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Luce shook her head. ‘I told you. They are what they are. They’re not going to change now.’
‘Not if you don’t give them the chance.’
That wasn’t fair. ‘People don’t change. Not really.’
‘Not even you?’ Ben asked, eyebrow raised.
Luce laughed. ‘Especially not me. I’m exactly the same Lucinda Myles you remember from university, right?’
Ben’s gaze trailed slowly across her face, down her body, and Luce felt her blood warm.
‘Not exactly the same.’
‘That’s not the point. My family are my responsibility, whatever you think.’ Because they were all she had, too. And wasn’t that a sad thing, at twenty-eight, to have nothing else but a family that needed you? Luce drained the last of her wine. ‘I think it’s time to go home,’ she said, and Ben nodded.
They were halfway to the cottage before she realised she’d called it ‘home’ again.
* * *
They walked back to the cottage in silence. The snow had stopped, at last, but the paths were still slippery underfoot. The air stung Ben’s lungs as they climbed the path, making it too painful to talk even if he’d had any idea of what to say.
Why was she so entrenched in solving things for her family? Because she’d promised her grandfather? That didn’t seem enough. There had to be something else, but he was damned if he could figure out what. When would she learn? You couldn’t fix everything for anyone. So you did what you could and you moved on. You couldn’t let other people pull you down.
Had she been like this at university? He couldn’t remember. She must have gone home a lot, though, since he and Mandy had often taken advantage of the flat being empty at weekends. A sliver of self-loathing jarred into him. Of course that was what he remembered. Why hadn’t he paid more attention to Luce then?
Or perhaps the better question was, why was he paying so much attention to her now?
Finally they reached the cottage and Ben dug in his pockets for the keys. Luce waited silently at his side for the door to open. Inside, the under-floor heating was doing its job admirably, which was just as well as the fire had all but burnt out. They both stripped off their outer layers, and Ben took the coats and hung them by the back door. When he turned round Luce still stood where he’d left her, looking at him, her eyes huge and sad.
‘Do you really believe that your family aren’t your responsibility?’
She looked distraught at the idea that anyone could believe such a thing. She should have spent some time with my old man.
He wanted to say the right thing. Words that would make her smile again, as she had over dinner. But he wasn’t going to lie to her.
‘I think that your family need to learn to manage without you for a while. You can’t mortgage your own life, your own happiness, for theirs.’
Luce just shook her head. ‘We really haven’t changed at all, have we?’
Despite her assertions that people didn’t change, she sounded so forlorn at the idea that Ben moved closer, his body determined to comfort her even if his mind knew it was a bad idea. His hands settled at her waist as she spoke again.
‘We’re exactly the same people we were at university.’
‘No.’ Even to his own ears his voice sounded harsh. ‘We’re not.’
Luce looked up at him. She was so close that he could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
‘Aren’t we? I may not wear jeans and baggy jumpers every day, but I’d still rather be working than in the pub. Tonight notwithstanding,’ she added, a small smile on her lips.
‘You came to the pub, though. That’s new.’
‘Maybe. And what about you? Back then...’
‘I spent every night in the pub and didn’t care about work,’ Ben finished for her. ‘I promise you that tonight is not representative of my adult life.’
‘Back then,’ Luce repeated, ‘you cared about yourself first. Your own happiness was most important, and you didn’t want the responsibility of anyone else’s on your shoulders.’
A memory struck him—something long forgotten and hidden. A book-lined room and a dark-haired girl in the moonlight, a plain dress draped over her body, fear and confusion in her eyes as he moved closer. Had that really been him? No wonder Mandy had ditched him. He hadn’t cared about Luce’s happiness then, had he? Or the responsibility he had to his girlfriend. Hell. Did Luce remember? She must. That was why she’d asked. No wonder she needed to know if he’d changed.
‘I care enough about you to try and help you finish your book. Reclaim your life.’ He was grasping at straws, he knew. Trying to find something to show her he had changed.
