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But she wasn’t? Not really.
Her mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out.
He didn’t like that, didn’t like seeing her upset, and he needed to find out where the hell she’d been. If she’d gone out in the middle of the night, something had to be very wrong.
“Is there a fire?” he slurred.
“What? No.” She stumbled back, hands on her cheeks. “Oh God.”
“You’re shaking,” he forced out, jaw refusing to loosen.
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Despite her assurances, she started to sob, and the sound dug into his gut like a shovel. “Let’s get you into the house. Everything is fine, I promise.”
You’ve always been a fucking head case.
The final blow landed in the form of humiliation. His legs weren’t working correctly and he sounded like an idiot and he was scaring her. Scaring Hallie. That fact scored his insides like a razor blade. On top of the unsteady feeling in his limbs and dulled cognizance, he was already anticipating the numbness that would follow. He wouldn’t be able to comfort her then. Wouldn’t be able to do anything. He couldn’t let Hallie see him like that. The way his father had witnessed him in the back bedroom of the main house. When Julian couldn’t mentally surface enough to help. To act. To be a useful member of the family in the most trying of times.
Stay away from the vineyard.
In her effort to get Julian back on his feet, the corner of something white peeked out of the pocket of Hallie’s windbreaker. He stared at it through the blur, through the blazing-hot mortification, not sure why it was triggering something in his memory. Something about the color and shape was familiar. If he wasn’t so disoriented, he might have asked to see the object in her pocket, but in this state, where nothing seemed normal or typical, he reached for it without asking and drew it out.
And stared down at a . . . letter from his secret admirer?
What was Hallie doing with it?
“Where . . .” He shook his head hard, trying to clear the debris. “Is this where you went? To go get this letter? Why?”
Now Hallie’s breathing matched his own. Scattered and wheezing and not making sense, as they were both sitting down on the steps of her porch, though he couldn’t remember when they’d taken a seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, hiccupping. “I’m so sorry.”
The truth hit him like the spray from an ice-cold hose.
Hallie had left in the middle of the night to get this letter.
Which meant she’d known it was there . . . and didn’t want him to find it.
Didn’t want him to read the contents. Because she already knew what they were?
With a swallow stuck in his throat, Julian tore open the envelope and read the letter, his concentration returning to him in that moment, like the blunt swing of a bat. It was hard to decide in that moment how he felt.
“I pictured you as the admirer the whole time,” he said, sounding foggy, words running together. “Should have listened to my gut, I guess . . .”
Hallie reared back, stricken. He tried to reach out and stroke her face, but his arm wouldn’t lift. Was he angry? No. Not exactly. He really didn’t know how to be angry with this woman. Was it humanly possible to be anything but grateful that she’d returned his feelings so strongly that she’d written letters to him? Grateful that she’d found a way to reach him when he’d had his head up his ass?
No, despite the fact that she’d lied, he’d honestly be a fool to be mad about this. Their connection, however it came about, was a gift. But now, the residual fear he’d woken up with—fear that she was hurt or in danger—threatened to choke him.
Julian lurched to his feet and entered the house, dead set on getting out of there immediately. It had happened again. Right in front of her. He’d just shown the woman he loved his greatest weakness. One that he’d done everything in his power to hide, to deal with, to overcome. And if he had to look at her sympathy for another second, he was going to die.
“Julian, can you please stop walking away from me? Say something, please?” She was panicking, crying, shredding the letter in her hands, and there was nothing he could do about it. Comfort her? He wasn’t capable. Not in this state—and not when he already knew what was coming next. At least she was safe. Thank God she was safe. “I’m sorry. I thought you would find it earlier today. The letter. I wanted you to know everything, but then . . . Please, everything was just so perfect, so perfect that I couldn’t mess it up.”
No, he’d been the one to do that.
