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“I’m going to be back tomorrow or the day after. We need to talk.”
“All right. I’ll be here...I’ll be here waiting for you.”
I should just rip the bandage off now but I don’t. She’s going to be strategizing and getting her hopes up, I know that.Don’t waste your time, that’s what I should tell her, because I made my decision the moment that scrap of paper fell from her bag. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell we’re going to be together again. Even if Wes Kellerisfirmly in the picture—and God, it kills me to even think it—the chapter of my life with Samantha in it is over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Simon
“Couldn’t sleep?” Her voice startles me. I turn to see her sitting in one of the deck chairs sipping coffee. She’s bundled up in a plaid blanket with just her bare toes peeking out, hair in a messy topknot. “It’s super early.”
“I actually got a pretty decent sleep. I’m used to running on five or six hours.”
The closer I get, the stronger the aroma of freshly-baked something gets. I barely ate dinner last night, so I’m ravenous. So hungry that I forget all the uncomfortable bullshit that’s between us.
“Smells good.”
“Blueberry muffins.” She smiles. Is she thinking about all those mornings she snuck across the street to bring me chocolate chip or blueberry muffins? That’s where my mind has drifted. She glances at the time on her phone screen. “They’ve got about five more minutes to go.”
The house is situated facing slightly to the east, and the sun is just now making its presence known. “Do you watch the sunrise every morning?”
“No.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I mean, I do like my quiet coffee time before Ethan gets up, but I’m not usually up this early.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” I repeat her words, looking for another smile, but I don’t get one.
She blows on her coffee. “Lot’s on my mind.” Before I can respond, she says, “Sorry I ran out on you last night. I felt crappy when I got home and you were gone.”
“It was probably for the best. I needed some time to think.”
She nods. “Me too. Running helps me clear my head.” Charlotte fiddles with a loose string on the corner of the blanket. “So, was I right? Were you hating on me hard after looking through Ethan’s baby book?”
I hang my head, not wanting to look her in the eye right now. “I don’t hate you.”
“But?”
I take in a deep breath and then look to her. “Coffee first?”
She practically leaps out of the chair. “Be right back.”
The few minutes she’s gone gives me some time to think this through. I want to know about Wes—I'm chomping at the bit to ask her—but Ethan is the priority here. I need to keep my head on straight.
She hands me a warm muffin and a steaming cup of coffee made just the way I like it. I savor the mouthful as much as I savor the fact that she remembers this simple piece of information about me: cream, light, no sugar.
“The blueberries are fresh.”
“I used to love those muffins from the diner, but this tastes so much better. Makes those ones seem like cardboard crap.”
“Wild blueberries are abundant up here.”
I smile listening to her, because someone else would have said that blueberries areeverywhereor they’reeasy to get. Charlotte always had a good vocabulary. Never put on airs or anything, just always chose the word that fit best like it was second nature to her.
“We eat so many that sometimes I think we’re going to turn into blueberries. Blueberry vanilla ice cream, blueberry pancakes, blueberry jam.” She laughs when she sees I’ve already finished the muffin. “I’m getting you another.”
“Thanks,” I say when she comes back out a minute later. Her hand brushes mine in the transaction, her touch startling and comforting at once. I clear my throat to stave off the emotion before mumbling, “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I noticed you barely ate last night.”
“It was hard.”
