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She might have told herself this, but her heart knew differently.
There was more than history and a possible fertilized egg between her and Blake. It went deeper than that. Life had something to show them. And then, perhaps, once they’d found peace in their apartness, they’d both be able to move on. Away from each other. Toward something new. Someone new.
The thought of someone out in the world someplace, just waiting for Annie to find him, moved her not at all.
But she clung to it just the same as she opened her door to the man she’d lost her heart to so long ago. It was time to take it back.
“I OWE YOU SOMETHING,” Blake said from the other side of the door.
Annie nodded, stood aside for him to come in.Still dressed in slacks and a white business shirt, Blake looked tired as he stood in her foyer, but Annie couldn’t offer him a seat at the kitchen table. It was too warm and friendly, too familylike.
Instead, waiting for him to state his business, she wrapped her arms around herself. She wasn’t going to make a mistake here, lose herself through a lack of self-control. She wasn’t going to be physically weak, give in to the temptation he posed, standing there so real and warm and…all that was Blake.
“I love you, Annie.”
She fell back against the wall. Stared at him. Waited for something else, an indication of what he’d really said, since she’d obviously transposed her own hallucinations on top of his message.
“I’ve always loved you.”
He did. He had. Frightened, Annie leaned there, watching him. Was he going to sprout wings, too? Or propose to her?
Could she stay in this state of self-delusion forever? If she spoke to him would he disappear? Or would he be telling her that he was sorry for not loving her and that he never wanted to see her again?
The sadness in his eyes was not indicative of a man in love. Professing his love.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he continued into her silence. “I have no interest in a relationship of any kind—other than to be a presence in my child’s life, if, indeed, there is a child.”
So he was still on board with that. Annie clung to the one thing she seemed able to grasp.
He appeared to be awaiting a response. “Okay.” It seemed appropriate, given her understanding of the situation—which was slim to none.
“Okay, then.” He turned to go.
She couldn’t let him do that. Straightening, she called, “Blake?”
“Yeah?” He stopped at the door, turned.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Telling me.”
He nodded. “I’m just sorry that I didn’t do so six years ago. You should have heard it then.”
“I’m glad I’m hearing it now.” He’d said he loved her. Blake had told her he loved her. And he was walking out the door?
“Would you like a glass of wine? Or tea or something?”
Hesitating, with his hand on the door, he seemed about to say something more, and then just nodded, following her down the hall to the kitchen.
She opened a bottle, poured two glasses and carried them over to the table.
As if he hadn’t slept in weeks, Blake dropped into a chair. Sipped his wine. Rubbed his eyes.
“Verne Chandler died tonight.”
“He did?” Cole hadn’t called. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
