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“Just that it’s so…healthy.”
“Well, yes, there is that. So it’s probably not a good idea to mention the deep dish we ate last night. Not a damn thing organic about it.”
Scout chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not really sure where Hamilton picked up this new fetish, but I had vegetable-beef stew for lunch, and I’m reluctant to admit that it rocked my world.”
“I see you brought pie, too.”
“Apple. I know you don’t eat anything pumpkin or turkey related for at least a month before Thanksgiving.”
“My own version of Lent. Makes it so much better when the big day rolls around.”
They settled in and ate in silence. Mostly because she was starving. But also because Ciara was done pushing. It was Scout’s turn to make a move.
Apparently, he wasn’t quite getting there in his mind, though. Frustration nipped at her. She polished off a second glass of wine while he took their empty plates downstairs. Then she snagged the thick throw blanket at the foot of the king-size bed and walked over to the far corner. She was nestled against a mound of pillows in the window seat, watching the snow continue to fall, when Scout returned.
In the reflection of the glass panes, she saw him cross the hardwood floor to her. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and was wrapped in the blanket. Scout joined her.
He said, “You can’t sleep here, babe. Those panes are cold.”
“No colder than the air between us.”
“Ciara,” he said on a long sigh. “Sweetheart.” His fingers grazed her temple as he stared into her eyes and told her, “What happened last night is tough for me to talk about, but—”
“Scout,” she said with sudden angst she couldn’t control. Actually, it was pure torment. “It cannot be any tougher than me saying I love you and you disappearing the first chance you get.”
Damn those tears for stinging her eyes again. She tried to blink them away. No such luck.
Scout’s gaze narrowed. “What? When…?” He shook his head. “When did you tell me you loved me?”
“Afterward.” She sniffled. “When we were under the blankets.”
His teeth clamped down on his lower lip as though he were trying to contain a smile. It took him a second to collect himself. Then he asked, “While I was sleeping?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“Ciara.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You can’t be pissed at me for not saying it back or even acknowledging the sentiment when I never even heard it.”
“I don’t know that for a fact.”
“Trust me,” he vehemently said. “It’s a fact.”
“You left me!” she yelled. A complete verbal flare-up that she once again had no control over. Her heart hurt too much to keep it all bottled up.
“I have a reason,” he insisted. “I’ve already told you that I’ll ex—”
“Yes, you’ll explain. When, Scout? What is going on with you? Why did you quit hockey?”
He jumped to his feet. “I did not quit hockey,” he erupted. He stalked about the corner of the room. Whirled around and pinned her with a hard look. “I wouldn’t just quit, goddamn it. How could you not know this about me? I still had several more years left in me!”
“I do know this about you.” She heard the agony and the fury in his voice, loud and clear. “That’s exactly why I don’t understand. What happened?” she demanded.
Ciara had never been one to poke and prod. But it seemed as though the time had come.
“Why did you leave the ice, Scout? Why did you leave me?”
“It was that fucking accident!” he roared, taking her aback. “Everything for the past year has been about that fucking, ironic accident!”
Her stomach coiled. “Scout…”
