Almost Like Being in Love (37 page)

“Can I come inside so we can talk?”

After barely saying a word to her, now Alex wanted to talk?

“Tonight? Alex, you look exhausted. And I've spent all day traveling—”

“Please.”

Seemed like she didn't really have a choice.

Alex carried her luggage into her house, leaving it just inside the door, while Caron kicked off her shoes, tossing her purse on the nearest chair.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“I'm sorry. I know it's late.” Alex's shoulders were stooped, his face hidden in the shadows.

“It's not a problem—”

“I just thought, since you're home and I'm here—”

“You obviously need to talk about something.”

Alex shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I don't even know why I'm here.”

“You just said—”

“I know what I said. I'm sorry. I've had a rough couple of days.”

Caron stopped in the middle of her living room, turning to face Alex, who stepped forward and all but collapsed on her sofa, not even bothering to toss aside the decorative pillows. “What's going on, Alex?”

“I'm trying to finally make sense of my life. Figure out how I got here—and if I want things to stay this way.”

Caron eased to the ground beside the couch, struggling to catch up. There'd been no
It's good to see you again
and
I missed you while you were in Colorado
from Alex tonight. “I'm sorry. I don't understand.”

“A . . . friend asked me some pointed questions a while ago. About why I let things go on the way they are with my mom. Why I didn't try to get her help. And when I said I couldn't change her, this friend said I should get help for myself.”

“What kind of help did this friend recommend?”

“Counseling.” Alex stared at the floor. “And I think she may be right.”

“She?”

“Jessica is a single mom I met when I was installing a new air-conditioning unit in her house.”

“Oh.” Since when did Alex have conversations about family problems with customers? Female customers?

“Nothing's going on, Caron—”

“I didn't think there was.”

Nothing . . . except this unknown woman having personal conversations with Alex, the man she was supposed to be marrying.

“So do you want to go to counseling?”

“No. No, I don't want to go to counseling.” Alex leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. He paused for a few moments before going on. “But I think . . . I need help.”

“Help with what?”

“Getting my life unraveled from my mom . . . and my dad. I'm thirty years old and I still live at home with my parents.”

“But that's because you want to be there for your mom.”

“Exactly.” He fell back against the couch, shifting his focus to the ceiling. Looking anywhere but at her. “Dad told me to handle things after Shawn died, and I obeyed him . . . and it's twenty years later and I'm still handling things. Trying to make sure my mother doesn't drink too much. Making her meals, hoping she'll eat something. Doing the laundry and the grocery shopping . . . breathing a little easier on the days when Mom is doing okay . . . and holding my breath on the days when she's not. What kind of life is that?”

Caron reached for Alex's hand. “You've been a good son.”

“Have I? Do I even know what a good son is? Does honoring your parents mean you do everything they want you to do? If it does, then when do I get to have a life?”

“Isn't that what our getting married is about—starting your life—our life—together?” Even as she asked the question, Caron wasn't sure she wanted to hear Alex's answer.

“All this . . . these questions . . . they affect you, too. Us. Getting married.” His shoulders shuddered with a sigh. His words hollow. “And I thought, if nothing else, I could try being honest with you.”

“What do you mean . . . being honest? Haven't we always been honest with each other?”

“Caron, don't you see how you . . . us . . . our relationship is all tangled up in my family's secrets? You know everything about me—the good and the bad—and that makes you both safe . . . and very, very dangerous.”

“I don't understand.” Caron pulled back, rubbing her hands up and down her crossed arms as his words seemed to chill her.

“As long as I'm involved with you, then my secrets are safe.
I'm
safe. But the minute I even consider trying to have a real relationship with someone else . . . well, that's dangerous because it means they have to know my secrets, too. And if I let you go, you have the power to tell my secrets to someone else.”

Why was Alex talking about having a
real relationship
with someone else? Had he found someone else while she was in Colorado? This Jessica, perhaps? And why was there this almost indefinable feeling of . . . of relief to think that Alex might have fallen in love with another woman? She didn't want that to happen—did she?

“Alex, I would never tell someone—”

“I know you wouldn't. All these years we've been friends . . . dated . . . you've kept my secrets. But is a relationship supposed to be based on secrets?”

Secrets. Relationships. Safety. Danger. She'd never heard Alex talk like this before.

“So what are you saying?”

“I'm saying that . . . you're a wonderful friend. My best friend.” Alex's eyes were shadowed. “But I'm tired of keeping secrets . . . and of expecting you to keep my secrets, too.”

When he reached out to her, she placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her up to sit beside him on the couch.

“I'm not . . . ready to get married, Caron. Marriage, at the very least, demands honesty. This is the first time I've ever been completely honest with myself. With you.” Sweat beaded along his upper lip. “Who knew being so truthful would be this exhausting? And it's painful to say it out loud, but . . . my mother's an alcoholic. My father refuses to deal with her problem. And I . . . I need to figure out how to get a life. My own life.”

She waited for Alex's words to hurt . . . to wound her . . . but they didn't. There seemed to be some sort of buffer around her heart that allowed her to listen to Alex . . . to be his friend . . . even as he verbally dismantled their romance. He wasn't rejecting her—not really. He was asking for freedom to figure out who he was as he extricated himself from the emotional web created by his mother's alcoholism. Maybe this unexpected calmness came from recognizing that.

At this moment, Alex needed a friend more than anything else. She could be that for him. She'd always been his friend.

“I understand, Alex.” At least, she was trying to understand. She leaned close, resting her head on his shoulder. “And you're right. You need time to sort things out—and the freedom to do it without worrying about me.”

“You do know I love you, Caro—” Alex's voice was so low Caron had to strain to hear it. “But I can't ask you to wait while I try to figure my life out. Who knows how long that will take?”

“I know you love me, Alex.” Caron could say the words, knowing they were true. “And I love you. You're one of my best
friends. And I know the all-wise ‘they' say you should marry your best friend . . . but in our case, I think they're wrong.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, as if unsure what to say next, or who should say it.

Alex tapped their paired hands against his knee. “So . . . we're not getting married then, right?”'

He sounded so detached. Is that what happened when you realized you were marrying the wrong person? Or you were marrying the right person for all the wrong reasons?

“Correct. We're not getting married.” Something pierced her heart as she said the words, but she squeezed his hand, trying to keep any emotion from her words. The last thing he needed right now was for her to cry. “You need to take care of yourself—and not worry about me.”

“And we're both okay with this decision?”

“Yes. We made the decision together.”

“I suppose we'll need to tell our parents we've ruined their plans—”

His parents. Her parents.

Her father.

“Not right away. Please.”

“What?”

“I just got back from Colorado. I'm exhausted. Give me a couple of days to get my bearings again. To get settled back into my job. Can you do that?”

“Sure. I understand.” At last Alex shifted on the couch and looked at her. “So, not to ask an awkward question, but what are you going to do with that destination wedding you won?”

The wedding in Telluride. How funny that Alex would remember that before she did.

“Oh, I don't know.” Caron tried to keep her voice light. “There's still time before the expiration date. Maybe I'll donate it—surprise
some other couple who is ready to get married. Don't worry about it. You have more important things to think about right now besides a destination wedding you never wanted in the first place.”

Alex had the decency to look apologetic—but only a little. “Still friends?”

“Always friends.”

“Who knew being an adult was so tough?”

“Who knew?”

“I guess I need to get home.” Alex rose to his feet and Caron followed him to the door. “Thank you for listening. For understanding.”

“Of course.”

Only as Alex hugged her, his embrace so familiar, did something inside of her seem to shift. To crumble. How was she supposed to let him go? His heart beat beneath her ear—steady and strong—an echo of his long-standing presence in her life.

They'd agreed to this . . . this new definition of their relationship. Friends—and only friends. She would not make Alex think she wanted more, not when he was hurting, struggling to find his way. She wouldn't demand something of him that he couldn't give her. And she'd stop pretending she could give him everything he needed from the woman he'd marry.

“Go on, now.” She stepped back, face averted, so Alex wouldn't see the tears pooling in her eyes. “It's late.”

“Take care.”

“You, too.”

Only when she was safe in her bed, the covers pulled up over her shoulders, did Caron release a shuddery sigh that became a tear-soaked sob.

She'd done the right thing. It was time for her and Alex to stop using their relationship as a safety zone. Despite her tears, they'd done the right thing.

O
ne week of work behind her, another week about to start, and Caron had settled back into the routine of working for her father—and Nancy Miller—easier than she expected.

Yes, the sign outside the building now read
HOLLISTER REALTY GROUP
. And the smaller conference room had been transformed into a private office for Nancy Miller. But the summery pillows Caron had purchased still decorated the couch in the reception area, and she had rescued the vase from the break room, refilled it with vivid pink zinnias, and centered it on the glass table.

Following the Monday-morning staff meeting, Caron waited as the other Realtors left the conference room, some pausing to talk with her father or with Nancy Miller. As the other woman ended her conversation, Caron caught her father's attention.

“Could I talk to you for a moment?”

“Will this take long?” Her father closed his leather folder. “I was about to meet with Nancy.”

“No. I wanted to share an idea with you—” She realized Nancy was watching their exchange. “—and Nancy's welcome
to listen, since this involves the company. I'd like her opinion, too.”

“Well?”

“As you know, I staged a home while I was in Colorado. And you—we—often recommend that our clients use a professional home stager before they put their homes on the market.”

Her father remained standing behind the table. “Yes, we do.”

“What would you think about developing a home staging branch of Hollister Realty Group?”

“We're a realty company, Caron. We do not stage homes.”

“But I can stage homes—”

“You're a Realtor—”

“Yes, I'm a Realtor, but I loved what I did for Kade Webster—” At the mention of Kade's name, her father's posture stiffened. “And I've considered doing it full-time.”

“Don't be absurd, Caron. You are not a home decorator.”

“But I have the skills. I could show you photographs of the Peak Tour of Homes house—”

“I'm not interested.” With a glance at his watch, her father headed for the door. “You've studied real estate. You still have a lot to learn about that. I'm finished with this conversation.”

Caron's father didn't even spare her a glance as he left the room.

So much for her brilliant idea.