Chapter 10
When Imogen arrived at the cabin weeks ago, she’d been resigned to spending the holidays alone.
The mountain of unused yarn shoved under the bed could attest to her former plans to knit her way into spinsterhood.
Then Tommy came along and turned her wants upside down.
He’d tunneled his way under her skin and into her heart.
She’d dared to believe she’d found, against mountainous odds, her soulmate in a remote, snowbound cabin.
She should have known the illusion would fade at the stroke of midnight.
Or, more aptly, the moment she trusted Tommy with more than her body.
Now they were back to an unbearable farce of strained politeness.
Her heart constricted painfully, as it did every time she remembered what had happened last night.
After the most passionate night of her life, she’d taken her courage in hand and revealed her feelings.
She was convinced Tommy felt the same, but the dolt had pretended to be asleep.
As if they hadn’t been pressed so closely together that she wouldn’t feel his muscles tense at her words, or the way his heartbeat had skittered out of control.
Like an animal preparing to flee for its life.
Tommy sat at the table, his newly cut head of hair bent low as he tailored a shirt he’d found in her assortment of castoff clothing.
His seemingly bottomless competence would ordinarily have thrilled her, yet she knew what it signified: he was preparing to leave. He was running away from her. Again.
She tore her gaze away and concentrated on the dry plates spread on the woven throw rug around her.
If Tommy could pretend nothing was amiss, then so could she.
Strumming her fingers on her knees, she strove—once again—to summon the bravery to develop the images.
It was undeniable that Tommy’s arrival had infused her work with newfound vigor.
Though she knew the concepts depicted on the plates had potential, the stakes felt inordinately high.
What if she failed to capture the magic she’d felt?
Or worse, what if she erroneously deemed them satisfactory only to have them belittled at the exhibition? The possibility was paralyzing.
“Why do you stare at them like they’ll bite?”
She let out a long sigh. “Because if they’re terrible, I’ll have to withdraw from the Seattle Photography Exhibition at the end of January.”
He leaned back in his chair. “This is the first I’m hearing about an exhibition.”
“It’s not so much a secret as something I’ve avoided thinking about the last few days. Every time I do, my skin starts itching and I want to hit something.”
“Ah. That explains the nail biting.”
“I suppose.” She debated letting the awkwardness take over once more, but she desperately needed to talk about the exhibition.
Tommy had been understanding of her art so far, and he was no stranger to risks.
Besides, anything was better than sitting around in silence.
“It’s a national showcase, and the attendance could be close to a thousand.
Ever since my first flop, I’ve doubted whether my work belongs there at all. ”
He pursed his lips in thought. “You said the first photographs didn’t resonate because you imitated what others have done before you. Is the same true of the photographs you’ve taken of me?”
“They’re vastly different,” she admitted. “They’re more emotional, more romantic. It’s not only about the man, but also about the atmospheric elements. Subdued lighting, a softer focus. Combined, they reflect an idea. They tell a story.”
“I’m no expert, but it sounds to me like you know what you’re doing.”
“Perhaps.” She stared down at the plates. The lingering hesitation refused to abate.
The chair creaked and then Tommy was lowering to the floor beside her. He laid a hand on her knee. “I know what my third wish is.”
“Oh, really? Do tell.”
“My wish is for you to have confidence in yourself.”
She groaned. “For goodness’ sake. What a waste of a wish.”
“I disagree. It’s clear recent events have shaken your self-worth, but that’s because you’ve been hiding who you really are. That never works.”
She wrinkled her nose at his annoying, but accurate, observation. “I tried so hard to please my fiancé,” she admitted. “I said all the right things, did all the right things. It was suffocating.”
“When you were brave enough to show your true self, he realized he wasn’t man enough for you. That’s his fault, not yours.”
“And I’ve been doing the same thing with my art,” she said slowly.
Her thoughts swirled, tempest-like, inside her. She had been limiting herself. Her longstanding fear of never being understood, of being deemed too much, had undermined her efforts once more. How long would she have continued to punish herself if Tommy hadn’t shown up?
“I owe it to myself to develop the photographs and attend the exhibition with my head held high.”
“Show the world who you really are and the right people will notice.”
The truth was empowering, but it was also tinged with bitterness. Tommy might have shined the light on her facade, but what about his?
“You’re correct,” she said slowly. “But you’re also a hypocrite.”
His expression hardened. “Excuse me?”
“You tell me to take risks and open up to the world, but what about you? You hide your identity, for God’s sake.
You sit behind a bookshop desk where no one has a chance to get to know the real you.
Even here, with me, you shut down as soon as you come close to revealing something of any importance! ”
“That’s not true. I’ve told you what my goals are.”
“You shared some details,” she agreed. “But every time you’re on the cusp of admitting too much, you silence yourself. You don’t trust me to handle your emotions, whatever they may be.”
“My emotions?” he scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous to admit you love someone, Tommy.
” She stared him down. “I’ve loved you since I was ten years old.
It was a pure, innocent sort of love, but it was real.
When my father forbade us from seeing each other, I thought my heart had cracked in two.
But that’s nothing to the pain I feel now.
Last night, I told you I love you, and you pretended to be asleep.
Guess what, Tommy?” She rose to her knees and jabbed a finger in his face.
“I know you love me back. You’re just too cowardly to admit it. ”
“I’m no coward,” he growled, scrambling to his knees beside her. “And you’re wrong. I care about you, deeply, but love is for fools. It’s for masochists, and I refuse to flagellate myself again.”
“Aha! You said again.”
“I misspoke.”
“Then let me remind you of an old saying: Actions speak louder than words.” She gave him a smug grin.
“And you, Tommy, have made the grave mistake of treating me better than anyone else in my life ever has. You simply can’t stop showing me how much you love me.
Even your stupid decision to push me away was based on love. So this is really all your fault.”
He surged to his feet and began to pace. “Goddammit.”
“Admit it.”
“Don’t love me,” he snapped. “Just…don’t. Give your love to someone who deserves it more.”
Deserve.
There was that blasted word again. He used it to construct walls between them, to push her aside where he thought she’d be safe from him.
The last time she’d let it happen, they hadn’t spoken for years.
She couldn’t let that happen again. Before she could utter another word, he thrust his feet into his boots and moved to the door.
“Wait.” Her voice was shrill. “Don’t go.”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I’ll gather some extra firewood. Then it’s time for me to leave.”
The door softly clicked shut behind him. The consideration sent a spark of rage through her. She stalked across the room and wrenched the door open.
“Good luck avoiding the rest of my booby traps,” she shouted at his retreating back. He whipped his head around just in time for her to slam the door shut.
As quickly as it had arrived, the rage fled, leaving her boneless, empty. She sank to the floor, one hand pressed to her midriff. She’d pressed Tommy too hard. He was leaving, and she had no one to blame but herself.
Tommy poked at a strange-looking twig sticking out of a snowbank.
It wobbled back and forth in the breeze, but no snare catapulted into the air.
The ground held steady. Tommy shook his head at his skittishness, but he couldn’t forget the terrifying moment he’d fallen into a snow pit.
God only knew what other booby traps Imogen had hidden around her haven.
His outrageous, endearing Imogen.
He rubbed a frozen hand across his eyes and muttered a curse.
Once again, he was out in the snow, ill-prepared and on the verge of losing his mind.
A fine punishment for his most recent crimes.
Imogen’s anguished expression swam before his eyes and his stomach heaved.
The most incredible woman in the world loved him, and rather than break free of the chains binding his heart, he’d turned tail like a mongrel.
What was wrong with him?
Giving a pile of suspicious stones a wide berth, he trudged toward the rack of firewood beside the outhouse.
A dainty snowflake caught in his eyelashes, and he paused to wipe it clean.
He looked up and his breath caught. He’d been so occupied by his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the winter wonderland before him.