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Thirty
Emilia walkedthe long road into town, an oversized tan wool cardigan hanging off her shoulders and a strong wind pushing into her back. It had been four days since her conversation with Blaine, and it had taken her all that time to drum up enough courage to make the trip to Oak Tree to send that email.
A dull ache wound its way through her body, stealing her breath and pulling heavy at her core. His request for her to involve him in her life wasn’t unreasonable, but her past had a strong hold, and she struggled to break free. That lack of freedom meant she couldn’t give him all the things he wanted, much less the truth. Not yet, anyway.
Could a relationship survive without honesty?Without trust?In her experience, no.What she held inside would hurt her; it would hurt him too, especially if he once again got caught in the crossfire between her, her father, and Anthony.
The forceful gust turned the ends of her hair into whips that stung her cheeks, the icy air penetrating her clothes and causing her to shiver. Still, the discomfort suited her mood.
Blaine’s encouragement grated against her years of neglect. Years of being invisible amidst people who knew her name but not her nature.
More than that, she’d let those people overrun her life. Or maybe it was just that passivity had been trained in her from a young age. A little girl taught not to make a fuss. Now she had to pay her dues and the dues of others for their selfish decisions. The loss of her freedom had been the cost of handing over her power, of letting others choose for her, and then there’d been her happiness.
And Blaine.
Her fingers curled around Oak Tree’s cold brass door handle, a line of thick gray clouds rolling above like a bad omen. Her long list of unspoken confusions another reason why it had taken her so long to pay this visit. What would happen if or when her past caught up to her?
The bell above the door rang behind her, even as she stepped inside and Blaine’s green eyes glinted her way. “Are you alone?”
He nodded, and she padded closer, his hands busy with a pile of receipts at the store’s counter, though the clump of paper now hung limp between his finger, and his stare held hers. “The weather’s turning, so I sent everyone home early.”
“I’ve come to send that email.”
He positioned a dark-wood stool beside him at the counter, then gestured for her to sit. “I’ll count receipts while you work.”
Her face heated. Maybe it was shame, but she took the seat anyway, nothing but silence filling the space.
He slid an already open laptop before her, the white glow of the screen glaring in her eyes. After a moment she opened the login page for her email, but after that she just stared ahead, nauseated, her heart squeezing, her hands hovering over the keys about to make one stupid mistake.
“Would it be okay if I used the store’s email address to contact Rochelle?” She added fake brightness to her tone, disallowing him to see her waning confidence, needing to cover her bases in case Anthony had already hacked into her own email account. “That way Rochelle can respond to you directly.”
Which also meant he could still make this deal if something happened to her.
He gave her a sideways glance but crossed the small space to type at the keyboard. The crisp scent of refreshing cologne drifted over her like a light ocean breeze. Cool perfection.
“Thanks.” She eased away a little more. “While you’re there, do you have photos of your work to attach to this email?”
“There’s a folder titled ‘inventory photos’.” He used the cursor to point out the file he meant. “Pick whichever ones you think she’ll like.”
He moved out the way, and she took over. The gaping silence drew ever wider while she browsed images—the click of the trackpad and the shuffling of receipts too mild for the distraction she wished for. Before long, she hit send on the email, and the computer dinged to confirm her message was dispatched.
Before she could even look at him, Blaine spoke. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
Her heart gave a sharp pang, his perceptiveness something she loved and hated. “Yes.”
“Do I scare you?”
She paused and took a second to think over her reply. “No. Not you personally.”
“So then tell me what the last few days have been about. I thought that talk in your kitchen changed things between us, but you’ve been holding back. I can feel it.”
He shifted closer to her, but she angled away. “Things have changed, but there’s a lot I can’t talk about.”
“We’ve established that.” And even as she tried to gain some physical distance, somehow his gaze still held her as immovably as his hands might have. “Try anyway.”
She wouldn’t bring him into her troubles. “One way or another, you’re going to hurt me, or I’ll hurt you. I can’t handle being disappointed again. I can’t handle disappointing you again, either. And I can’t shake the feeling that this won’t end well. There’s more history and risk to our relationship than either of us admit to. Wasn’t one ugly ending punishment enough?”
He stepped closer, crowding her space and caging her in, not much different to a deer trapped in a lion’s den. “I’ve already said I don’t want more than you can give. As much as you believe things won’t end well, I believe the opposite is just as likely. That we’ll have a future together. A constant sense of belonging. Of having someone to share all life’s moments with. And you’re being flippant.”
