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“That’s the plan.”
“Interesting answer. Why not a simple, ‘Yes’?”
The pie turned to dust in her mouth. She wasn’t qualifying anything. Was she? “I don’t mean it that way.” She concentrated on scooping up another bite.
“You trust him?”
The second bite stuck in her throat. She put down her fork and managed to swallow. Just. “Ever since he’s been back, he’s done nothing but keep his word. He does exactly what he says he’s going to do…”
“But?”
She winced. The few bites of pie now sat like bricks in her stomach. “It’s not Shane I don’t trust. It’s fate. We both had the best intentions last time around, but first he couldn’t follow through, and then I couldn’t.”
“Sinclair…” Savannah spoke around a mouthful of pie. “You were teenagers last time around. Neither of you had the kind of control over the direction of your lives you have now, as adults. Do you love him?”
The room suddenly felt small and sweltering. She eased her plate away, because the buttery, cinnamon-y smell of the pie was starting to turn her stomach, and searched for some pat answer that would get her sister to back off. What spilled out instead was, “I do.”
She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. The words rang with truth, and she couldn’t take them back even if she wanted to.
“You love him,” Savannah repeated. “There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Slowly, she lowered her hands. “Oh, God, I do. Not just old, unresolved parts of my heart, but the whole enchilada, and…what the heck are you doing?”
Savannah turned away, but the move did nothing to hide a very audible sniffle. “Don’t mind me. It’s the hormones. I tear up at the drop of a hat. I can’t help myself. Anyway”—she wiped her eyes and looked at Sinclair—“that’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. What did Shane say?”
“Uh…”
“Wait. Have you told him you love him?”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?” Frustration had her picking up her fork again and stabbing it toward Sinclair. “You just told me you trust him, and everything’s going well—”
“It scares the crap out of me, okay?”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“It’s almost too easy this time around. I keep waiting for fate to lob a grenade and blow us up. Again.”
“Wow. Welcome to the Beau Montgomery School of Emotional Risk Aversion. You know what finally got Beau over the dread?”
Under the table, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “What?” She really did need to know, because something was seriously wrong with her if she couldn’t even talk about being happy without giving herself indigestion.
“He realized even if it all turned to shit tomorrow, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on us. Everything we already had, everything we’d already experienced, made all the uncertainty worth the risk.”
Was she there? After everything had turned to shit the first time, she’d spent plenty of time wishing she’d never met Shane. Wishing she could remove him like shrapnel from her fractured heart and move on. But she couldn’t. She’d gathered up the pieces and put herself back together, but he’d left scars that had never faded. Not fully. Maybe because she’d always secretly hoped they’d get a second chance, or maybe she was just a masochist, but if things went wrong for them now, there wouldn’t be a third chance. And that made the stakes feel dizzyingly high. If her heart broke again, would she be able to put it back together? A wave of nausea washed over her, leaving her sweaty and shaking.
“Are you okay?” Savannah stared at her, a frown creasing her brows.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“You don’t look so good.”
“I’ll be okay.” The nausea subsided a little, and she mustered up what she hoped was a smile. “For some reason, the pie turned on me tonight.”
“Here, try this”—Savannah got up and returned with a large glass of something cloudy—“it’s lemon-ginger water.”
She raised the glass and gave the concoction a sniff. The citrusy scent didn’t turn her stomach, so she took a sip. Then another.
