I won’t explain, won’t share my secret with him, even though it’s logical to do so at this moment. I find I simply can’t.
