Bed of Roses (Bride Quartet #2)(106)

"Want me to sign in blood?"

"A promise will do. When she's ready, I'll call you. I'll do that for you-and for her-but only if you promise to come here and talk to me before you go to her."

"All right. I promise. Can you just get in touch once in a while, let me know how she is? What she's-"

"No. Good-bye, Jack." Parker closed the door, quietly, in his face.

On the other side of the door, Mac heaved out a breath. "It's not being disloyal to say I have to feel a little bit sorry for him. I know what it's like to be a complete jerk about this kind of thing. Having someone love you and being an ass."

Laurel nodded. "Yeah, you do. Take a minute to feel a little bit sorry for him." She waited, glanced at her watch. "Done?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I guess I'll take a minute, too, because the guy looked rough." Laurel glanced toward the steps. "But she's had it rougher. We should go check on her."

"I will. I think we need to stick to routine as much as we can," Parker added. "She'll only feel worse if things get too backed up, if it affects the business. So for now, we work-and if we do get backed up or hit snags, let's try to keep her out of it until she's steadier."

"If we need an extra hand with anything, we can ask Carter. My guy is the best."

"Do you ever get tired of bragging about that?" Laurel asked Mac.

Mac considered. "Really don't." She slung an arm around Laurel's shoulders. "I guess that's why I feel a little bit for Jack, and a whole lot for Emma. Love can really screw you up before you figure out how to live with it. And once you do? You wonder how the hell you ever lived without it. I think I need to go give Carter a real kick-in-the-ass kiss. I'll check back in this afternoon," Mac added as she started toward the kitchen. "Call if she needs me sooner."

" 'Love can really screw you up before you figure out how to live with it.' " Laurel pursed her lips. "You know, we could put that on the web page."

"It has a ring."

"She's right about Carter. He's the best. But that man is not coming in my kitchen when I'm working. I don't want to have to hurt him, Parker. Let me know if Em needs another shoulder, or you need a soldier on the front line of the bride wars."

With a nod, Parker started up the steps.




UPSTAIRS, EMMA ORDERED HERSELF TO GET OUT OF BED, TO stop lying there feeling sorry for herself. Instead, she hugged a pillow close and stared at the ceiling.



       
         
       
        

Her friends had drawn the curtains over the windows so the room would stay dark and quiet. They'd tucked her in like an invalid, with extra pillows, a vase of freesia on the nightstand. They'd sat with her until she'd slept.

She should be ashamed, she told herself. Ashamed of being so needy, so weak. But she could only be grateful they'd been there, they'd understood what she'd needed.

But now it was another day. She needed to move on, needed to deal with reality. Broken hearts healed. Maybe the cracks were always there, like thin scars, but they healed. People lived and worked, laughed and ate, walked and talked with those cracks.

For many, even the scars healed and they loved again.

But how many of those people had the one who'd broken their heart so entrenched in their life that they had to see him over and over again? For how many was that person like a thread that was so woven into the tapestry of their every day that to pull it out meant everything else unraveled?

She didn't have the option of shutting Jack outside the structure of her life. Of not seeing him again, or only seeing him at specified times.

That was why office romances were so fraught with pitfalls, she decided. When they went bad, you had to face the pain every day. Nine to five, five days a week. Or you quit, you transferred, moved to another city. You escaped so you could heal and go on.

Not an option for her because . . .

Jamaica. Adele's offer.

Not just another office, another city, but another country. A completely fresh start. She could continue to do the work she loved, but be a new person. No complicated relationships, no interwoven ties. No Jack to face whenever he dropped by the house, or whenever they happened to be in the market at the same time. Invited to the same party.

No looks of sympathy from the scores of people who'd know she had those cracks on her heart.

She could do good work. All those tropical flowers. A perpetual spring and summer. A little house on the beach, maybe, where she could listen to the waves every night.

Alone.

She shifted when she heard the door ease open.