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“That doesn’t sound like a resounding declaration of love.”
“Love’s overrated. It’s for fairytales.”
“Yet you love Ava?”
“That’s different,” I snap, annoyed that he’s trying to trap me into saying something I shouldn’t. “I’m going to put her down for a nap and go find Harlan.”
When I stand, Spencer places a hand on my shoulder, and I hate the betraying sizzle that zaps through my body from his simple touch.
I miss our connection. Our banter. Our teasing. I’d deliberately shut all that down when I slept with Harlan in my quest to protect my unborn baby at all costs. I’d made my choice that day—choosing stability for my child over happiness for me—and I’d convinced myself I’d done the right thing. I had to, because every time I’d crossed paths with Spencer since, which is every freaking day, I silently lament how much I miss our camaraderie.
I see the way he looks at me sometimes, wistful and confused, and I hate it. I hurt him and he didn’t deserve it. And the fact this his hand on my shoulder now feels comforting and right rather than the faintest revulsion I feel when Harlan touches me sometimes is a giveaway that no matter how many times I tell myself I’ve done the right thing for Ava, I’ll always wonder ‘what if’ when it comes to Spencer.
“Just so you know, Harlan considers me his righthand man and I’m glad, because that means I’ll always be here for you. Whatever you need, Cora, all you have to do is ask. As long as you’re here, I’m sticking around.” His squeeze his gentle. “I care about you, so know you can trust me. Always.”
My heart pounds as our gazes lock and the sincerity in his makes tears spring to my eyes.
It’s not lost on me I can barely summon sadness for the tragic death of my husband’s parents, yet a kind word from Spencer makes me want to bawl.
“Thanks,” I murmur, holding Ava to my chest. “That means a lot.”
“Any time.” He brushes a fingertip down Ava’s cheek and the corners of her mouth curve upward.
I walk away before the tears fall.
Chapter19
Lucy
I’m barely back in my room and nestled into the chintz armchair by the window with the first book, appropriately titled ARCANIA’S HIDDEN PAST, flipped to the foreword when there’s a knock at my door.
Annoyed at the intrusion, I cross my bedroom and open the door.
“Hey, Lucy. You busy?” Demi asks, her smile genuine, and I subdue my first impulse to lie so I can be left alone.
“Just reading.”
“Thought I’d pop by and let you know Cora’s facilitating one of her impromptu meditation sessions. Our friends rave about them. Say they are life changing.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve never done one and personally, I doubt a few chants and deep breathing can achieve that much, but hey, we’re here and it’s part of the detox, so why not?”
I’m a skeptic like Demi, but with Spencer gone, Cora is my next go to for discovering Mom’s connection here. Not that I’ll ask her outright. There’s something about Cora that makes me wary and I won’t reveal my real reason for checking in to Arcania until I know more. What better way to get to know my hostess than attend her supposed life-altering meditation session?
“Count me in.”
“Great.” Demi claps her hands like an excited child. “Do you want me to wait for you or meet you in the yoga studio?”
“I need to change, so I’ll see you there.”
“Okay.” Demi waves and practically jogs up the corridor, her jaunty ponytail swinging side to side, her matching peach leggings and crop top definitely designer. She makes me feel ancient when we’re probably the same age.
Mid-twenties is young to be married these days, and it seems like Demi and Craig have been hitched for a while. They have that ease about them; not quite finishing each other’s sentences, but a relaxed intimacy I envy.
I’m a librarian cliche, preferring the company of fictional men to the real thing. My infrequent lackluster dating lately hasn’t inspired me to enter a committed relationship, let alone contemplate loving someone enough to marry.
In my teens, I blamed Mom for my non-existent social life; like her agoraphobia somehow rubbed off on me. I rarely got invited to parties and if I did, I’d end up with fellow nerds, pretending to enjoy the bitter beer but hiding behind a big red plastic cup staring wistfully at the popular kids dancing or making out.
Back then, it seemed easier to blame Mom than acknowledge the truth: that I’m not a people person and never will be. I’m inherently shy and cherish solitude.
Who knows, maybe it is more nurture than nature and growing up with Mom made me introverted? The thing is, I’ve been happy with my staid life. Until now. Losing Mom, then discovering her tattoo that points to a very different life she once had, has shaken me. It makes me question everything I’ve ever known. Am I wasting my life, feigning contentment when I should seek adventure? Is there more out there for me if I look for it?
