Chapter Eleven #4
The drive into town took less than five minutes, but it was enough to clear Cat’s head. The headlights caught the shimmer of frost along the hedgerows, the mist rising from the meadow. Holiday lights illuminated Bakewell, the white and gold lights reflecting in shop windows.
She was glad to have escaped the cottage. She hadn’t realized until now just how trapped she felt, how worried she felt, as well as guilty. She had so many feelings about what happened with Jillian today. Too many feelings.
Parking between the bridge and a dark church, she walked along the cobbled street, her footsteps echoing. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and ale, and the sound of laughter spilled from the pubs that lined the square.
Cat paused outside a few restaurants, scanning the posted menus.
One was loud with chatter and the hum of a football match on television; another too formal, the kind of place where couples leaned close over candlelight.
Finally, she found what she wanted—a small bistro tucked beside a bookshop, its windows fogged with warmth.
Inside, the waitress led her to a corner table by the window, where a single candle flickered in a low glass holder. When asked, Cat ordered a glass of wine and the salmon—pan-seared, the waitress said, with a lemon-dill sauce and winter greens, something she’d never cook at the cottage.
Her wine came quickly and Cat was glad for it.
She sipped, and sat still, trying to sort through her tangled emotions.
She was conflicted and troubled and, for the first time, she wished she’d never taken this job but had stayed in London with Sarah.
Because if she hadn’t taken the job, she wouldn’t have met Rhys, and if she hadn’t met Rhys, she wouldn’t have … fallen for him.
Blinking hard, Cat took another sip and watched the street outside.
Some hurried past laden with shopping bags.
Others walked more slowly, arm in arm, or holding hands.
Couples passed, families, too, and Cat’s gaze followed one family down the narrow street until they disappeared from view.
The heaviness returned in Cat’s chest, the aching reminder that she did not belong here.
And whether she liked it or not, she was still very much alone.
*
Rhys was working by the fire when Cat got home. The upstairs was dark and quiet, but the hearth was bright and warm, and Rhys had pulled a small table next to his armchair, the table stacked with books, notes, a cup of tea, and his ever-present laptop.
He looked up and smiled as she entered the room and just that one smile made her heart flutter.
“Girls in bed?” she asked.
“I can’t be sure they’re sleeping but they are being quiet,” he said. “How was dinner?”
“Lovely.” She unwrapped her scarf and slid her coat off. “Salmon in a lemon-dill sauce. Mashed potatoes and winter greens.”
“Sounds delicious.”
She draped her coat on the back of the couch. “It was. Even had a glass of New Zealand sauvignon blanc.”
“But…”
“Why is there a but?”
He studied her a moment, broad shoulders shrugging, the hint of beard accenting his strong jaw. “It just seems as if there is something on your mind.” He closed the book on his lap and set it aside. “Do you want to talk about it? I know I’m not Sarah, but I hope we’re friends.”
The flickering firelight highlighted his high, hard cheekbones and the lines of his brow and jaw.
“We are friends,” she said, crossing the room to stand in front of the fire and warm herself. “Actually, I do want to tell you something before I lose my nerve.”
That made him straighten a little. “All right.”
“It’s about Jillian.” She hesitated. “This is going to sound odd, and I wasn’t sure I should even bring it up, but she said something today, earlier, that—well, I think you should know.”
He nodded once, silently urging her on.
“She’s been emotional lately. You’ve noticed.”
He huffed a laugh. “Hard not to.”
“She told me she’s afraid you might—” She broke off, blushing. “That you might fall for me. And that if you did, I’d somehow replace her mother, and she couldn’t let that happen. That she didn’t want that to happen.”
Rhys went still. The fire cracked sharply, sending up a small spray of sparks before settling again.
“I know,” Cat said quickly. “It’s mortifying even to say. I told her she’s got nothing to worry about, that you’d never let anyone take her mum’s place—least of all me. But she was so upset, and I thought that maybe if you knew, you could reassure her yourself.”
Rhys exhaled slowly. “Right.” He looked across the room, attention on a spot near the floor. “I had no idea that’s what she was thinking.”
“She misses her mum a lot.”
“I know they both do. This has been hard for them.”
“I think last night, when you sat next to me, just made her fear the worst—”
“Cat, I don’t like that she’s upset, but Jillian doesn’t get to decide what you want—or what I want.” He held her gaze. “I like you. A great deal. I haven’t felt like this in a very long time … not at any point in the four years since the divorce.”
“She loves you. She’s afraid she’s going to lose you,” Cat said, finally sitting down on the edge of the couch.
“She’ll never lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“I’m glad you told me. It was the right thing to do.”
Cat nodded, relieved.
“But at the same time, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Heat and desire rushed through her, making the air catch in her throat. “I told her that there was nothing between us. I promised her that there wouldn’t be.”
“You shouldn’t have made that promise.” His voice had dropped, deepening. “I have a right to have a life too.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire whispered and shifted, the clock ticked on, and the house seemed to hold its breath around them.
Cat forced herself to speak. “You know I’m not staying. I can’t stay. I’m heading back to Michigan right after New Year’s.”
Rhys jaw hardened, his expression becoming remote. “So, you did make the decision for both of us.”
Her heart fell, and her eyes prickled and she felt stupidly close to tears. “I thought I was doing what was best for Jillian. That’s why you hired me. It’s why I’m here.”
The silence was even longer this time and more painful.
Finally, Rhys reached for his book. “At least I know now where things stand. Thank you, Catriona.”
The formality in his voice cut, and she drew a quick breath, holding it, holding in the rush of panicked words.
After an agonizing moment, she stood. “Good night, Rhys.”
“Good night, Cat.”