Chapter 22 #3
“You should head to bed then and get some rest. A little worry isn’t going to kill her, and you’re up and moving around right now. You’re going to be just fine.” Ronan gave her a small smile, wanting to reach out and toy with the loose curl falling to the side of her face.
“I’d rather stay up and speak with you a little before you go.” She smiled and stood, motioning to the doorway. “I would like to sit on the couches, though, since they’re far more comfortable than these chairs.”
He chuckled and got up, following her out of the room, considering reaching for her hand for just a moment to join their fingers even though he knew it wasn’t the wisest decision. He couldn’t let either of them get more attached to each other.
It was better if he broke only his own heart when he left.
Cressida sat on one of the couches, reaching for the blanket draped over the back and pulling it over her lap despite how warm it was outside. His brows pulled together as he sat across from her.
“You’re not still feeling feverish, are you?” He nodded to the blanket.
She shook her head. “No, but I like the comfort of a blanket. Especially if I’m to sit here with nothing to do all day, which I suspect is what’s going to happen. I don’t think there’s any way Etta is going to let me help with any of the chores.”
“Have you noticed that you feel uncomfortable with resting and keep circling back to what Etta needs and getting the chores done?” Ronan asked, keeping his tone light and teasing. “When’s the last time you took some time to yourself to just relax and enjoy another person’s company”
“The other night in the cave.”
Ronan laughed and shook his head, crossing one leg over the other. “I don’t mean then. I mean before that.”
“Probably back when my husband was still alive, but I’m not sure when that might have been, to be honest.” Cressida picked at one of the loose strands of yarn on the blanket. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not very good at sitting still.”
“If you think there’s something I haven’t noticed about you, you’d be wrong,” he murmured, his voice low as he watched her, his heart slamming into his ribs.
How was he supposed to get up from this couch and leave? How was he supposed to abandon her without any explanation of why or where he was going or if he would be back one day?
Perhaps one day, if all of this ever ended, he would be able to write to her and send her a letter. He could tell her how he felt for her and how leaving her was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
Would it be right to write to her after what could be years, though? To leave her without warning and then pen her a letter as if nothing had happened, proclaiming feelings for her when it was possible in the future that she would have feelings for another.
He sighed and scrubbed his hand on the back of his neck.
“Are you going to go to the festival?” Cressida asked, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch between them. She looked at him, her gaze locking on his and sending a lump climbing high in his throat.
He wanted to tell her that he would go wherever she wanted to go. “I don’t know yet. It depends on the work that needs to be done. We’re working on expanding the ranch, and I suspect it’s going to be taking up most of my time for the foreseeable future.”
It wasn’t an entire lie. Working on the ranch was his plan one day, but that day wasn’t today, and it wouldn’t be any time in the future.
“It’s in four days. Saturday. If you’re not doing anything, you should come with us. Etta told me about it, and she was just saying before you got here that she was going to be going with Tobin. It could be fun for all of us to go together.”
She rushed the words out, looking a little breathless by the time she got to the end.
The invitation hung between them loudly. It was like the question had been screamed, and it was demanding an answer other than that he would have to see what work he was doing.
How could he tell her that he wouldn’t be there when she was looking at him with that hopeful look in her eyes? It was impossible.
He couldn’t commit to being there either.
“I’ll try my best to meet you there, but I’ll be sure Tobin goes.” He forced a smile, but there was a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.
As it turned out, he could lie to her, but it left him feeling sick to his stomach.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and stood. “I should be going. Tobin is working on a chicken coop, and he might need some help.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie, which made him feel better. He was going to go, and Tobin was going to be working on a chicken coop.
“Have a good afternoon. I hope you do come to the festival. It could be a good time,” she said, her entire face lighting up, looking better than she had all of yesterday as she stood and walked with him to the door.
“Promise me that you’ll get some rest,” he said, turning to her, his chest aching and his voice thick. “I don’t want to see you sick again.”
“I promise to get some rest,” she said softly, staring up at him with a look that made him wish he could lean in and kiss her.
That would only make things more complicated, though, so he turned and left, at war with himself between leaving in that moment and spending one more day with her.