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Did he have someone else here? Had another woman just left? Not that it was any of my business. I literally told him nothing could happen between us, so how could I be jealous? But oh, I was. I was so damn jealous. I wanted to find out who she was and then glare at her from a distance.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Sorry, clearly you had someone over before me and—” The words trailed off as I hurried down his front steps and to my car. I was such an idiot. I never should have come here, and I still wasn’t sure why I did. But every time Parker mentioned Laurent and how I’d rather be with him, my heart would agree, despite my brain's reluctance.
“I don’t think so,” Laurent said. He caught up to me and placed himself between me and my car.
“I shouldn’t have come.” I did everything but look at him, finally focusing on the car door handle. It was close, but not close enough. Not when I had a wall made out of handsome man blocking my reach.
“Then why did you?”
Because I traveled the world for years, searching for that feeling of home, never being able to find it, but this doorstep, Laurent, it made me feel safe, welcomed.
It felt like home.
I didn’t say any of that, though. I couldn’t. Not after how I treated him. Deep down, it hurt me just as much as I knew it hurt him, but I was scared. Scared of becoming my mother. Scared I’d leave an empty hole in the hearts of those who loved me, so it was better to keep from getting too close. Better to keep running away when things got too real.
Yet why did I come to him? It was like I knew I should stay away. But I couldn’t.
I was hurting him like I hurt Parker. “I shouldn’t have come. You clearly had someone else here and you have every right.” I didn’t want to be selfish, but that’s what I was. I couldn’t give him what he wanted in life, yet I hated to think of anyone else but me in his arms.
My lip quivered, and I meant to turn away, but the night weighed heavy on my shoulders. I stood there, trying not to fall apart at the thought of Laurent with another woman.
“Hey.” He touched my chin, and tilted my head until the blues of his eyes were boring into mine. “Franc and Gio, his son, just left. My nephew forgets everything, so I just assumed he forgot something like he always does.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t a woman.”
“There’s only one woman I want here, and up until I opened that door, I thought she was going to avoid me, so care to tell me why you’re knocking on my door after sunset?”
I ignored the happy flutter of my heart at his admission. “I kind of got in a fight with Parker. Well, I guess it wasn’t really a fight, but I couldn’t stay in that small space with her, and she kept saying how she assumed I’d rather be here with you.”
“Would you?”
“Huh?”
“Rather be here with me?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, purposely avoiding his gaze. “I need a place to crash. I assumed Mr. Moneybags would have a spare room. If not, I can go back to the resort and find an empty room.” Though I doubted I’d find one with the crochet club taking over.
He turned away and headed for the house. My heart slumped in my chest. Not that I could blame him. I wouldn’t want me around either. Defeated, I spun toward my car.
“You coming?” Laurent asked, stopping shy of the door.
My breath hitched as I turned to him. We stared at each other for a moment, then I nodded. With a sigh of relief, I made my way up the steps. Laurent held the door with one arm, his big frame taking up the small doorway. I slipped in and heat bloomed in my arm as it rubbed against his warm chest.
It took more restraint than I was willing to admit to not throw myself into his embrace and let him hold me. A hug sounded really good about now, but I lost that right when I ran out on him… again.
I followed Laurent into his kitchen that looked like an Italian villa complete with built in wine racks and a very long island topped with beige marble that popped against the dark wood cabinets.
Laurent picked up a bottle of red. “I was about to pour myself a glass. Would you like some? I have a bottle of white, if you prefer.”
“A glass of Cab Franc is fine.”
His eyebrow arched as he poured the wine into the glass, then slid it across the counter to me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
“You never used to call wine by its name. Just the red stuff and the white stuff. Oh, and can’t forget the pink stuff and the fizzy stuff.”
