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She blamed being back in Catamount for dredging up that hurt.
“That she would have,” Lark admitted, recognizing she’d have to find a way to come to terms with her own negative feelings toward marriage so as not to mar her sister’s day.
She’d promised Fleur she’d try, after all.
“Right?” Fleur chimed in cheerily. “Gran would have been all over this. So I think it will be a fun sister-bonding thing for the three of us to work on wedding planning a little each day, especially since we’ll have some time now that the probate hearing is delayed.”
Fun?
Lark suppressed a groan by gulping her coffee. She needed to figure out a way to get a handle on her feelings ASAP if she wanted to survive a day—no,weeks—of wedding planning. Potential excuses circled through her mind. A patient emergency in LA? Or she got called for jury duty? Contracted a contagious disease?
“It shouldn’t be that big of an undertaking.” Jessamyn licked sugar off her thumb between bites of pastry. “I mean, we can only do so much in three weeks anyway. I don’t want the emphasis to be on a fancy gown or pricey party. What’s important is sealing the deal with the man I love in front of our friends and family.”
Lark’s chest ached at the sentiment. A brief moment of superstition making her wonder if things hadn’t worked out for her and Gibson because they’d done a courthouse wedding, circumventing the need to contend with complicated Barclay family politics. But of course, that wasn’t the reason her marriage had crashed and burned. Gibson’s travel and lack of commitment to a home life were to blame.
And, partly, Lark’s inability to bridge the growing emotional gap his absences had created. The more charming he tried to be in those final months, the less she felt like he knew her at all. She’d craved reality, not the side he showed to the press.
“Aww,” Fleur sighed happily at Jessamyn’s words while Lark stuffed the final bite of pastry in her mouth in an effort to end this visit. “That’s a beautiful idea, Jess, but we’re going to do everything we can to make the day memorable, too. Aren’t we, Lark?”
Fleur turned pleading gray eyes her way.
Mouth full, Lark nodded. Stretched her facial muscles into another semismile.
But this visit to Catamount now multiplied in difficulty by about one hundred. She’d thought it had been complicated by Gibson’s presence in town. But now she had to contend with her ex next door all the while planning a wedding.
Salt? Meet wound.
Lifting aside the heavy plastic sheeting on the work site, Gibson toured the new addition on his house, taking note of the progress the builder had made over the past few days. The scent of freshly cut wood permeated the air as he stepped around a pile of white twelve-inch tiles delivered that morning.
The brick annex to the main structure of his home would be all on one floor, an addition that would make it easier for Gibson’s mother to get around. Not that she was old. Stephanie Vaughn’s physical body remained strong. Vigorous. It was cruel that early onset dementia was slowly stealing her mental health.
Gibson wandered into the bathroom, where the first walls to go up were the ones that would be tiled for a walk-in shower. There would be no step up, and no threshold, necessitating a large space to keep water off the rest of the floor. He wanted to make life as easy as possible for his mom, and for his mother’s full-time caregiver. Yet he couldn’t move either one of them to the house until the annex was complete. He lifted his phone to text his builder again and ask when he’d be onsite today.
It was a far better use of his time than scrolling through the photos of Lark and him that had started appearing online the day before, even though he couldn’t help but see the picture again since he’d left a browser window open on the device.
Damn, but she still took his breath away.
The warmth of the day already filtered through the half-finished space, but he could hardly blame that for the rush of heat through his veins as his gaze swept over Lark’s image, from her high cheekbones and forest-green eyes to the conservative clothes that never fully camouflaged the pinup-worthy body beneath.
Her shoulders were tense, her spine straight. Because of him? Or because of the media chasing them? He regretted bringing stress back into her life.
Gibson didn’t know how much time elapsed while he stared at the photo, telling himself there was still a spark evident between them. But the next thing he knew, the device vibrated in his hand, a banner appearing across the photo with his agent’s name for an incoming call.
Again.
Stifling an oath, he jabbed the button to connect them since he couldn’t duck the guy forever. Better to get this conversation over with.
“Hey, Dex. What’s up?” Gibson asked casually, moving out of the half-built annex and into the sunlight.
“Just wanted to let you know your stock is going up, my friend. The longer you stay silent on the rumors about your return to the ice, the more teams are wanting you. I had a third general manager call me this morning after your mug was all over the place online this morning.”
“I’m retired. Remember?” It had been tough enough reaching the decision without the added pressure of his agent trying to keep him in the game. “I’ve remained silent on the subject because I’ve already made a public announcement about my retirement.”
Dealing with his mother’s illness had forced him to take a long look at his priorities. And he’d realized that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the people who were most important to him.
“Just until we get the right price for your comeback though,” Dexter responded smoothly, ever-confident in his ability to negotiate terms. “I don’t think you’re going to find much to fill your days in that no-man’s-land of a town you’re living in after the excitement of professional hockey.”
Gibson couldn’t deny that he would miss playing. The ice had always been the one place in his life where he excelled—the one arena where he’d found success.
