Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Corey couldn't speak.
He'd driven to the park with his mind carefully blank, refusing to let himself imagine what she might say. He'd walked across the grass toward her with his hands in his pockets and every wall he'd rebuilt this past week was still firmly in place. And then she'd started talking.
She'd told him about her ex-husband, about believing she was too much, about spending nine years building her life small enough that no one could ever ask her to be less.
She'd told him she loved him. And now she was standing in front of him under the Christmas tree, her breath fogging in the cold air, her eyes wet but steady, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
He didn't know where to start.
Everything he'd been carrying for the last week—the hurt, the exhaustion, the quiet resolve to move forward alone—was still there. He could feel it. It hadn't disappeared just because she'd said the right words. He'd been here before, wanting her, and it had cost him.
But so had she. She'd cost herself, too. He could see it in her face. He could hear it in the specific, hard-earned quality of what she'd just told him. She hadn't come here with excuses. She'd come here with the truth.
He drew in a slow breath.
"I bought a house," he said.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"On Sandpiper Lane. About a mile from the shelter. It’s a little cottage with a fenced yard. Two bedrooms, hardwood floors. There's a small alcove in the front room that would be perfect for a Christmas tree."
She was staring at him now.
"I put down the deposit the Saturday before you told me about the Beaumonts," he said. "I signed the paperwork and am closing on it in ten days. I've been packing up the condo for two weeks. Yesterday I met with a realtor to put it up for sale."
He watched her take that in. Saw the confusion and the recognition move across her face.
"I've been letting go of my parents' place," he said, more quietly. "Not because I stopped loving them, but because I finally understood that keeping it exactly the way they'd left it wasn't the same as keeping them. I was just—burying myself along with them. And I am tired of it."
His voice caught on the last word. He steadied it and kept going.
"I was going to tell you the day you called about the socialization session. I’d planned to take you to the cottage after I picked up Presti."
She made a small sound. He didn't look at her face too closely, because he wasn't sure he could keep talking if he did.
"I didn't do it for you," he said. "I need you to hear that. I’m not selling the condo because of what we might build together. I did it because I am tired of hiding. I am ready to live again."
He made himself look at her.
"But I wanted you to be part of it," he said. "That's the truth."
She lifted her hand slightly, and then let it drop.
"When you told me about the Beaumonts," he said, "I didn't just lose Presti.
I lost the whole picture I had in my head about the house and who I may eventually share it with.
And I didn't know how to tell you any of that at the shelter, because you weren't letting me talk.
I thought you'd decided I wasn't part of your life anymore.
And I couldn't keep begging you to let me in. "
"I'm so sorry."
"I know." His voice was rough. "I understand it now. But I need you to know how much it hurt, Gayle. Because I don't want to pretend it didn't."
She nodded once.
"It hurt when you kept pulling away and wouldn't tell me why. Then you scheduled that meeting with the Beaumonts without telling me. It hurt when you stood in the shelter last Saturday and told me we'd gotten confused about what we were, when I knew perfectly well what we were."
"I know."
He waited a beat and made himself breathe. The next part was harder to get to than he'd expected.
"But I understand it," he said. "I understand why you did it. I don't agree with it. But I know how hard it must have been to make those phone calls this morning."
She was watching him, her hands folded in front of her, waiting.
He almost lost his nerve.
He didn't.
"And I love you too," he said.
Something changed in her face. A small, quiet break in the composure she'd been holding.
"I've loved you since the fundraiser, probably. Maybe before. I love you when you're guarded and I love you when you're brave and I love you when you're making terrible decisions for the wrong reasons." His mouth twitched. "I don't know how to stop, and I don't want to."
She took a step toward him.
He took his hands out of his pockets.
"But I need us to promise each other something," he said. "We can’t keep making decisions for each other. If we're going to try this, we have to actually talk to each other. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
"Yes," she said. "I promise."
"I do too."
She was close enough now that he could see the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. Close enough that he could reach for her.
He reached for her.
She met him halfway.
When he kissed her, he tasted the cold December air on her lips and the salt of the tears she'd wiped away earlier.
She smelled like coffee and lavender and something that was just her, and he felt her fingers slide into the collar of his jacket and pull him closer, and for the first time in a week, his heart felt like it belonged in his body again.
He kissed her again. Slower this time. Long enough that his hand came up to cradle the back of her head.
When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.
He held her there for a moment.
Then he said, "Where is he?"
"At the shelter."
"How is he?"
She hesitated. He felt it against his forehead. "He's been sitting at the front of his kennel this whole time," she said quietly. "Watching the door."
Corey closed his eyes tighter.
"Presti didn't understand what happened," she said. "He just knew you stopped coming. He's been so sad, Corey. That was the other reason I had to call Sarah this morning. I couldn't send him to a new home when he was still waiting for the one he already had."
"Can we go get him?"
"Yes. Right now, if you want."
"I do."
She smiled against his forehead. He could feel it.
"He can't come back to the condo," he said, pulling back slightly. "We’ve had a couple of close calls and I think the building manager is getting suspicious. If I bring him back now, I'm sunk."
"I know. I was thinking maybe could he stay with me? At the apartment above the shelter. Just until you close on the cottage."
He looked at her.
"That would be good," he said.
"And you could come see him. Whenever you want."
"To see him."
"Yes."
"And you?"
Her mouth pulled up at one corner. "And me. If you want."
"I do."
He kissed her again. Just briefly this time. Because he had a puppy to check up on.
She took his hand.
They walked back to the parking lot together, their fingers laced, the December wind pushing at their coats.
She read his face and laughed softly. "I'll meet you at the shelter."
"Okay."
He didn't let go of her hand.
"Corey?"
"Yes."
"Will you show me the cottage tonight? After Presti's settled?"
He nodded.
"I want to see the yard," she said. "And the alcove for the Christmas tree."
"There's a bay window in the kitchen. You can see the sunrise from it."
"I want to see that too."
He kissed her hand and let it go.
She got in her truck. He got in his.
They pulled out of the parking lot, one behind the other, and drove toward the shelter, where a small tan puppy with a white blaze on his chest was probably still lying at the front of his kennel, watching the door.
Presti didn't know it yet.
But the person he'd been waiting for was on his way.