Chapter 8
EIGHT
Thomas didn’t touch her the rest of the morning. Not once.
They’d endured their final interminable interview in yet another generic hotel meeting room.
They’d discussed the benefits and drawbacks of different islands and announced their decision to stay their last three nights on Renaissance Island.
The crew had contacted the other hotels and a ferry company to cancel reservations.
She and Thomas had made their goodbyes to the crew and seen everyone off at the ferry dock.
All the while, he hadn’t once reached for her hand or wrapped an arm around her waist or stroked the wind-whipped hair from her face. All gestures she’d apparently become dependent upon during the course of three short days, because their absence hurt.
More than that, their absence confused her.
Because he still smiled at her, the expression weaker than normal but seemingly sincere.
He saw to her comfort, such as when he’d noticed her shifting in that too-narrow chair with the wooden arms and brought her a wider seat without a word.
He’d backed up whatever opinions she expressed during the interview and deflected Gladys’s occasional complaints about the lack of great footage on Renaissance Island.
And if she’d truly hurt his feelings so badly with one insensitive remark, why didn’t he tell her so? Why didn’t he initiate another one of those nerve-wracking conversations of his? Why didn’t he share what he was thinking, as he—unlike her—had seemed to do so ably and comfortably before now?
Maybe he was waiting for the crew to leave?
But when the ferry disappeared over the horizon, he spoke without looking at her.
“You probably want to sit in the water and relax for a while.” His eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners, despite his smile. “Don’t worry about entertaining me. I found a few local history books, and I might take a tour of the grounds to locate some of the landmarks.”
From the sharp pain and coppery taste on her tongue, she must have broken the skin of her lip as she bit it. “Okay.”
She didn’t expect him to spend every minute with her, of course, but…
Yeah. It stung. And something was clearly amiss.
Say something, Cal. She shifted on feet that had suddenly started to hurt, pinched by her strappy sandals. For Christ’s sake, take his hand and ask what happened. Ask him what’s wrong.
But the thought of that tripped her heart in her chest and made her skin prickle with both humiliation and hives. She couldn’t do it. Not when his answer meant so much to her, and the wrong response could crush her.
Maybe he simply needed some alone time, away from her incessant worries, and was too kind to tell her that outright.
If so, she couldn’t exactly blame him. And if she forced him to stay with her, to have that awkward, potentially hurtful conversation, maybe he’d get angry.
Maybe he’d think she was too demanding, too needy.
Maybe he’d tell her they were through. That she was too much for him.
No, she should let him go. Let him work through his thoughts and come back to her. If he had something he needed to tell her, he would. In his own time. She wouldn’t force the issue.
His blue eyes had turned dull. Opaque. “I hope you have an amazing day, Callie.”
Her chest was afire, her throat thick. She didn’t want him to see her in this state. So when he turned to leave, she didn’t call him back.
She did what she always did. What she did best.
She kept her mouth shut and put one foot in front of the other, no matter how much it hurt.
* * *
Late that afternoon, she sent him a text. Just a reminder: We have reservations for dinner at seven. Meet you in our room before then.
Then she shut down her phone before he could text back to cancel. Because if she knew Thomas—and she did, or at least she’d thought she did—if she didn’t confirm that she’d received his message, he’d show up to their room out of sheer politeness.
And she needed to see him. To reassure herself that everything hadn’t gone wrong, much as she knew it had. Suddenly. For reasons she feared she comprehended all too well.
True to form, he arrived in their suite half an hour before the reservation, and his eyes immediately flew to the corner of the room where she sat, fully dressed and ready to go.
“Hello, Callie.” He cleared his throat. “Did you have a good afternoon?”
She could interpret the wince creasing his lean face. He’d wanted to cancel, but only a jackass would do so at the last minute, when she’d clearly spent time and effort preparing for the occasion.
Oh, yes, she knew him. Not as well as she’d hoped, but well enough to stage this moment. Now she just had to figure out what to do with it.
He didn’t come within five feet of her, and he didn’t make eye contact as he scuttled around the room and gathered clothing for a dinner that would undoubtedly be horrible and stilted.
She was wearing her goddess dress again, and he didn’t even give her a second glance.
So much for queens. She should have known better.
At that moment, something broke inside her.
Fuck her anxiety. Fuck her hives. She had things to say to Thomas McKinney, and he was going to listen, like it or not.
“No.” This time, the voice that emerged from her mouth wasn’t tentative, Anxious Callie Voice.
It wasn’t even smooth, competent, Professional Librarian Voice.
This one was new. Loud. If she had to give it a name, she thought she might call it Callie’s Had Enough of This Shit Voice.
“No, I didn’t have a good afternoon. I’d thank you for asking, but since you’re the cause of my crappy day, I think I’ll forgo that pro forma response. ”
He spun to face her, his firm jaw going slightly slack.
She sat forward in her chair. “I don’t know what the hell happened this morning. I’m sorry I called you a mess, but I already apologized for that, and I did so sincerely. If you’re still angry about it, we can talk it over, but I don’t think what I said was unforgivable.”
“It’s not—” His words stuttered to a halt. “Callie, no, that’s not—”
“But I suspect that’s not the problem at all.
Maybe once the cameras were about to leave, you realized you’d gotten swept up in this whole experience, and you started considering everything you’ve learned about me these past three days.
Maybe you finally realized being with me would be an enormous pain in your ass, and you don’t want to hurt my feelings by saying so.
” She rose to her feet. “But now’s your chance.
I’m topped up on Benadryl, so do your worst. Tell me why you don’t want to look at me or touch me anymore, despite everything you said j-just”—her voice wavered—“this morning. Tell me I’m too needy or too anxious. Tell me I’m too much for you.”
Her breath hitched, but she refused to scratch at her hive-ridden chest.
His eyes had closed with her words, his face scrunched into an expression of pain she understood. He was a good man, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
But she was going to force him to do it, because she was done being silent and wondering what might have been different if she’d only said something. Advocated for herself. Asked questions and clarified what was happening in her world.
If he was going to dump her so abruptly, she was damn well going to know why.
When his eyes opened again, she jerked in shock.
They weren’t opaque anymore. They were wet, like hers.
But he didn’t reach for her or move closer.
“I know, Callie.” The words were choked. “I know.”
She threw her hands in the air, infuriated and befuddled. “What does that even mean?”
Her heart drummed through several beats of silence.
“I—” His deep breath lifted and lowered his chest. “I came back with breakfast this morning, and you were in the bathroom. I overheard your conversation with your friend.”
What?
Oh.
Oh, shit.
“Thomas.” She took a step toward him. “How much did you hear?”
“I’m so sorry.” His shoulders slumped, and he gazed down at his sneakers.
“I shouldn’t have listened to a private conversation.
But most of all, I’m sorry for making you so miserable.
I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.
I’m sorry you thought for even a moment I considered you too much.
And I’m sorry that because of me, you’re forcing yourself to have another awkward conversation that’s giving you hives. ”
The defeat in his voice tore at her heart.
“The hives don’t matter. I have medication to help with that.” She exhaled through her nose and took another step toward him. “If you heard everything, then you know I’ve changed my—”
He backed away, toward the door. “I don’t know how to make this right.
But clearly there’s no way we can have a future together.
So I figure the best thing I can do for you is let you have a relaxing vacation and talk to Bridget about our schedule as soon as we get back.
I promise I’ll try to avoid you in the future.
But if that’s not enough, let me know, and I’ll see whether I can find somewhere else to work. Maybe a research library in Plymouth.”
What? What the hell was he talking about?
He lifted his hand in what was likely meant to be a sort of sad farewell gesture, and she actually stomped her foot.
No. She wasn’t letting him duck out of this conversation until she understood everything.
“If you want to make this right, you’ll stop moving toward the door and answer my goddamn question.” She pinned him with her glare. “How much did you hear?”
He was staring at her brows, seemingly frozen. If she hadn’t been so upset, she probably would have laughed.
“Thomas?” she prompted.
He visibly started. “Uh…your friend said you loathed me. Because I always scheduled myself with you and left you stranded on the desk. Which is true, and like I said, I’m so sorry, Callie. I wish with every cell in my body I could go back six months and do everything differently, but I can’t.”