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The vision crashed over me like a dizzying wave. It was my dock, my house, the picture I’d tried so hard to insert Phoebe into and come up short.
But the image of Haven standing in the spot that was mine, the blue ripples of Pelion Lake fanning out around her was luminous and blindingly bright. I couldn’t blink it away. And it was wonderful and it was awful, because she didn’t want that with me.
We were friends. With benefits, but still just friends.
She was leaving, just passing through town.
And somehow, none of those things dimmed the picture in my mind.
I wanted to laugh and fall to my knees. It was hilarious. And completely tragic.
She turned toward me, flashing her dazzling smile, those wild curls bouncing around her face. My heart squeezed and then dipped, then soared, and seemed to bounce off the inside walls of my chest. My brain felt funny too, both cloudy and clanging. Maybe I didn’t picture a future with Haven so much as I was suffering from a cerebral hemorrhage. Perhaps apoplexy was imminent.
I waited to keel over.
No such luck.
She smiled again and my heart did the same dip and soar, the same vision blossoming, brighter than before, dispelling the mist that had begun to creep around the edges of my mind. Oh God. No.
I stared, feeling almost . . . baffled. How did this happen? I didn’t ask for this.
She tilted her head, concern filling her face, and the world rushed back in an onslaught of sound and light. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes.” I let out a long, slow breath, picking up a trinket from the table and pretending to study it intently.
“You seem very interested in that.”
“Hmm,” I hummed, attempting to get my heart rate under control. I felt sweaty and mildly ill. “Yes. I . . . collect them,” I said, bringing it closer. I couldn’t look at her. Not right then. Not yet.
“It’s a thimble,” she said. “With the picture of a . . . donkey on it. It’s a donkey thimble.”
The thing came into focus. I didn’t even know what a thimble was but it appeared to be a miniature upside-down cup. And yes, with the picture of a donkey on it.
It wasn’t even a very attractive donkey.
Frankly, it was downright ugly.
Haven took it gently from my fingers. “I’ll take this,” she said to the booth vendor, handing him the fifty cents he quoted her and holding the thimble out to me again. “My gift to you.”
I swallowed, taking the thimble and putting it in my pocket. “Thank you,” I said, finally meeting her eyes. She gave me a searching look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Well, I’d live. Apparently. I nodded. Yes. No. I don’t know.
What I did know—suddenly and unmistakably—was that she was capable of shattering my heart. And if she was going to, all I could do was let her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Travis
I’d eventually reclaimed my equilibrium, and we’d spent the remainder of the antique fair sampling snacks from the food trucks on the outer perimeter, and digging through what might be treasure or junk depending on the individual.
It was the best day of my life.
And the worst.
I was still mildly shaken, even sitting in my room after having returned hours before. We hadn’t made any plans and though I longed to go to her, I kind of wanted to wallow too.
There was this distant feeling of happy satisfaction, combined with confusion and discombobulation, similar to the way I’d felt the morning after I’d gotten really drunk at the annual Cinco de Mayo taco and tequila crawl on Main Street. I’d thrown my back out doing the limbo at the lakeshore, and passed out in the sun.
Good times. Great times.
And exceedingly difficult to recover from.
Much less live down.
To this day, I still felt a small twinge in my back if I twisted too far in the wrong direction.
Thank God there was no video evidence this time.
I picked up the thimble and stuck it on my index finger, not able to help the groan of embarrassment that rose in my throat over the ridiculousness of the thing. The tangible reminder of the nervous breakdown I’d had the moment I realized I wanted this woman in my future, and that the chances of that actually happening were slim to none.
Speaking of twinges.
The muffled sound of Clarice’s laughter came from the hall, combined with the thunk of something heavy. “It’s been wonderful,” I heard her say.
Was she leaving?
Oh no, she wasn’t.
Not without providing what she owed me. Answers.
I flung my door open, rushing into the hall to see Betty at the top of the stairs, smiling as Clarice descended, a carry-on travel bag in her hand.
“Wait!” I said, following her.
She glanced back at me, but kept going, only stopping when she’d made it to the bottom, setting her bag on the floor. “Stop accosting me, Chief.”
