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“Of course! I love him!”
“Okay, then maybe...you know...stop compartmentalizing him.”
With an eye roll, she sighed. “That’s not what I’m doing, Jason.”
“I think it is. You sent him back to L.A. even though you know if you would have unclenched a bit, it would have been nice to have someone with you while you grieve. You talk about coming here to see your family, but not include him. He’s moving to Durham—Durham, Sienna!—and all you can talk about is how you won’t have time to travel with him. It seems to me like you’re being a little standoffish and...selfish.”
That made her jump up. “Selfish? Selfish? How can you even say that? I have never been selfish and you know it!”
“You are my sister and I love you, but you are just taking and taking and taking from him and he must really be head over heels for you because all he’s doing is giving. I get that you’re used to being independent, but...relationships require a give and take, Sienna. And if you can’t even give to bring him home to spend a weekend with your family, then maybe...this relationship isn’t right. For either of you.”
Walking into the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine and took a long drink—something she didn’t normally do, but desperately needed at the moment.
“Jason,” she began calmly, “I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing. This is all new and Mick and I will work it all out.”
His sigh was weary and loud. “I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt. I know how you are, and...I want you to be happy. You’re so regimented and closed off emotionally that I’m not sure you know how to let someone else in.”
“I’m not...”
“Just...think about it, okay?” he asked. “Bree just got home with some pizza, so I need to go. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll call you next week. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Hanging up, Sienna finished her wine and glanced around with a frown. In all the chaos since she’d gotten home from L.A., she’s been a little disorganized. It wasn’t exactly something new, but she’d been distracted when she got back and now that she looked around, she saw that there were piles of mail she hadn’t gone through—not including today’s—and she still had one suitcase that she hadn’t unpacked yet.
“Might as well make it a super fun Friday night—first, argue with my brother, then, have wine for dinner while unpacking dirty clothes. Awesome.”
Taking the suitcase into the laundry room, she pulled out clothes and tossed them into the washer—even the ones she knew were clean simply because they’d been sitting in the luggage for so long. She went through all the zipper compartments and found random socks and hair ties, but when she unzipped the large front pocket and reached inside, she gasped.
Slowly, Sienna pulled out the envelope and walked back out to the living room where she sat down and stared at it in disbelief.
It was the book proposal.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she opened it and read over the letter from the publisher.
And then read it a second, third, and even fourth time.
Was she ready to write a book? Did she want to write a book?
Just as she had thought that day back in New York, it was a project that would take a lot of her time, but it would be something different—a change from her every day, boring routine.
And she desperately needed that.
Still needed that—even after her fabulous vacation.
Wait...could this be the solution? Could she possibly take this leap of faith and make this her job—writing—while taking an extended break from her current one? She could write anywhere, which meant that...she could travel with Mick if she wanted to.
And the thought of writing on the deck of his Malibu home was almost enough to make her pack her bags right now.
“Okay, don’t be rash,” she reminded herself. “You need to think about this and...”
The doorbell ringing brought her up short.
No one ever came to her door unless it was a delivery and she hadn’t ordered anything. Standing, she walked to the door and looked out the peephole and smiled.
“Hi, Mrs. Bailey,” she said as she opened the door. “How are you?” Mrs. Bailey lived in the townhouse next door—they shared a wall—and was in her seventies. She reminded Sienna of her grandmother.
