Chapter 57 Matt
matt
I checked my silenced phone for the umpteenth time, not because I was expecting a text or call, but just for something to do.
I was in the conference room at the title company, the door closed, pacing.
I’d asked the real estate agent to schedule the meeting earlier than necessary, so that I would have time to talk to Hope privately.
The room was cool, but I was sweating. Maybe I’d made a colossal mistake. The more I thought about it, the more certain I grew that Hope would be furious. She would see this as another example of me trying to tell her what to do, to control her, to run her life.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to say, and every time I tried to prepare something—me, an attorney who always had the right words, who practiced and prepared briefs all the time!—I drew a blank. Everything sounded ridiculous.
Because she’d be right. I was trying to persuade her to my way of thinking. My life depended on making her see things the way I saw them.
The door abruptly opened, and there she was. She wore a gray tailored dress and heels, and her hair was different—a little shorter and straighter and more tamed down—but she was just as beautiful as I remembered, and seeing her again took my breath away.
For a second, I dared to hope I was having the same effect on her, because she froze in the door, her hand on the handle, and stared at me. “What are you doing here?”
My hopes were dashed, but not demolished. “Hope, we need to talk.”
She took a step backward, her eyes round with alarm. “I—I have a closing.”
“I asked them to postpone it for half an hour.”
Her chin tilted up a bit. “That was a little high-handed, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. But since you’ve refused to talk to me or answer my texts, it was all I could think of.”
For a moment I feared she was going to turn on her heel, but then her posture slumped. She sighed, closed the door, and slowly walked into the room. “I owe you an apology for that.”
I didn’t want an apology, damn it. “I’ll settle for a conversation.”
She nodded, not meeting my eyes.
“It’s great to see you.”
“Likewise.”
I gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like Hope—soft and warm and fresh, like grass and sunshine and flowers—but she held her body aloof and leaned away from me. My heart broke a little. “You look great. Different, but still beautiful.”
She looked down at her dress, then a ghost of a grin flitted across her face. “Yeah, well, shorts and flip-flops aren’t part of the Chicago dress code.”
I smiled.
Our eyes met, and that old connection flared between us. She grinned back, a full-fledged, Hope-like grin. “How are the girls?”
“They’re good. They’re at an equestrian day camp this week.”
“Oh, how fun for them!”
“They’re enjoying it.” I stood there like an idiot, just smiling at her. I could have done that all day. When I finally gestured for her to take a seat at the table, her smile faded. She slowly lowered herself into a conference chair.
Now what? I didn’t want to sit across the table from her, but if I wanted to look in her face, I had no other option. Maybe asking her to sit had been a mistake.
She looked up at me. “Look—I’m sorry I ran out on you like that. I was just . . . well, I didn’t want to drag things out. I knew I was leaving, and it was ending, and I thought . . . well, let’s just get it over as quickly and painlessly as possible.”
Wait—she thought I’d come here to tell her off? Nothing could be further from the truth, but if it made her willing to listen to me, I’d play along for a while. I tried to match her somber expression. “Like ripping off a Band-Aid?”
She nodded. “I know it was rude and inconsiderate. I just . . . well, I guess I kind of panicked. And every time the phone rang and I saw your number, my heart would go into overdrive, and I didn’t know what to say, so I just didn’t answer.
I’m really sorry I handled it that way. I—I just thought it was for the best for both us.
I didn’t mean to treat you badly. I mean, it was bad for me, too.
In retrospect, I realize I should have called you before I left, or maybe told you in person, but .
. . well, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was just too painful.”
Painful was good. Painful meant she cared. And apparently she still cared, because she was doing that rambling thing she always does when she’s nervous. I rubbed my jaw, trying hard to hide the delight rising in my chest.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” she continued. “You have every right. It was selfish of me to just avoid you like that. You deserve to tell me off. You’ll feel better after you vent, so go ahead. Get it all off your chest.”
I stifled a laugh.
“Seriously.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her expression was so earnest that it made me want to grin, even though my chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.
“Let’s get it over with. I don’t think you can say anything that I haven’t already said to myself, but you deserve the chance to say it, so let me have it. The buyer will be here soon.”
“He’s already here.”
“Oh, he is?” She turned toward the closed conference room door, then looked back at me.
“Not out there. Right here.” I pointed at myself.
“What?”
“I’m buying your grandmother’s house.”
“You’re Property Investments, Inc.?” She stared at me, hard.
“Yes.”
“But what . . . Why . . . why didn’t you . . .”
I moved around the conference table and sat beside her.
“Hope, don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not trying to control you or manipulate you or anything.
Or maybe I am, but not in a bad way. It’s just that, well, I thought that if I bought the house, you’d have a place to stay when you visit Wedding Tree.
And if not, well, it’s a good investment, with all the new people moving to town, so .
. .” I drew a deep breath and decided to just lay it out there.
“The truth is, I needed a reason to make you come back, sit down, and talk to me.”
She stared at me, her lips parted. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or incredulous or what. “You bought my grandmother’s house to make me come back here and talk to you?”
I hurried on. “There are some things I wanted to tell you during our weekend in New Orleans, but you skipped out before I got the chance.”
She held up her hands in a “stop” motion. “Is Gran in on this?”
“She, um . . . yes.”
Her wide eyes grew even more enormous.
“Here’s the deal, Hope. If you’re really happy in Chicago, the girls and I can move up there. I can find a law practice easily enough. Jobs and places aren’t home. People are. And you . . . you feel like home to me.”
Her arms dropped, and so did her jaw. “What . . . what are you saying?”
“What I wanted to tell you in New Orleans, damn it! I love you, Hope. I want a life with you.” It took my entire air supply to say that—and then I couldn’t breathe until she answered.
She took so long my vision started to grow fuzzy.
“Matt, I know you’ll always love Christine,” she said. “And don’t get me wrong—that’s beautiful, and you should. But . . . the thing is, I don’t want to be second best.”
Was that her only objection? Relief flooded my veins. “You aren’t. You never have been. You never could be.”
“But . . .”
“No buts about it. Yes, I loved Christine. But loving her doesn’t mean I can’t love you just as much—or maybe even more.”
Uncertainty clouded her eyes.
I leaned forward. “I loved Zoey to death when she was born. I couldn’t imagine ever loving another child as much as I loved her, but then we had Sophie, and I fell head over heels all over again.
And any children you and I have together—well, it would be just like that.
Love isn’t something you run out of. It’s not a finite resource.
The more you give, the more you have to give.
I’ve had more experience loving now than I did when I married Christine.
And when you project it out over the course of our lifetimes, that means I’m going to love you more. ”
She looked at me, and I could tell that now she was the one holding her breath.
I took her hands. “Look—I know you might need some time to absorb this. It might seem like I’m kind of springing this on you.
But here’s the bottom line: I’m willing to make whatever changes you want so that you and I and the girls can be together from here on out. ”