chapter 24
Ben was eating lunch when he received a text from Sloane.
Is there something going on I should know about?
Surprised and a bit confused, he was about to ask her to clarify what she was talking about when Adele, who was now replacing
Sandra on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays until two o’clock, peeked into the back room. “Hey, you. I made something for you
last night.”
Her bright, expectant smile—and how often she’d begun seeking him out—made him wish he’d been more guarded. He hoped he hadn’t
given her the wrong impression. He liked her, but he’d only been trying to make her feel welcome. His father had died when
he was just starting high school, so his mother had been forced to soldier on alone, and he knew how hard that could be.
He set down his sandwich as she came in, carrying a plate. “What is it?” he asked.
Warm vanilla and chocolate drifted up as she peeled back the foil. “The best cookies you’ll ever eat—oatmeal chocolate chip. I heard you tell Sandra they’re your favorite and that you can hardly ever get them without raisins. So I set out on a mission to find the very best recipe.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” he said. “That . . . that was very nice of you.”
“I wanted to do it. You’re the reason I’m excited to come to work each day.”
Yikes! Had he said or done something that could’ve made her think his interest went beyond that of a friend or coworker? He was
pretty sure he’d mentioned that he was married. Even if he hadn’t, he wore a ring!
“We’re all happy to have you here,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “We really needed another person.”
“That’s what Sandra told me.” She stepped close enough for her perfume to drift over as she pulled a folded sheet from her
back pocket. “By the way, Colt drew this for you.”
It was a picture of a horse. Or a turtle. Ben couldn’t decide which. Maybe it was neither. “Very nice.”
“He wants to know when he’ll get to see you again. I told him I’d ask if you’d like to join us for a picnic this Saturday.
I thought I’d make my mother’s potato salad, some sandwiches, that sort of thing.”
Ben cleared his throat. Would it be just the three of them? Because he didn’t mind helping her with chores around the house.
He’d spent last Saturday fixing a broken sprinkler for her and getting rid of a bunch of cardboard in her garage because she
was new in town and didn’t have much support from family or friends. But a picnic would feel more like a date than a service
project.
When he hesitated, she added uncertainly, “To thank you for all you did last weekend.”
“No thanks needed.” He lifted the plate of cookies she’d given him. “These are more than enough.”
She seemed crestfallen that he hadn’t jumped at her invitation, which made Ben grapple for a way out that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. “I . . .uh . . .promised my wife I’d get some ‘honey-dos’ done around our house before she gets back,” he added. “Sorry I can’t make the picnic.”
Her smile held, but the light went out of her eyes. He’d reminded her of his wife, subtly let her know he wouldn’t stray.
“Of course. No worries. I can’t wait to meet her. Name’s Sloane, right?”
“Yeah, Sloane,” he confirmed. “You’ll really like her. She’s great at decorating. If you ever want help with that sort of
thing, she’s the girl to call.”
“Right. Okay,” she said and went back into the front.
He exhaled. Awkward, he thought, and responded to his wife.
What are you talking about?
Sandra says you’ve been spending a lot of time with the new hire, who’s gorgeous, by the way.
Damn Sandra. No wonder his coworker had been acting so waspish. She thought he was starting to creep around.
I was only trying to help. There’s nothing going on, Sloane. Nothing.
He’d mentioned Adele to her before, told her he was going to do a few chores around the house for her and didn’t get much of a response.
He took that to mean she wouldn’t mind. But he hadn’t added that Adele was their age and incredibly attractive.
He hadn’t seen any point in making Sloane jealous when they were already going through a difficult period.
If she stayed with him, he wanted it to be because she still wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, not because she felt there was someone waiting in the wings to take her place.
You believe me, don’t you?
The answer, when it came, left Ben weak with relief.
I do. I was just . . . scared for a minute.
He caught his breath as he wrote her back.
Are you sure you wouldn’t be relieved?
So much hung on that question. Did she want to move on without him or not?
I’m positive. I’d feel completely lost without you.
He’d be lost without her, too, he realized, or he would’ve moved on already.
Maybe he was just going to have to live without children.
The day had been torture. Julian had wanted to go to the Emerald Grotto at first. He’d known how excited Lilly was at the
prospect of the four of them visiting Amalfi, getting on a boat and touring a cool cave. He’d told himself it wouldn’t be
that big a deal to spend several hours with Charlotte, not if the others were around. But it’d been much harder than he’d
expected, especially after she’d announced that she wouldn’t be going back to Cliff. That knocked out one of the excuses he’d
been leaning on to convince himself he wouldn’t have a chance with her even if he wasn’t facing Parkinson’s.
“Have you told him that yet?” he’d asked.
He knew she’d heard the skepticism in his voice because she’d lifted her chin and flashed him that stubborn look—the one that
said heaven and hell couldn’t move her now. “No. I didn’t want to deal with his reaction—didn’t want him to be calling and
texting nonstop and ruining our plans. I’ll tell him tonight.”
He’d tilted his head toward her, goading her a bit further. “You’re sure . . .”
At that point, she’d looked at Lilly, who’d been dangling her hand in the water while the boat was stopped so Sloane could
snap a picture of Positano. “I’m positive.”
It’d been easy to tell she meant it. And that Lilly was part of the reason. Considering how much Charlotte was coming to care
about her sister, he believed she wouldn’t allow Cliff to get in the way.
“You’re going to remain available for her sake,” he’d said, catching on.
“You bet I am,” she’d told him. Then she’d turned away and mostly ignored him for the rest of the day. She was mad at him.
Or more likely, she was confused and hurt by his emotional withdrawal at a time when she felt she needed him most. He knew
she believed it had to be that kiss or an off comment here or there that’d strained their friendship, didn’t understand it
was much bigger than that. And he couldn’t tell her. He’d rather have her angry at him than feeling sorry for him.
He couldn’t allow her to depend on him, anyway, he told himself as he nursed a shot of whiskey long after the others went
to bed. She had Sloane. Sloane was dealing with her own shit, but she’d give Charlotte the support she needed.
He had to decide on his treatment, work hard, save while he could and find something to fulfill him when work was no longer a possibility.
It wasn’t fair to expect a woman to become the center of his life when he might not even be capable of helping her raise any children they might have.
Tempted to pour himself another drink, he stared at the bottle on the table. But he’d already had too much. He’d been drowning
his feelings in liquor since coming to Italy. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to worry about it, that the drinking was only
a temporary thing while he was on vacation—before he had to go back and deal with reality. But he knew it couldn’t be doing
him any good, and he proved himself right when he got up and accidentally slammed into the corner of the table while trying
to get past it.
Cursing his clumsiness, and the pain throbbing down his leg, the anger inside him suddenly boiled over. Almost before he knew
what he was going to do, he picked up the bottle and threw it.
The crack rang too loud in the night, making him flinch. He stood and stared, stunned by his own actions, at the liquid running
down the stucco wall and the shards of glass winking in the moonlight hitting the deck.
“Fuck.” Now he had a mess to clean up on top of everything else, but he couldn’t leave it until morning. He didn’t want Lilly,
Sloane or Charlotte to see it.
Charlotte heard the crash. She’d been only half-asleep because she’d been getting out of bed every few minutes and going over
to the window, where she could see Julian sitting at the outdoor table. She’d wanted to know what was troubling him, why he
was out there drinking alone. It bothered her that he seemed so remote and upset and wouldn’t tell her—or Sloane—what was
wrong. How bad could it be?
She’d wanted to ask. But she’d refused to go down and try to talk to him again, not after he’d rebuffed her last time.
She’d had a rough evening herself. Cliff hadn’t taken it well when she told him that she wasn’t interested in reconciling.
At first, he’d been so disbelieving that he’d laughed.
But when she’d let him hang up and hadn’t called back, he’d eventually begun to realize she’d been serious.
Then he’d started calling her incessantly, and because she wouldn’t answer, resorted to a series of text messages.
I never loved you anyway . . . What a stupid bitch! Do you realize what you’re giving up? What could you be mad at me for?
So I got confused! That happens sometimes . . . Look, I’m sorry, babe. Ignore my previous texts. I was angry, that’s all.
Let’s talk. Can we? Please? Will you just answer your fucking phone?
And when she still wouldn’t capitulate:
What the hell is wrong with you? Do I have to fly over there and drag your ass back?
She’d cringed at the idea that he might come to Italy. That was the last thing she needed. But for now, she felt safe. The