“Ah well, more carnitas for us,” Henry says with a smile.
I shake my head. Why am I letting Christian get to me? If he wants to act like a complete ass, then that is his choice. The man I am going to marry is here, spending time with my closest friends. I’m not about to let my ex ruin it.
“So, Colin, I noticed the space across the street is for rent,” Henry comments.
Colin looks at him, puzzled. “The old Stone Mill Bakery?” he asks.
Pressing his lips together, Henry shakes his head. “I don’t know. Would that be the one a few doors down from the inn?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Emmie replies.
“Do you know the story on it?” Henry asks, and I find myself just as clueless as the rest of the group.
“The Meyer family owns the space. The parents ran the bakery for forty years—until they were too old. The kids didn’t want to go into the family business so they closed up shop. They’ve been trying to rent it out for the past six months. Why?” Colin questions.
“Do you think they would consider renting it out for a month?” Henry asks.
Colin tilts his head. “Just a month?”
“Paige needs some place to spread out, and if it’s just sitting there, I thought they may consider letting her use the space. I’m happy to pay a month’s rent, of course.”
“Henry—” I say. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I want this show to be perfect for you, and if you need more room to work, then let’s find you some space.”
“Well, yeah, I’m sure they’d be happy to rent it out for a month,” Colin says, smiling. “I’ll call them first thing tomorrow.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”
I bury my head in Henry’s chest, fighting back tears. He’s always thinking about me. I wish I could give him a piece of what he’s given me, but I don’t even know where to begin. He has this instinct when it comes to taking care of me. I’m not a woman who allows herself to be cared for. My mother never took care of me, I took care of Christian, and for my entire life, I was used to this role.
I take a deep breath, concentrating on purging thoughts of Christian from my mind. Henry is my soul mate, and this visit is exactly what I need to remember that.
I’M NOT SURE how long I’ve been laying here, in this bed, staring at the curtains blowing in the open window, lost in my thoughts. I took Henry back to the airport earlier this morning. I told him I wanted to go home with him. I’d been away long enough, and I was home sick.
He wouldn’t hear of it. He told me there were far too many distractions in New York, and if I am honest with myself, I know he’s right. I have a circle of friends there that always have a hard time of taking no for an answer. If I went home, I would find myself at a club every night, never working on my designs. But I don’t care, being away from Henry for a month was tolerable, but I feel like I’ve reached my limit.
While he was here, he managed to rent the space across the street, and we moved most of my stuff in, except, of course, what’s in Christian’s shop since he never came back. My thoughts drift to him, in an instant outrage consumes me again.
Christian has always had a way of figuring out the perfect ways to hurt me. He makes me think we’re friends. That our past is behind us, that I don’t have to worry about all the baggage of our previous relationship. He even told me he was excited to meet Henry, and then he disappears. I don’t know why I thought he’d actually changed.
Suddenly I hear a door slam. Hopping to my feet, I make my way to the window. I lean out, searching for the source. My stomach twists as I see Christian walking around the corner, and with a jingle of his keys, opening the door to his studio.
The anxiety in the pit of my stomach quickly shifts into sour, hot anger. Christian behaves the way he does because nobody ever calls him out on it. I mean, really, should everyone walk on eggshells because he manages not to binge drink these days? Being a recovering alcoholic doesn’t give you a license to be a complete asshole.
I race to the bedroom door, no longer moping about Henry heading home. I’m on a mission now … a mission to set Christian Bennett straight. If nobody else is going to tell him how immature his behavior can be, then I’ll be happy to step in and take care of what needs done. He’s the one who reached out to me, who wanted to be friends. Well, he’s about to get a dose of what a real friend does—they tell you the things that are sometimes hard to hear.
Thudding down the stairs, I don’t say anything to Emmie as I brush past her, the heat now emanating from my face. She might have said something as I walk out the back door, but I can’t be sure as the blood pulsing in my ears is deafening.