Brenda Harlen - The New Girl In Town

“I don’t need a darkroom,” she said.

“There’s plenty of room in the basement,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And it’s certainly dark down there. Or you could convert the laundry room.

“I designed a home for Warren Crenshaw and his wife, Nancy. They’re both nature photographers—not professionally, but it’s a hobby they share. We put a darkroom right off their bedroom.”

“I don’t need a darkroom,” she repeated tightly. “I’m not a photographer anymore.”

“Whether or not you have a camera in your hand, you’re still a photographer. It’s the kind of thing that’s in your blood—like designing houses is in mine.”

She shook her head, swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I left that part of my life in Manhattan.”

He hesitated, as if there was something more he wanted to say, but then her cell phone rang.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table.

She dug the phone out of her purse, connecting the call before it patched through to her voice mail. “Hello.”

“Where are you?” Scott asked without preamble.

The unexpected sound of his voice gave her a jolt, and made her heart ache just a little. The question, on the other hand, and the tone, annoyed her. “Why are you calling?”

“I just wanted to check in, see how you were doing.”

She walked toward the window, away from where Mason was still seated at the table. “I’m fine.”

“I’d be more likely to believe that if you were where you said you’d be.”

“I am in Pinehurst,” she told him.

“You said you’d be staying with Claire.”

“Not forever.”

He sighed. “She told me you were thinking about buying a house.”

She frowned at that, wondering why her friend would have told Scott anything. But she couldn’t blame Claire because she knew, better than anyone, how charming and persuasive he could be. “And?”

“Buying a house is a major decision,” he said gently. “And you’ve had a tough year.”

“Too late.”

She heard his groan, fought back a smile.

“It was completely irrational and impulsive,” she admitted. “I saw the sign on the lawn, contacted the agent and made an offer.”

“Please tell me you at least had a home inspection done.”

Now she did smile. Reasonable, practical Scott Cowan would never understand the need deep within her heart that had compelled her to buy this house. “A home inspector would have told me it needed a lot of work,” she said, not admitting that she’d been given a copy of the report from an inspection done on the property just a few months earlier. “I already know that.”

“Christ, Zoe. Have you gone completely off the deep end?”

“That seems to be the general consensus,” she agreed.

“Let me contact my lawyers,” he said. “Maybe there’s a way to undo the transaction.”

“No,” she said quickly.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

She sighed. “I mean, I don’t want it undone. I want this house.”

“You could be making a very big mistake,” he warned.

She knew he was right. But she’d spent the better part of her twenty-nine years doing the smart thing, the safe thing—and she’d still been unprepared for the curves that life had thrown her way. Even if buying this house turned out to be a mistake, it would be her mistake.

“Why should you care?” she challenged. “You walked out on me, remember?”

“You kicked me out.”

He was right, she had to admit. But only because she couldn’t continue to live with him the way things had been.

“Does it matter?” she asked wearily. “The end result is the same.”

“I’ll always care about you, Zoe.”

And that might have been enough to hold them together if other obstacles hadn’t got in the way. She rubbed her hand over her chest, trying to assuage an ache she wasn’t sure would ever go away. “Was that the only reason you called?”

“When’s your next appointment with Dr. Allison?”

She felt the sting of tears. If he’d been half as concerned about her twelve or even six months ago, what had been left of their relationship might not have fallen apart.

“I have to go, Scott.”

Before he could say anything else, she disconnected the call. She heard the telltale scrape of chair legs against the hardwood floor and blinked the moisture from her eyes.

She felt Mason’s hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly turning her to face him. “Zoe?”

She didn’t—couldn’t—look at him. She just needed half a minute to pull herself together, to find the cloak of feigned confidence and false courage that she’d learned to wrap around herself so no one would see how shaky and scared she was feeling inside.

“Who was that on the phone?” he asked.

She took a deep, steadying breath and prepared to dodge the question. After all, it was none of his business. She hardly knew this man; she certainly didn’t owe him any explanations.

But when she looked up at him, she realized he wasn’t trying to pry or interfere. He’d asked the question because he knew she was upset, and he was concerned. In the past eighteen months, she’d withdrawn into herself. She’d been let down by people she’d counted on, disappointed by friends who hadn’t been there for her. Except for her almost daily phone calls to Claire, she’d been on her own. She’d learned to rely on herself, to need no one else.

After only a few days in this small town, she knew that was one of the reasons she’d come here—because she didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. She wanted—needed—friends to care about and who would care about her.

So she took what she hoped was the first step in that direction and answered his question honestly.

“That was my husband.”

Husband?

Mason’s head reeled. Zoe’s announcement had caught him completely unaware. And delivered as it was, in that soft, sexy voice, the punch was even more unexpected.

It took a minute for his brain to absorb this startling bit of information that—at least for him—changed the whole equation.

Zoe was married.

He couldn’t have said why her revelation surprised him so much, or why it left him feeling oddly disappointed. He only knew that he needed to stop thinking of this woman as his sexy new neighbor and focus on the fact that she was someone’s wife.

Damn.

Zoe might not be his usual type, but he found himself drawn to her regardless. There was just something about her that intrigued him—enough so that, in the brief time between their first meeting that morning and his return for their scheduled appointment, he’d found himself looking forward to spending time with her, getting to know her. And maybe, eventually, moving toward a more intimate and personal relationship with her.

Of course, that was all before he’d learned she was married.

It was his own fault for letting his fantasies get ahead of him, and he silently cursed himself for that now. His hand dropped away and he took a step back.

She gazed at him uncertainly as she folded her arms over her chest. Her cell phone was still clutched in her hand—her left hand. He noted that fact along with the absence of any rings on her fingers.

“You don’t wear a wedding band,” he noted.

Of course he knew that not everyone did. But he sensed that she was the type who would, that if she’d made a commitment to someone, she would display the evidence of that commitment. Then again, he’d been wrong about assuming she was uninvolved, so maybe he was wrong about this, too.

She shook her head and moved back to the dining room, returning to the chair she’d vacated to answer the call. “No, I don’t wear a ring. Not anymore. Not since…that is, I’m—I mean we’re—getting a divorce.”