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“Because I’ve spent most of my life building a home. I make curtains and grow vegetables. I know a hundred different ways to cook with carrots. Do you honestly think that will impress her? She’ll think I’ve sold out the female sex by not having a glittery career with an upward trajectory.”
He blinked. “You don’t think you’re being a little hard on yourself here?”
“No, I don’t. Because these days women are supposed to be able to do all of it providing they are goal focused and own a great planner.”
He gave a choked laugh. “Mags—what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing is going on. Probably because I’ve never been a planner type of person. Maybe, if I’d had a planner, I would have been able to cram more into my life.”
“Is that the goal?” He looked bemused. “To cram more in? Is this about work? I thought you loved creating a home. You said you wanted the kids to grow up in a different environment than you.”
“I did. I do.” So why, suddenly, was she questioning it all? Why did she feel lost and—irrelevant? If Catherine had managed to reinvent her life, why couldn’t she?
“If you love it, then it can’t be wrong.”
“You just don’t get it.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t.” He sounded exasperated. “Why do you need to impress her anyway?”
“Only a man would ask that question.”
“At least wait until you’ve met her to start making judgments. You might like her.”
But would Catherine like her?
“Could you leave the room?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to get dressed now.”
“I’ve seen you without clothes before.”
“Not for a very long time.”
“Well, you don’t appear to have changed significantly.”
“What’s changed is that we’re not together anymore.” She knew it was ridiculous for it to feel awkward, but it did. A part of her had pulled away. For protection. Clothes were protection, which made it all the more unfortunate that she didn’t currently appear to own any.
He shook his head, muttered something under his breath that she didn’t quite catch but was sure wasn’t flattering, then left the room.
Maggie waited until she heard him clattering around in the kitchen and slid gingerly from the bed. She took the stairs carefully, holding tightly to the curved wooden rail that appeared to have been carved from the branch of a tree. If she’d trusted her legs not to give way under her, she might have taken the time to admire it.
She stepped into the bathroom, purring as the under-floor heating warmed her bare feet. So much better than Honeysuckle Cottage where a nighttime trip to the bathroom came with a risk of frostbite.
There was a large tub and a walk-in steam shower enclosed in glass.
By the time she emerged ten minutes later, she was deeply regretting her outburst.
Wrapped in a soft white robe, she found Nick in the kitchen. “I don’t suppose I can wear this for the rest of our stay?”
“It might raise eyebrows. On the other hand I’ve always believed in the importance of expressing one’s individuality.” Nick was frying bacon and the sizzle and smell made her realize how hungry she was.
When had she last eaten? On the plane, presumably.
He tipped it onto a plate, added slices of toasted sourdough and scrambled eggs. “Eat.”
She sat on the stool at the kitchen counter and picked up a fork. “I’m sorry.”
