Rebecca Winters - One Winter's Sunset

It made sense, though she doubted his motives were that simple. Cole had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to get back together and didn’t want a divorce. At the same time, he’d made it clear he didn’t want children.

Still, the part of her that had got up in the middle of the night, worried, scared and lonely, craved the connection they’d had in their early days. Would it be so bad to rely on him, just for a few days, especially as she got used to the idea of the changes that lay ahead for her? What could it hurt?

Or was she just looking for a reason to be close to the man who was no longer her perfect fit?

“Tell me,” he said, draping an elbow over the bar, “what has you up in the middle of the night besides pie?”

“There are other reasons to get up besides sneaking the last piece of pie?” She grinned.

“I don’t know. Pie’s a pretty compelling reason.” He leaned in closer to her, and for a second, she thought—no, hoped—he was going to kiss her. “So what’s on your mind? I know you, Emily, and I know that look on your face. The way your brow furrows right there—” he laid a gentle finger on her temple “—tells me you’re worried about something.”

In that moment she wanted to tell Cole about the baby. Tell him how worried she was that she wouldn’t be a good mother or that she would let the baby down somehow. A long time ago, Cole had been her best friend, the one she told everything to. But as they’d drifted apart, their friendship had eroded, and that, Emily knew, was what she mourned most about the end of her marriage.

Besides, if she told him about the baby, she knew how he’d react. He’d be angry that she had deviated from the careful plan they’d had. He didn’t want kids now—and maybe not even later. He’d made that clear several times over the years and had reiterated the point the other day.

“I’m, uh, writing a book,” she said. “I got a little writer’s block and I was up, trying to figure out the next step in the plot.”

He arched a brow in surprise. “You’re writing a book?”

“I used to do that back in college, you know. I just put it aside for a while.”

“I remember. Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why did you ever stop writing? You used to love doing it.”

“Well, when we first got married, we were both working a crazy amount of hours while you got the business off the ground. Then once you were successful, my days got sucked up with things to support that.” She fiddled with the fork, tapping it against the empty plate. “That’s an excuse, really. I had the time, if I’d really wanted to find it. I just didn’t.”

“Why not?”

She raised a shoulder, dropped it. “I guess I was afraid. Once I finish a book, I have to send it out, and that...”

“Means you could get rejected.”

She exhaled. “Yeah.”

“But you’ve started now.” Cole’s hand covered hers. “That’s all that matters. And if no publisher wants your book, I’ll buy a printing press and—”

Emily jerked to her feet. Damn it. Why did he always return to the same answer? “Cole, I don’t want you to solve my problems with money. I wasn’t even asking you to solve it. I just wanted to talk, like you did with me, and have you listen, and most of all, let me find my own solution. If I get rejected, I get rejected. Maybe I’m not meant to be a writer. But you have to let me find that out instead of trying to fix everything with money.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do. When I was upset because my mother was moving to Florida, you bought her a house near ours. When I struggled to learn golf, you hired the best PGA coach in the business and flew him out to show me how to improve my swing. When I was sick with the flu, you had a doctor move into the guest room to be sure I was taken care of.”

“That’s what money buys, Emily. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, there is,” she said. She put the dishes in the sink and propped her hands on either side. “It’s the whole reason we’re not together anymore, Cole. You talk about wanting to fix our relationship, about being a better husband, about being there for me. That was all I ever wanted, Cole, you. And what did I get instead?” She turned away from the sink. “Your checkbook.”

“I was just trying to make things easier.”

“Because it’s easier to throw money at a problem than to actually get your hands—and your heart—into it.” She shook her head, and wondered why she kept letting hope rise in her when they always circled back to the same disappointing end. Even if they stayed together and had the baby, she didn’t need a crystal ball to predict the future. Cole would buy toys and trips to Disney World, but never be there for the first steps and soccer games. She let out a long, sad breath. “All I ever wanted was you.”

Then she left the room, before the tears in her eyes spilled down her cheeks and told Cole the truth. That all she wanted now, and always, was him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“A MAN COULD hurt himself doing that.”

Cole turned at the familiar voice. Joe Bishop stood in the driveway of the Gingerbread Inn, grinning like a fool. Damn, it was good to see him. Cole notched the ax into the turned-over log beside him, then headed down the hill and over to his friend, one of the few people Cole had known since childhood. The two men exchanged a hearty hug while Harper barked and leaped around them, excited to see another newcomer. “I’m glad you’re here, Joe. And not to help chop wood, though if you want to grab an ax, I won’t stop you.”

Joe laughed. “Count on you to show an old buddy a good time.”

“Come on, let’s get something to drink.” Cole gestured to Joe to follow him. They circled around to the back door of the inn and went into the kitchen, where Cole pulled two icy beers out of the fridge and handed one to Joe. “We had some good times back in the day, more than one, if I remember right.”

“If you’re talking about your bachelor party,” Joe said, “my memory of that night is a little fuzzy. In a good way.”

Cole chuckled. “That was one wild night.”

“Indeed. So was your wedding.” Joe grinned. “That was, what, ten years ago? Every once in a while, I still think about that night. And the cute bartender I met.” He winked. “Remember how she did that little shake when she mixed martinis? I think I ordered five of them just to see her shimmy.”

Joe, still a ladies’ man, the one in their group least likely to settle down. He’d started a landscaping business out of high school, and though he’d been successful enough to be able to expand and conquer the greater Boston area, Joe liked to keep his business small and manageable, so he could take off at a moment’s notice for a weekend with a pretty woman.

“To unforgettable women,” Cole said, tipping his bottle to connect with Joe’s.

Joe took a long gulp. “Speaking of unforgettable women...how’s Emily?”

The beer lost its appeal for Cole. He set his bottle on the steps, then sat down. How was Emily? That was the million-dollar question. Last night, he’d thought they were making progress, getting close again. For a second, it had been like the old days when they were united by their struggles to get from nowhere to somewhere. Then somehow, the closeness derailed again.

He was missing something, some detail, but what it was, he couldn’t say. Was it just about the money?

He used to think they both wanted success, but Emily seemed to resent the very thing he’d worked so hard to achieve. Admittedly, she had a point about him hiring people instead of doing the work himself. But a man could only spread himself so thin. Didn’t she understand he’d done it to ease their lives rather than complicate them?