One Winter's Sunset

“Well, maybe not that far back in time. But close.” Carol leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement as she told the story. “There used to be two families, one on either side of the lake, one with a daughter, one with a son, about the same age. They didn’t know each other, and in these years when this area was just beginning to get settled by people in wagons and log homes, there was no Facebook or Skype or high school to bring them together. Then John Barrow, one of the original Barrows to settle here, opened a little store smack-dab in the center of the road between the two families. You can still see the remains of its foundation, past that big pine tree.” She pointed out the window. “The shop wasn’t much, just a general sundries kind of place. The teenagers ran into each other there one summer day, and fell in love. They’d meet at the store every afternoon after they finished their chores and spend time together. But the families were at war over something no one can remember now, and the teens were forbidden from seeing each other.”

“Nevertheless, they sneaked away every afternoon,” Emily put in, “because they were deeply in love and couldn’t bear to be apart.”

“That’s right. Sometimes true love is stronger than parental rule.” Carol grinned. “And that was how it was for these two. But oh, the ruckus it raised in their families. So one stormy fall night, they made plans to run away and get married. Before they could leave, their parents found out and rushed down to the store to interrupt the rendezvous. The kids panicked, took a boat and rowed out to the middle of the lake, thinking they could make it across and leave from the other side. The storm that night was strong, and the water rough, and the boat capsized. Sadly, both kids drowned.”

“That’s terrible,” Cole said. Even though the event had happened decades ago, he could imagine the heartbreak and loss, particularly on such a small community. “How devastating for those families.”

“It was an awful tragedy, and one that haunted this area for years.” Carol gestured toward the moon-kissed lake outside the windows. “There are people who say you can still see the ghosts of the doomed lovers in the fog that rises over the lake at night.”

“And according to Carol, if you’re out in that fog, you’re destined to fall in love.” Emily grinned. “When us girls were teenagers, we’d run outside if we saw the fog, but none of us fell in love with the boys here for the summer.”

“That’s because none of them were right for you,” Carol said. “You have to be with the right one for the fog to work.”

Emily laughed and got to her feet, grabbing the empty plates as she did. “And all the stars and moon have to be aligned just right, too. It’s a legend, Carol, and not one I believe in.”

Carol wagged a finger at her. “You’ll see. Some foggy night, true love will come your way.”

Emily didn’t answer that. Instead, she brushed open the swinging door with her hip and set the plates in the sink, then filled it with soapy water. By the time she returned, Cole and Carol were talking about the repairs on the Inn, instead of silly age-old legends.

Just as well. The last thing she needed Cole to do was drag her down to the lake in the middle of the night because he believed some legend about dead teenagers would fix their marriage. No kiss on a foggy night was going to repair the damage the years of distance had created.

Maybe if they had gone to counseling when the problems first started, it would have righted the ship’s course. She’d asked Cole to go, but time and time again, Cole had put off the appointment. She’d given up after a while and stopped asking him. If their marriage was important to him, she’d reasoned, he would have made the time to save it.

Then again, she hadn’t gone on her own, either, or fought very hard to get Cole to the appointments. She’d been just as guilty about finding other things to fill her time. Maybe because deep down she was afraid to confront the issues between them—and find out they were beyond fixing.

“You know, Cole, it doesn’t make much sense for you to drive all the way into the city tonight,” Carol was saying as Emily picked up the platter of chicken, “when I have rooms right upstairs. Why don’t you stay here? It’s the least I can do to thank you.”

Cole stay here? Emily prayed he’d say no, that he would do what he always did, say he needed to leave in the morning to get back to the office. But no, he grinned and nodded instead. Damn. Having him stay here was a definite complication, especially to her hormones and her heart. She needed to stay firm in her resolve and not be swayed by a smile.

“That’d be great, Carol. I’ll have my luggage sent over in the morning.” Cole rose, stretched his back and let out a yawn. “Just the thought of driving back to the hotel makes me exhausted.”

“Well, I’m exhausted just hearing you talk about it.” Carol gave the two of them a smile. “I hate to ask this, but I’m really tired. Lots of early mornings and a little stress over this renovation/sale thing. Would you two mind clearing up the rest of the dishes? I’d like to get to bed early.”

Emily shot Carol a curious look, but the innkeeper just muffled a yawn and kept her gaze averted. Emily suspected Carol of a little matchmaking, what with telling the story of the two doomed lovers and asking Cole to stay at the inn. Maybe with Carol out of the room, Emily could make Cole see that his being here wasn’t a good idea. “No problem. See you in the morning, Carol.”

Carol thanked them, then hurried out of the room. Harper stayed behind, ever hopeful for scraps. Cole and Emily gathered the rest of the dishes and brought them into the kitchen. “You don’t have to help,” Emily said to Cole as she slipped on an apron and tied it behind her back. “I know how you hate doing dishes.”

He shrugged. “I used to hate it. Now I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”

“You’re doing your own dishes?” She shot him a glance. In his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like a guy who did his own dishes, a million miles away from the wealthy, driven CEO. “You’re not having a maid do them?”

“It’s not like I cook a gourmet meal every night,” Cole said. “I usually have one plate, one cup and a fork to wash. No need to pay the maid to do that.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She’d let the household help go, too, after their separation. She’d seen no sense in paying people to clean up after one person. Plus doing her own housework kept her busy instead of focusing on how Cole’s absence made the house echo in ways it never had before.

“Nothing drives home the fact that you’re alone like washing your dishes.” Cole took the clean dishes from the strainer, swiped them dry with a towel and put them in the cabinets. “I guess that’s when it finally hit me.”

“What did?” Emily stowed the leftovers in the fridge.

Cole put his back to the sink and crossed his arms over his chest, the pink-and-white-striped towel a strange juxtaposition in his muscular hands. “That this wasn’t a fight we’d get over in a couple days. That this separation could be permanent. I’d come home from work and look at that plate and cup and fork in the sink and think...” He let out a gust and shook his head. “I’d think how sad they looked.”

“Really?” Over the years, Cole had rarely opened up about his feelings. She’d asked him what he was thinking, but most of the time, he’d withdrawn and in the end, she’d be left feeling cold, alone. This was the most he’d shared in a long, long time.

“All those years we lived together, I don’t think I ever noticed if we had five plates or fifty,” he went on. “I couldn’t tell you what the pattern was on our silverware if you paid me. But I notice the plates now. I notice when there’s one.” He nodded toward the sink. “Or more than one.”

Her heart softened. She put the empty serving dishes in the soapy water, then picked up one of the plates and started washing it, instead of falling into that vulnerable look on Cole’s face and in his voice. “I notice now, too,” she said quietly. “It’s like the plate and cup are lonely.”

“Maybe I should buy a whole set.” Cole grinned. “Or just bring mine back home so they’d be together again. Happy. Complete.”

The thought of him returning, of the two of them being happy and complete, together again, caused her heart to race and her throat to close. Hope warred with caution. She concentrated on getting the plate clean, watching the bubbles circle and circle the rim. “We’ve tried that before, Cole. It didn’t work.”

“What’s that saying about success? That it’s about not giving up?”

She could see the saying now, one of those kitschy posters that she had hung in her college dorm, then again in their run-down first apartment because it was the only wall decor they could afford. By the time they moved to the big house, the poster had been relegated to a landfill. But the saying and the image of a determined competitor in a tough tug-of-war had stuck with Emily. “‘Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go.’ William Feather said it,” she said.

“I’m hanging on, Emily,” Cole said softly. “I really am.”

She placed the clean plate in the strainer, then picked up the next one. “Why?”

“Because we had something once. And I think we can have it again. And because I’m ready for change.”

How she wanted to believe him. Her brain reminded her heart that he had said all this before, and gone back to his workaholic ways as soon as the crisis passed. How could she know this time would be any different?

Another clean plate in the strainer. She tackled the third one. The only sound in the room was the running water and the soft clanging of dishes. “Change how?”

“Working less. More vacations. More time for you and me to get back to where we were.”

She’d heard all these words before. Dozens of times over the years, and every time, she had believed them, only to be hurt in the end. Granted, the time he had spent working on the repairs to the inn was the most time he’d ever taken off work before, and maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant he had changed. Hope kept a stubborn hold on her heart, but she refused to give it space and room.

Not until she’d asked the most important question.

She rinsed the last plate, put it in the strainer, then tackled a pan, keeping her gaze away from Cole’s. “And what about a family?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Family? Emily, we’re far from ready for kids.”

It’s what he’d said a thousand times over the years. Every time she’d brought up kids, he’d said it wasn’t the right time, or that they’d talk about it later. She pulled the plug, let the soapy water drain, and placed her hands on the rim of the sink. All that silly, foolish hope in her chest drained away, too.

“When do you think we’ll be ready? When we get a bigger house or the company reaches another sales goal or we have another million saved in retirement?” She snorted and turned away from him. “It’s never the right time, Cole.”

“We’re a few pieces of paper away from being divorced, Emily. I’d say that’s the worst possible time to have a child.”

Emily sighed. “Yeah, Cole, it is.” Then she left the kitchen and headed up to her room, where the pillow would muffle her hurt.

CHAPTER SEVEN

COLE SLEPT THROUGH his alarm. Slept through the buzzing of his phone. Slept through the sunrise. He’d slept in the best hotel rooms in the world, owned a mattress that cost more than a small car, and yet he had never slept as soundly or as well as he had in the double bed in the pale blue room on the second floor of the Gingerbread Inn.

He rolled over, blinked a bleary eye at his phone and decided whoever was calling him could wait a little longer. This...decadence filled him with a peace he had never felt before. Whatever was happening at work would be there later, while Cole just...was. Right here, right now, in a cozy bedroom across the hall from Emily, in a quaint inn in Massachusetts. He lay in the bed, watching the sun dance on the floor, while birds chirped a song above the faint sounds of a distant lawn mower.

Then he heard the soft melody of a woman’s voice, singing along with the radio. It took him a moment to realize it was Emily’s voice. He hadn’t heard her singing in...

Hell, ten years. At least.

He pulled on his jeans and padded barefoot out of his room and across the hall. Her door stood ajar, the bed made, the room neat and clean. When had Emily become a neatnik? She’d always been the messier one in their relationship, something that had driven him crazy when they were together. Then, when he was on his own, he’d missed seeing her makeup on the bathroom counter, her coat tossed over the dining room chair, her shoes kicked off on the bedroom carpet. He’d tried leaving his own things out but it wasn’t the same. He hesitated only a moment, then took a single step inside the room. “Em?”

The bedroom was empty. Light and steam spilled out of the attached bathroom. The shower was running, and Cole could see the familiar outline of his wife’s curves behind the translucent white curtain. Desire rushed through him, hardened against his jeans. How long had it been since he’d been with Emily?

Months. Three, to be exact. A long damned time.

He hesitated. He knew he should leave but couldn’t tear his gaze away from her shapely outline, the curve of her breasts, her hips. She was hidden by the curtain, yet he knew every dimple, every valley, every scar. He knew how to make her moan, how to make her smile, how to make her...

His.

Except she wasn’t his anymore, and he needed to face that. Accept it. Move on.

Since the separation, he’d told himself he should take off his ring. Date again. But he hadn’t. No woman had interested him the way his wife did. And maybe never would. He missed her, damn it, for more than just the warmth of her body against his.

The water stopped with a screech and a shudder of old pipes. Cole told himself to move. Leave. He didn’t do either.

The song ended and a commercial came on the radio. Emily’s voice trailed off as she reached up and tugged down the towel draped over the shower curtain. She jerked back the curtain and let out a shriek. “Cole! You scared me. What are you doing in here?”

Shit. He should have left. Now he looked like some overeager hormonal teenager, which was how he felt whenever he was around Emily. Even now, even after everything.

“Your, uh, door was open. And I heard you singing and...” He forced his gaze up from the hourglass shape outlined by the fluffy white towel. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you singing.”

A flush filled her cheeks and her gaze shifted to the floor. “I’m a terrible singer.”

“Didn’t sound that way to me. It was nice.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve missed your singing. You used to sing all the time when we were first married.”

She laughed. “That’s because we couldn’t even afford a TV. My singing was our only entertainment.”

“I wouldn’t say it was our only entertainment.” His gaze met hers. Heat filled the space between them. Cole had never been so acutely aware of his wife’s naked body, and the thin scrap of cotton separating them. She’d put on a few pounds in the past couple months, but they only added to her curves and made her more desirable. He ached to take her in his arms, to let the towel fall to the floor and to taste that sweet, warm, peach skin.

“Those were different days then,” she said, her voice low and soft. She fiddled with the edge of the towel. “Better days.”

Had she stopped singing because she’d stopped being happy? Started again today because she was happier without him? Or had he stopped paying attention to Emily so long ago that he didn’t notice her singing? Her happiness?

“You liked it better when we were poor?” he asked. “Living in that tiny fifth-floor walk-up, freezing in the winter and roasting in the summer?”

“Yeah, I did.”

He’d hated those days. Always struggling, feeling like he’d failed, the constant battle to get his business off the ground at night while he sweated on a construction site during the day. Working, working, working, and getting frustrated at how long it took to get from nowhere to somewhere. “Why? We had nothing, Emily.”

“Nothing except each other,” she said. She raised her gaze to his. Tears shimmered in her green eyes. “That was always enough for me, Cole. But it was never enough for you.”

He let out a gust. Why did it always come down to this? Didn’t she understand, he’d done all of this for her? For them? For their future together? The hours he’d worked, the effort he’d put in to take the business from their apartment kitchen table to a global power had been a constant source of friction between them. In the early days, Emily had supported him, but as the years wore on, that support had eroded into frustration and a cold, silent war.

“You can’t blame me for wanting more, Emily. For wanting success. Look at us now. We have everything we always wanted.”

A bittersweet smile crossed her face. “No. You have everything you ever wanted.” The smile shifted, became something he couldn’t read, as if Emily had a secret that only she knew. She nodded toward the door. “I’d appreciate it if you left now.”

He did as she asked and left the room, shutting the door behind him, and feeling more lost than he had ever felt before. Cole was a smart man who had built his company from nothing into a global player. Who had taken them from a run-down apartment to a mansion in a tony suburb outside New York City. All along, he’d thought he was on the same path that Emily wanted.

Now it turned out he’d been wrong. For a long, long time.

* * *

Sleep eluded Emily. She tossed and turned, then got up, tried to write and couldn’t get any further in the book. The whole day had been like that, her creativity stalled. Her mind was still stuck on the moment Cole had walked into the bathroom and looked at her with that hungry, admiring gaze she knew so well. One step forward, and she would have had him in her arms, in her bed, in her.

She craved that, deep down inside, in places that only Cole knew. But she’d held her ground, and after he left the room, she’d told herself she’d done the right thing. Even if it didn’t feel that way.

Her stomach rumbled. She pulled on a robe and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The inn was silent, and only a small light burned on the kitchen table. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, providing enough light for her to make her way through the rooms.

Emily pulled open the fridge, and mulled over the choices. She settled on the leftover apple pie. A second later, she was dishing a hearty slice onto a small dessert plate. After all, she was eating for two now. She could afford an extra serving of dessert once in a while. She heard a sound and looked up to find Cole standing in the kitchen.

He wore only a pair of old gray sweatpants that she knew well. He’d had them for as long as she could remember, the fleece worn and soft as butter. His chest was bare, and the desire that had been burning inside her all day roared to life again. Her hand flexed at her side, itching to touch the hard muscular planes, to draw his warmth to her.

“Great minds think alike,” Cole said, taking a step closer and gesturing toward the pie.

“Do you want a piece?” Then she looked down and realized she’d taken the last of the pie. “Sorry. Um, would you like to share?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She pulled open the drawer and handed a second fork to Cole. He leaned over one side of the kitchen island, she leaned over the other side and they each took a bite of the pie. Their heads were so close, they nearly touched. It was so much like the early days, when they’d been inseparable and in love, that Emily could almost believe she’d gone back in time. She ached to run her fingers through Cole’s dark hair, to kiss the crumbs off his lips, to giggle when his shadowy stubble tickled her chin.

“Carol’s pies are legendary,” she said instead.

“I can see why.”

Emily forked up another bite. “The other Gingerbread Girls and I would sneak down here in the middle of the night all the time and eat the leftovers. She’d yell at us in the morning, but half the time she was laughing at the same time. And sometimes she’d bake an extra pie, just so we’d have one to scavenge.”

“Those must have been some amazing summers,” Cole said.

“They were. Some of my best memories are wrapped up in this place.” She sighed. “I’m going to hate to see it sold off and turned into condos or something awful like that.”

He scooped up some ice cream. “Why don’t I buy it? Let Carol run it...keep things as they are.”

Emily let out a gust. She put her fork down and leaned away from the counter. “Not everything can be fixed with money, Cole.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

She read honesty in his face, and relaxed. He had helped over the past few days, more than he knew. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to do more. After all, finding solutions to impossible situations was Cole’s specialty. He’d built a business on designing creative answers to customer problems.

For years, he’d been the one she relied on to solve everything from a checking account error to a strange noise coming from her engine. For the past six months, she’d relied only on herself. As scary as it had been, the independence had given her a newfound confidence. It was a feeling she wanted to keep, which meant no more running to Cole to fix the things that went awry. “Listen, I appreciate all the help you’re giving Carol with the repairs, I really do.”

“But...?”

She forked up some pie, but didn’t eat it. Instead, she turned to the fridge. “Do you want some milk?”

“Yes,” he said, coming around the counter to face her, “but I also want you to tell me what you aren’t saying.”

She grabbed the gallon jug, then two glasses, and poured them each an icy glass of milk. She slipped onto one of the bar stools and wrapped her hands around the glass. She debated whether to tell him what she was thinking, then decided she’d done enough of ignoring the issues, and maybe it was time to speak up instead of letting those thoughts simmer. “You have a tendency to throw money at a problem and then leave,” she said. “At least when it comes to us.”

He dropped into the opposite bar stool. “I don’t do that.”

“When something needed fixing at the house, you called someone to do it. When I needed to buy a new car, you called a friend at a dealership and had him show me the newest models. When I wanted to go on a vacation, you called a travel agent and told her to send me anywhere I wanted to go.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s problem solving.”

Emily bit her lip, then raised her gaze to his. “The problem wasn’t the leaky faucet or the old car or the need for some time in the sun. It was that I wanted to do those things with you, Cole. I wanted you and me to install that faucet, even if it was messy and frustrating and time-consuming to do it. I wanted you to go with me to pick out a car, and go along on the test drive, and give me your opinion, then laugh when I bought what was prettiest. I wanted you to go on vacation with me and—” she exhaled “—just be. You and me for a few days.”

He reached up and brushed a tendril of hair off her head. “I never knew, Emily. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She slipped off the stool and away from his touch before she found herself in his arms again. In the darkened, silent room it was so tempting just to curve against Cole’s bare chest and to forget the separation, the problems between them, the difficult road yet to come. Instead she crossed to the window and looked out over the darkened lake beyond the trees. “I could say that I never said anything because you were never home to talk to, but really, that’s just an excuse. I never said anything because—” and now her throat swelled and tears rushed to her eyes “—I didn’t want to hear you say no.”

He was behind her in a second, wrapping her in his arms, and despite her resolve a second ago, she allowed herself to lean back into him, just this once, just for this minute. “I wouldn’t have said no, Emily.”