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“Oh, you can have it, Cole. I don’t—”
He speared the last bit of pie, then held it before her lips. “I know you, Emily. And I know you want this.”
His voice was low and dark, and sent a wave of temptation through her. Not for the pie—he was right, she always wanted pie—but for him. Damn. She’d always wanted him, too. No matter what.
She opened her lips and took the bite from him, slow, easy, their gazes locked, and the piece of pie became about much more than just some slices of cinnamon-glazed apples and flaky crust. Heat unfurled in her gut, and for a second she wished Cole would just lean her back against that counter and take her right here, right now. That it could be like it used to be, without the muddle of the past ten years.
“Delicious,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
“Very.” She licked her lips and watched Cole watching her tongue. “Too bad it’s all gone.”
“Definitely too bad.” Was she talking about the pie? Or the fact that she had enjoyed Cole feeding her? Enjoyed that one-on-one attention, like a laser?
The clock on the wall ticked by the wee hours. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted. Cole’s eyes met Emily’s. “Oh, Em, what are we doing here?”
“Having pie.”
“And now that the pie is gone?”
He was talking about more than whether they were going to put the dish in the sink or grab another snack. Cole was asking her the one question she couldn’t answer. What was going to happen next? With them?
As much as she wanted to believe they could take this moment and use it to rebuild their marriage, she was acutely aware that a new life was growing inside her. A child Cole didn’t want.
She’d become a package deal, her and Sweet Pea. The problem was, Cole only wanted half the package.
She drew back. “I don’t know, Cole. I really don’t.”
“Then let’s leave it here, on this sweet, pie-flavored note.” He quirked a grin in her direction. “Always leave them wanting more, isn’t that the old saying?”
“And do you? Want more?” Damn it all, she still wanted him, still couldn’t back away.
He cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing over her lips, following the path her tongue had taken. “God, yes,” he said. “That’s one thing that’s never changed, Emily. I always want you. Always have. Always will.”
That sent a little thrill through her, but she tamped it down. Desire was never their problem. She’d wanted him from the moment she’d met him, and still did. She drew in a breath, held it, then exhaled again, with a dose of clarity. “A marriage requires more than just sexual attraction.”
He sat back on the stool. A whisper of cold air filled the space between them. “Then let’s work on the other things a good marriage requires.” She started to protest, but he held up a finger, stopping her. “We’re here together for a few days at least, right? And yes, I know we’re separated and a step away from divorced, but at the very least, let’s try to learn how to connect with each other so that going forward, everything is amicable.”
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 (#ulink_ca1e42e3-cb2a-54e6-b873-80f26414e134)
“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?
Cole shrugged. He had no answers last night, and he had fewer now. “She’s here. I’m here. But it’s like we’re on different planets.”
Joe sat on the step beside Cole. “Things have gotten that bad between you two?”
“There are times when I think we have a chance, then other times...” He shrugged. “Not so much. Maybe she’s right.”
“Right about what?”
“That I can’t let go because I can’t admit I lost. That this is more about winning than about love.”
Joe snorted. “That I can see. I have played racquetball with you, remember. I also recall one particularly crazy basketball game in your driveway. You are definitely a win-at-all-costs guy, Cole.”
Cole cupped the beer between his palms and watched leaves flutter to the ground. In a couple of weeks, all would be bare here, covered with white, winter making its mark on the land around him. Even the trees caved to Mother Nature’s power, giving up their leaves, their greenery, all their finery, to an enforced slumber that would last for the next three months.
“I think this time, that attitude is costing me my marriage. The problem? I honestly don’t know if I can change. That’s the very thing that’s made me successful and what drives me every day. But it could also be the thing driving my wife away.” He took a drink. “Maybe I should give her what she wants and leave.”
“What does Emily say is the problem?”
“She says I try to solve everything with money rather than with just being there.”
“And do you?”
“Well, yeah. But it’s easier that way and leaves me time to—” Cole cut off the words and let out a curse. How could he have missed the obvious answer?
“What?”
“It leaves me time to work. To put into the company. Instead of her.”
Joe tapped Cole on the head. “Ding, ding, ding. I think he finally got it.”
“What’s wrong with being successful, though? Isn’t that the American dream?”
“Hell, yes, it is. But what’s the good of all that success if you end up a sad old man sitting in a dark room, all alone at the end of your life?”
Cole chuckled. “Gee, thanks for the bright picture of my future.” He said the words like a joke, but even he could see it ending up that way. He’d invest all his energy in the company, and then end up alone, because he’d forgotten to save some of that energy for the people in his life.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Joe asked.
“Get back to work,” Cole said, getting to his feet and leaving the beer on the stoop. “That’s the only answer I know.”
He picked up the ax and went back to chopping wood. As the metal blade hit log after log, slivering them into fireplace-sized chunks, Cole told himself he was making progress, when he knew damned well he wasn’t doing much more than staying in place.
* * *
“You can do this,” Emily muttered to herself and faced the daunting task assembled before her on the kitchen counter. Carol had gone into town for the day, off on a hair and manicure day arranged by Emily, who’d figured the stressed inn owner could use a little R & R. Martin Johnson, who’d been around the inn often to help Cole with some of the repair projects, had asked Carol if she might want to meet for lunch. Carol had fretted for an hour over her outfit for the day, changing three times before she left.
While Carol was gone, Emily promised to make dinner for everyone. She had to learn how to cook sometime. Better to start now and get some kind of kitchen skills under her belt before the baby came, or Emily would be weaning Sweet Pea on General Tso’s chicken and fried rice from Mr Chow.
“Can’t have you eating takeout every day, can I, Sweet Pea?” she said to the tiny bump under her belly. “Okay, let’s figure this out.”
She braced her hands on the counter and read over the recipe again. Seemed simple enough. For someone who knew what they were doing. Outside, she heard the sound of two axes hitting logs over and over as Cole and Joe chopped wood for the fireplace at the inn. At the rate they were going, Carol would be well stocked into next winter.
Joe had come into the kitchen earlier for some lunch, and spent some time catching up with Emily, telling her that Cole had asked him to help out with the repairs. She was glad. Not just because Cole needed the help, but because it was nice to see Cole’s friend, and to hear about his life for the past few years.
Except every time she looked at Cole and Joe together, it was like her wedding day all over again. She was walking down the aisle toward a nervous Cole flanked by a grinning Turner, then backed up by Joe, who’d been smiling through his hangover. Emily remembered the excitement, the rush of joy, the hopes and dreams she’d had that afternoon, when Cole had lifted her veil and kissed her. It had been a simple, small wedding on a limited budget, but perfect.
Thinking about the wedding made her melancholy and nostalgic. Not a good strategy right now, because it muddied the very waters she had come here to clear. So she’d make a chicken potpie and let the task take her mind in a different direction.
She reached for the onion, celery and carrots and placed them on the cutting board, then picked up the chef’s knife. She grabbed the onion first and raised the blade.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
She looked up to find Cole standing in the back door. Damn. How did the man always manage to look so handsome? He had on a thick dark green sweatshirt, dark jeans and new work boots. His hair was getting a little long, she noticed, but it only added to his sex appeal. “Do what?”
“Cut the onion first. Leave that for last. That way, you aren’t crying over your carrots. Or—” he took a step inside “—you could wait for me to wash up and I can help you.”
“You? Help me. Cook.” She scoffed. “Right. What have you ever cooked?”
“I’ll have you know reheating takeout takes real skill.” He grinned, then crossed to the sink, pushed up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands. When he was done, he grabbed a second cutting board and knife and set them up across from Emily. “Two terrible cooks in the kitchen has to be better than one, don’t you think?”
She laughed. “It could be double the disaster.”
Cole leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. “Then blame it all on me and call for pizza.”
The temptation to have him here, in the close quarters of the kitchen, rolled over her. Every nerve in her body was tuned to his presence, even when he was outside working. She’d glanced out the window a hundred times already this morning, catching quick glimpses of him replacing some of the siding. He surely had a long list of outdoor activities to complete, yet he wanted to be here, to help her make a chicken potpie. Nothing else. Right?
“Deal.” She turned the cookbook toward him. “We’re making chicken potpie.”
