Chapter 4 #2
To her credit, she also didn’t question my use of the pronoun he when referring to my partner, which indicated she likely knew I was gay—maybe from the newspapers. That was some relief, at least. The slightest whiff of homophobia and I’d have ended it all there and then.
I sucked in a breath and tried to gather myself. “But Mads will be with me tomorrow. That’s non-negotiable. So, if you have a problem with that, you better say now.”
“No,” she answered evenly. “No problem at all.”
The relief I felt at her acquiescence made me feel pissy. Her acceptance shouldn’t have mattered, and yet, it did.
“Good,” I snapped, annoyed at the little boy’s tone in my voice. I shook it off. “You’re right. It’s complicated. And you’re right about there being hurt and pain, much more than you’ll ever understand. And no, the truth is, I really don’t want to see you.” I paused and let that sink in.
The silence on the other end of the line was electric.
Feeling back in control, I continued, “But I am going to meet you, because I want answers and because you’ll give them to me, such as they are.
Just don’t expect too much in return. You were in my life for eight years.
I’ve been on my own for forty-seven. I have good people around me and a good life.
I don’t need you fucking that up, Chloe.
So, whatever you hope to get out of this, you’ll likely be disappointed. ”
For a long time, the only response was the soft in and out of her breathing.
Then, finally, Chloe cleared her throat.
“I understand. As I told you earlier, where this goes or doesn’t go is up to you.
I’m just grateful to have the opportunity to talk.
As for being disappointed, I’ll take note of your warning and not get my hopes up.
Or not show it, at least.” The emotion finally broke through in her voice and she sounded so much older than she had just seconds before.
“What time should I expect you? I’m free today and tomorrow, if that helps. ”
My brow creased. We’d already agreed the last time we texted that we’d meet tomorrow at eleven. My call to her now was merely to confirm that I hadn’t changed my mind.
Was she messing with me? Pretending she’d forgotten? Ugh. Dammit to hell. Why was this so hard? You know why, an irritating voice replied, sounding suspiciously like Mads or my therapist, or both.
“We already agreed on eleven tomorrow?” I prompted.
“Oh.” Pages rustled in the background. “Yes. I can see it now.” Chloe hesitated.
“Is that still okay?” I checked.
“Yes, yes,” she answered hastily. “I’d written it in the wrong week, that’s all.”
I was reminded that the woman was seventy-three and told myself to calm the fuck down. “Great. It’s an hour-forty drive from Nelson, give or take. We’re staying in a vineyard cottage not too far away from your house.” One that would hopefully live up to Mads’ eye-wateringly lofty standards.
Chloe murmured, “That sounds lovely. Then I’ll see you both tomorrow at eleven.”
I ended the call and chucked my phone onto the passenger seat. Then I covered my face with my hands and released the dam of pent-up tears.
Anger and bitter relief mixed with the tiniest thread of hope for something I thought I’d given up on decades ago.
A hope I didn’t want because hope sucked.
Hope fucked everything up. And hope in this particular woman had died a long, slow death along with my childhood.
I wasn’t sure there was any life left in it worth saving, but my stupid, stupid heart seemed to have other plans.
The conference centre had filled in my absence.
The reception hall, housing the book displays and vendor tables, was crowded shoulder to shoulder with people browsing amidst an enthusiastic hum of conversation.
I passed by its open doors and headed for the auction room, the deep baritone notes of the auctioneer guiding my steps.
I signed in with the security man on the door and then slipped inside where a small crowd was watching the bidding on a large ancient tome that looked like it had fallen off the Ark.
Sticking to the back wall, I searched the crowd for Mads.
I couldn’t see him at first, but when the bidding stopped and a group of women headed for the door, I finally spotted him sitting close to the front, sandwiched between two men.
Angled slightly away from me, his attention was fixed on a book the gloved assistant was holding aloft—the next item up for auction.
Rather than join him, I decided to hang back for a bit.
It wasn’t often I got the chance to study the man in his native habitat without him becoming all kinds of self-conscious.
The silver-crested conservator observed adding to his nest, so to speak.
Because if I didn’t already know this book-collecting stuff was serious business, the earnest expression Mads wore said everything there needed to be said.
I turned to the woman standing next to me and enquired which lot they were up to. Discovering it was a couple of items before the book I knew Mads was interested in, I relaxed against the wall and settled in to watch the show.
After about five minutes, like he’d felt my eyes on him, Mads turned and scanned the room, plainly looking for me.
I held up my hand to catch his attention and his worried frown conveyed his concern about the call.
I managed a decent enough smile and a thumbs-up, and Mads visibly relaxed, turning his attention back to the auctioneer.
When the auctioneer came to the first edition Richard Hallas that Mads hoped to purchase, he straightened in his seat, his body rocking to attention, the same way it did when I kissed him, or slid into his body, or him into mine, his entire world narrowed to a single focus.
Not sure whether to be amused or aroused by the fact a dusty old book could affect my man in the same way my naked body did, I decided to focus on the positive and be thankful it wasn’t another man.
With that in mind, I also wondered what might happen if I tried reading to Mads .
. . in bed . . . as foreplay. It was an intriguing thought and worth revisiting.
I filed the thought away and returned my attention to the Mads whose attention was glued to the auctioneer as he all but bounced on the edge of his seat with anticipation.
It was just so . . . Mads, and I swallowed around the lump in my throat as I watched him.
A good man. The best. A heart as big as a mountain.
A brain to match. Solid and true down to the very last hair on his head.
He deserved so much. More than being lumped with me, that was for sure.
And yet here we were, making this thing between us work.
Loving each other and learning along the way.
And when the auctioneer called for opening bids, more than anything in that moment, I wanted Mads to have that book. I wanted to see the pleasure in his eyes as he held it, the delight from adding to his collection, the joy of being its caretaker.
I wanted him to treat himself. To see himself as I did. Worthy of being spoiled. He was so damn disciplined in every other part of his life. Only in bed did he really let those tight controls drop.
Only with . . . me.
The realisation made me smile, and I followed the bidding with renewed focus.