The icy, angry pit of fear still sits in my chest. And I know, with this development, I’ll be finishing the mural as soon as the roads are dry—and that should be tomorrow. And I’ll be booking my flight out on the 27th. Joanna might stay, and she might leave. Regardless, the look on Rowan’s face tells me he has healing to do as well. I turn on my heels and walk back into the house, because snubbing Joanna right here and right now is the very best thing I can do. And it’s probably the best for my sanity. Do anything else, and I’ll be in way over my head.
Don’t try to be someone you’re not. You’ll regret it every time. My mother’s words echo in my mind, and I can feel them settling into my psyche. Everything about this feels wrong right now, and I’ll be packing my bags to get out of here early.
I let Eliza back into the living room and sit there, sipping cocoa and watching out of the big, floor-to-ceiling windows as Rowan makes Joanna trudge out to the guest room, lugging about half of her own baggage. I don’t know what she expected to happen, but I’m betting it wasn’t this. Still, my stomach is in knots, and there’s a pain growing in the center of my chest.
It’s the pain of a lot of things. But it makes me even more sure that I can’t stay, not right now.
When Rowan stomps back in through the mudroom, there’s snow in his hair, and his cheeks are bright red from the cold. Again, the worst part of me comments that he might be better off with a woman like Joanna. She’d know what to do at parties, and she’d know about decorating things, and entertaining.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She’s gone, and I find myself in the very unmanly position of being lonely, with no one to talk to, no one to keep my warm. Sure, my feet are still warm in the new slippers I ordered, and Eliza sits with me when I’m typing away and talking to new donors and people interested in volunteering for the Coming Home Foundation. But all of that is the very slightest distraction from wondering about Cadence, feeling that ache of longing when I think of her.
And it’s not just the longing for her body. It’s the longing for her presence by my side. Watching her paint, watching her as she walks through the early morning mist toward the horse’s stables, Eliza steady and patient by her side. And she wouldn’t admit it, but Symphony got under her skin too.
And Cadence is under mine, in a way that makes me wonder if I did everything I could to make her stay, convince her that I don’t need a woman to be a brood mare, that we’d make a family from whatever we could find. Because that’s what Cadence is. She’s the woman I want to spend every Christmas with, the woman I want to have by my side, no matter the circumstances.
Maybe I did too much thinking about what I needed all along, and not enough wondering what she wanted from this whole thing. Listen back to all the words she said, and don’t fuck it up when you see her again.
I take out my phone and look at it, and then I put my computer on the coffee table where Cadence left her cocoa and wine. There’s a ring where she sat her drinks, and I smile. I’d like to see her leave a few more.
“She’s right,” I say to Eliza. “We only knew each other a month.” Eliza looks over at me, lifting her heavy head and blinking her eyes blearily. She yawns like she’s heard it all before. “But it was a really good month. Maybe the best one.”
Several emails pop up in the time I’ve set my computer down, but I close the computer and push it to the side. “Can’t go see her, I don’t think. She needs her... time. I guess. Something a big dumb man won’t understand, right Liza?”
Eliza goes back to sleep, and I pick up my phone again. I scroll through the contacts, past Cadence’s name, to a person I haven’t talked to in all the years since I built my estate. Without stopping to reflect on my loneliness any longer, I press the name and wait to hear the ringing on the other end. A sleepy voice answers, and I realize it’s not quite six in the morning. But already, there are plans forming in my head.
“David, sorry to call so early. But you should be awake anyway.”
He laughs and yawns deeply. “Talk to me, Rowan. What’s the plan? If you’re calling me this early, I know there is one.”
“I want the guest house turned into an art studio.” I hear him breathe in sharply like he can’t quite believe what I’m saying. After all, he knew me when I was with Joanna. And Joanna would flip her stupid shit over something like this. But now I know better. No, now you know a better woman. Before he responds, I’m talking again. “I need a shitload of skylights in the roof, windows on the wall that faces the mountains. Floor to ceiling windows, with French doors on both sides. Fire pit out front, big porch on the side that faces the house.”