Unbound: (InterMix) (28 page)

And if he
still
didn’t show, what then?

Well, then she really did need to get busy forgetting him.

She made a list of the things she’d meant to do on that original trip to Inverness.
She’d make the most of it either way.

She didn’t write to tell him her plans. They’d first met with her unannounced, startling
arrival. They might as well reunite in the same fashion.

She deposited his money order, but only so she might give him one in return. She wasn’t
wealthy by any means, but her promotion had left her comfortable enough to fund her
own vacations—surely more comfortable than a man who presumably hadn’t worked in three
years.

She had no idea what to expect, if he showed.

A tearful, somber reunion, laced with apology and regrets?

Or would she stare into those eyes for all of ten seconds and forgive him utterly,
then spend the rest of the time in some lovey-lusty knot of
I’m so sorry
and
I forgive you
, and then perhaps darker sentiments?
Show me how sorry you are, Rob,
some twisted inner temptress would sometimes murmur, in her imagination. Turn this
mess into a game, into a dynamic they already knew how process together.

But probably not.

He’d broken her heart, and far deeper than he probably knew. Slipping back into that
old role-playing wouldn’t come quickly, she bet. They needed to start again. To accept
that they’d parted nearly as strangers, with such a dark and significant part of Rob
kept secret . . . even as such tender ones had been laid bare before her, by the light
of an oil lamp.

She sighed, fingering the corners of her boarding pass, breathing deeply, waiting
for her heart to unknot itself. Sometimes she glanced up at the odd male voice, at
an English accent, but the man she was so anxious to see was waiting on the other
side of the world.

If he’s still waiting.

She didn’t know him well enough to guess how long he might keep that promise. How
many Tuesdays he might stand on some street corner, scanning the crowd for her face.
Through the heat of summer, through the autumn wind and the sting of snow?

A different crowd was moving now, gathering, brushing past the pack propped between
her knees. Boarding had been announced. She watched spacily as people got positioned.

Then her zone was called, and she was up, hugging her bag to her chest, feet carrying
her toward the gate.

Her pass was scanned, smiles exchanged, and she was following her fellow passengers
down a carpeted tunnel. Around a corner and into a plane.

And all at once, it was too late to turn back.

Chapter Nineteen

Eleven hours on the plane. Twelve on the sleeper train—a misnomer in Merry’s opinion.
She hadn’t managed a minute’s shut-eye, just watched England and Scotland sliding
by as terrestrial constellations, the dawn arriving with the Highlands, painting the
mountains in lavender and slate across a canvas of watery blue.

Somewhere at the heart of this trip, she wanted a do-over, so she’d booked a room
at the same hotel from the previous fall. She got lucky and was allowed to check in
early, with nearly three hours to shower and change and find some breakfast before
Rob’s appointed meet-up window opened at noon.

She did all those things. Dressed in her favorite jeans and a flattering, casual button-up.
Fussed over her hair and makeup, wondering if he’d even show to behold the effort.
Hoping he would. Fearing he would. Hope, fear, hope, fear.

The corner he’d named was only a few blocks away, and she headed out right at twelve,
heart whacking her ribs the second the door clicked shut behind her.

Down the hall and two flights to the ground floor, through the lobby. Through the
revolving door, hang a right. The sun was high, warming her hair and shoulders. The
sky was blue, and as clear as her mind was cloudy.

After no more than five minutes’ walk, she stopped dead.

Oh fuck.

There he was. With a leash in his hand and the nameless dog sitting at his feet.

Standing on this very street where he’d left her behind.

It had been cold that night, and dark. Now it was impossibly sunny, warm and sweet-smelling.
But one thing was exactly the same—the naked pain in her heart, the pain that seemed
to split her with tiny rips and tears, beat after beat after beat.

Part of her wanted to run to him. Part wanted to turn on her heel and flee. Instead
she simply kept moving, kept walking, every step carrying her closer, closer.

He hadn’t seen her. He was looking down the road, the other way. Checking his watch.

He owns a watch.
Who was this stranger who could look so
fucking familiar
?

She saw his nostrils flare and wondered how many Tuesdays he’d been doing this for.
She’d gotten his letter over two months ago. And he’d come here every week since then,
pacing, checking the time, hoping, waiting . . . going home disappointed? And home
to where?

You’re a very strange man,
she thought, a half block away now. And she felt the first shadow of a smile tug
at her lips.

He looked . . . different. His hair was neater, his stubble nowhere near approaching
beardhood, though she could make out his silver patch even in profile, and those bold
streaks at his temples.

And then he turned.

All at once she was walking on the ocean floor, molasses-slow and dreamlike, a couple
dozen paces that felt longer than the flight from California.

He squinted, brows pinching together, then rising with realization. Those same eyes,
blue and melancholy. He wore newish-looking jeans and a tee the heathered color of
granite. Well-worn sneakers she’d never seen before, and those sneakers were moving
now, carrying this twenty-first-century man toward her. The dog preceded him, straining,
tail wagging madly with recognition.

Rob didn’t smile, but his lips were tight with unmistakable hope.

Oh, she knew those lips. She’d studied them ten thousand times in that single photo,
remembered how they’d felt and tasted on lonely, idle evenings when her heart had
felt forgiving. The things they’d whispered by the glow of an oil lamp—confessions
and pleas and sweet nothings—and all the pleasure they’d given her.

She took a deep, bracing breath, mustering clarity.

He looks healthy,
she thought, and most important of all, sober. Lucid. Calm as could be expected of
a man put through all this anticipation.

They came to a stop a few feet from each other. Rob looked perplexed. And hesitant.
Excited paws bounced off Merry’s thigh, and she wanted so many things . . . To run
away. To embrace this man. To kiss him. Just to touch him—his face and hair, the spot
on his chest where she’d lain her head and memorized his heartbeat.

Instead she stooped to greet the dog, and managed a smile for its owner. “Hi, stranger.”

Her voice threw him, woke him from some trance.

“Merry.” He said nothing else for long seconds, mouth open, eyes narrowed against
the sunshine, regarding her with awe or disbelief as pedestrians brushed past them.
“I wondered if you would ever come.”

She straightened and held her purse strap, needing an anchor. “I did, too. But here
I am.”

His stare was intense now, burning with so many emotions, too many to pinpoint and
label. Her gaze fled to the surrounding buildings.

“I remember this place,” she said sadly, wandering a couple paces to the nearest storefront
and tracing one of its diamond-shaped panes. “It was a candy shop last fall . . .
I guess it really did go out of business. Makes me wish I’d bought something from
it.”

Rob waited until she faced him again, then said quietly, “You look well.”

She met his eyes. “You, too. Really healthy.”

“And clean,” he said, the corner of his lips hitching a fraction.

She mistook him at first, thinking he meant sober—but no, merely showered. “That,
too. I could say the same for myself.”

“You look pretty. With makeup,” he clarified, gesturing at his own face.

“Thanks.” This was all so awkward. Like they’d never kissed, let alone done all those
other things together.

Another tight smile. “Though you look even prettier without it.”

Her heart broke a little then, the tiniest, sweetest pain. It made her want to open
up and close herself tight all at once. To let him in, and to keep him out. Some of
the wall between them crumbled, creating an opening, but obscuring things, too, dust
rising.

“Thanks,” she said again.

“I’m not quite sure what to say . . . though I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times
in my head.”

“You said plenty in your letter.” Merry felt her knotted back muscles soften. Soften
like those two pages had, handled again and again and again, these past couple months.

“I hope it found you well.”

She nodded, then sat her butt on the former candy shop’s front window ledge. “I’ve
been fine. A bit restless, but everything’s good.” Boring and stale, like a closed-off
room. So much stimulation, so many people; yet she felt so alone back home. Listless.
Isolated in a way she’d never felt while hiking all those miles by her herself, or
sequestered with only a single man for company. The world felt full out here, in its
starkness. Her mother had made this land sound hard and cold as a gravestone, yet
Merry had never felt so alive.

“I’ve missed you.” Rob’s gaze dropped to her feet—or to the dog—then hopped back up.
“So much.”

She swallowed, emotion like gristle lodged in her aching throat. The words hurt as
she coaxed them out. “I missed you, too. But I . . . I didn’t know how to even let
myself feel about it. The way we said good-bye, and the way we were, even before that . . .
It feels like a dream, sometimes. But other parts are crystal clear.” She shrugged.
“I dunno. I don’t have any idea how I feel, to be honest.”

“You must be so angry with me.”

She rubbed her fingers over the stone sill, probably scratching the band of her mom’s
old turquoise ring, but not really caring. “I was. Sometimes. At first. And confused,
and disappointed. And
worried
.”

He winced. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. But yeah, for the first few weeks I felt just . . .” She sighed,
not finding the right adjective to summarize a million clashing emotions. “I felt
too much. Lots of it bad. But eventually the bad stuff burned away, and I was just
sad. And anxious, about what might’ve happened to you. Then I got your letter, and
I was so relieved.”

“Did you think you might come back?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I went back and forth about it for weeks. I didn’t know
if we’d ruined everything—”

“If
I’d
ruined everything.”

She shook her head. “I mean this in the most understanding possible way, but . . .
you were a mess, Rob.”

He smiled weakly at that.

“I know it wasn’t my fault, but I forced you into a situation you couldn’t handle.
You were reacting out of panic, right? Or fear, or anxiety. And I was just like, ‘Hey,
this’ll be great! I’ll drag this man who exiled himself to the middle of nowhere back
to a city and everything will be fine!’”

“No,” he said, toying with the leash. “You can’t blame yourself for triggering things
I never warned you about. Things I
should
have warned you about. I don’t know why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you . . .”
His voice became quiet, and thin with regret. “After everything else you accepted
about me. I guess that one . . . I’m more ashamed of that than anything else—the drinking.
The other stuff—that never felt like a choice. The drinking always seemed like a weakness,
something I should be in control of. Something I even thought maybe I’d
gotten
control of. Until that night.”

“You didn’t drink, though.”

“No . . . But the desire was still there, strong as ever.”

“But you didn’t drink.”

“No, I didn’t.” He pursed his lips, eyes cast down once more. “I wish I knew what
to say, to even begin to make that night up to you.”

“Your letter was a good start. It brought me back, after all.” She looked around them,
spotting a café across the street. He’d brought her a latte from there once, in a
previous life. “You feel like a coffee?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

They walked side by side, not touching, though Merry’s body begged for contact. Just
to brush his shoulder, to feel a glancing of knuckles. Anything. But not yet.

He held the door, and she found them a table amid the lunchtime bustle. She eyed the
dog as Rob handed her the leash. “Can he be in here?”

“The staff don’t mind. They know he gets stressed out if I leave him outside.”

She had to smile to think Rob had made a regular of himself somewhere so . . . social.

“What do you fancy?” he asked, still standing.

She scanned the chalkboard behind the counter as the dog settled between her feet.
“Just a small coffee with milk.”

He left her to join the queue. Merry studied his back, those interesting shapes not
quite hidden by his tee, the same ones she’d admired when he’d pulled back a bowstring
or strode ahead of her across countless peaceful vales. She was glad his hair wasn’t
too
tidy. It still glanced the nape of his neck and curled behind his ears.
And he’s still got a great ass.

She hid a guilty smirk as he returned with her coffee and a cup of tea for himself.

She waited, not saying a word, wanting him to own this conversation. Wanting to hear
the things he’d rehearsed for all these months. It took him nearly a full minute,
but he finally quit bobbing his tea bag and met her eyes.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, someday. I don’t know what to say to make that possible,
but if I did, I’d tell you that.”

“I’ve already forgiven you,” she said.

His eyebrows rose, his relief so pure and plain it broke her heart.

“Have you? Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I think I forgave you before I even got your letter, though you still
worried me. After I got your letter, and I wasn’t scared of what might have become
of you . . . Then I really forgave you. It was one horrible night out of the most
amazing week of my life, Rob.”

He nodded slowly, with that old worry line etched between his brows. “I’m glad. I’m
so glad. I felt so badly, that I’d ruined your trip. Or hurt your feelings, or . . .
Or made you doubt any of the things I said to you, before then. That was what scared
me most. That I’d said all those things for nothing. That you’d stop believing them,
when it was so astounding to me that I’d even been able to tell you . . .” He shook
his head.

“You scared them away for a bit,” she admitted. “I doubted everything, after that
night.”

His face fell.

“But not permanently. Like I said, when the bad feelings burned away, the good stuff
was still waiting underneath. Intact.”

“I’m glad.”

She sipped her coffee, ready to put the apologies behind them. Ready to stop examining
what had happened and turn their attention to what might lay ahead. Merry had no idea
what that might be. A cautious, fragile friendship? Or could they actually return
to that cottage, in spirit? Could that fire they’d kindled and stoked and warmed their
bodies by . . . could it burn again, and so far removed from the vacuum of those few
and fleeting days in the hills?
Did
she even know this man, for real? There was only one thing for it.

“Tell me about your life, since last fall,” she said. “What happened, after . . .”
After you abandoned me.
“After we went our separate ways.”

“Quite a lot.”

“So it would seem. You’re living here now?”

His nod was faint and pensive. “I am. It’s hard, but I’m adjusting. I’ve found new
habits to crowd out the old ones, from back in Leeds. I’d rather be out in the wilderness,
but I’ve found other things. Films, books. Walks. Music. Lots of music, actually.
That’s what I seem to want to do, once it gets dark. Drink too much tea and fall asleep
with the stereo on.”

She smiled at the image of Rob slumped peacefully in an easy chair, Marvin Gaye crooning,
a saucer piled high with spent tea bags on a nearby table.

“Sounds nice. You seem very . . . at peace. The last time I saw you, you looked terrified
to even be this close to all these people. And bars . . .”

“After I left you . . .” He took a deep breath. “After I left you, I went to a bar.”

Her heart froze. “Oh.”

“I ordered a glass of gin. I had it in my hand. I smelled it. I stared at it.”