When Love Happens (11 page)

“Oh, stop it. Just please do us both a favor and knock off the act. You created this pity party, and I’m over it. You’re a shadow of the woman I
met. The Tori I knew would fight through this tragedy and come out stronger on the other side.”

God, she was so sick of people comparing her to her old self. “‘The Tori you knew’—if I have to hear that one more time, I might scream. You barely knew me, Sean! Five weeks living in different cities doesn’t establish a lasting relationship.”

“Tell that to Chloe and Derek, who were engaged in less
time than that. They seem to be doing just great.”

“That’s a stupid argument. I’m not Chloe, and you’re not Derek.”

“No, but it demonstrates that five weeks is ample time to do just that—if you’re invested.” He took a few steps toward her desk. “We may not have been together every day, but with every text, every phone call, every sexy Skype we shared, I’d never felt more together with anyone
in my life. And I was damned sure you felt the same.”

His words stirred old emotions, reminding her that yeah, she’d felt exactly the same. She swallowed, unable to refute what he’d said.

“You can’t dispute that, can you?” He moved closer, coming behind the desk, and she turned. “Imagine how things could’ve been if Alex hadn’t died. Do you really think we’d be here?” He gestured between them.

It was no use to think about what might have been. “But Alex did die. And you went off to Europe for six months. We were doomed before we even had a chance.”

“That’s your opinion,” he said softly. “I think about how it could’ve played out much differently.” His lids lowered, giving him that unbearably attractive look that always preceded him kissing her.

Anticipation swirled in her belly. She
stared at his mouth, remembering how soft his lips were, how expert his tongue could be.

But he didn’t kiss her, nor did he retreat.

He took his time looking at her, taking in her hair and moving down to her face, her chest, and below. When he brought his gaze back up to hers—lazily—she saw appreciation and desire, and she had to press her thighs together against the throbbing that had taken
up residence in her core.

“Think of how different things could have been.” His soft tone caressed her. “I would have held you, comforted you, and then when I had to go away, we would’ve done what we did before. Despite the time difference, I would’ve found creative ways to ensure you knew how much I missed you. And when I think of the Skype sex we could’ve had . . . ” He closed his eyes and made
a sound in his throat that pulled directly at the need in her belly. She swayed toward him, unable to help herself.

His eyes opened, and the heat in their depths blistered her soul.

She slid her hands around his neck and pulled herself against him, not caring that she was supposed to be angry or that she’d told him she regretted being with him. She only knew that if she didn’t touch him in this
moment, she would lose all faith in everything.

And if he pushed her away . . .

He didn’t.

He wrapped his arms around her—one cradling the back of her neck and the other pressing against her ass—and took her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Good. Yes. Don’t be gentle. I don’t deserve it.

His fingers dug into the back of her scalp as he slanted his lips over hers. He licked his way inside and thrust
his tongue deep. She clutched at his neck, pulling at the ends of his dark, thick hair as memories of past kisses filled her senses. Every single time he touched her, she felt desperate, weak, hungry. And with every kiss, every caress, every stroke, he filled her and banished everything but a bliss she’d never known before and hadn’t felt since.

He held her tight, but she wouldn’t have gone anywhere.
Everything she needed was right here.

He gripped her hip, bunching her dress and hiking it partway up her thigh. She slipped her hands inside his leather jacket and splayed her palms against his upper back, feeling his warmth through the cotton of his shirt. The kiss was hot, sending spikes of lust rioting through her. She thrust against him, bringing their hips flush. He rotated against her,
and she moaned into his mouth.

He wound his hand in her ponytail and tugged, elongating her neck. Then his mouth was gone from hers, moving across her jaw and to the underside of her ear, where he nipped and licked a path to the neckline of her dress.

The creak of the door opening cracked the air, and he pulled away, turning his back toward the door. She glanced down at his erection, the outline
clearly visible through his jeans.

Smoothing her dress down into place, she tried to effect a calm, serene expression, but her heart was racing and her insides were on fire.

“Hey, sorry.” Dylan ducked inside and grabbed something off his desk. “Forgot my tape measure.” He left as quickly as he’d entered, clearly uncomfortable and clearly realizing he’d walked in on something.

Though her body
was still singing with desire, Tori let her shoulders sag with relief that they’d been interrupted. “I’m sorry.”

Sean took a deep breath and turned back toward her. “I’m not, but I think we’ve established our disparate views. Except for when it comes to the physical. Seems we’re both on the same page there.”

Yes, surprisingly so. The ferocity of her reaction to him was a bit frightening. She
hadn’t felt anything that strongly in months. It had felt good. But to what end? She couldn’t see herself investing the time and energy necessary to make this marriage viable, not when its inception would forever remind her of how she’d failed her brother when he’d needed her most. If not for their marriage, if not for
Sean
, she might have saved Alex.

“The what-ifs don’t change anything,” she
said.

“You think what just happened is a what-if?” His eyes, so clear and hot moments before, clouded with anger. “That’s real, Tori.”

“It’s not reality.” She took a deep breath, and her heart finally slowed. Retreating behind the safety of her wall, she summoned the courage to say the words that needed to be said: “I want a divorce.”

He sucked in a breath.

“You can’t be surprised. I said
as much when you first got here the other night.”

“I’d hoped that you’d begun to see that we’re worth fighting for. But I guess not.”

“I’m sorry. Truly.” And she was. None of this was really his fault. It was just shittastically bad timing.

“Yeah, I can see that. The least you could do is agree to this show. It’s really important to me.”

Her stomach felt as if she’d eaten a pound of rocks.
“That’s all this was really ever about, the show.”

“That’s not all it’s ever been about, and if you think that, you’re deluding yourself. Think about the show, Tori. I doubt any of you need the compensation, but it would be quite decent, and consider the publicity it’ll bring for The Alex. You’d be a fool to say no. I’ll be in touch.”

The door slammed behind him as he left the trailer. He’d
be in touch . . . Did that mean he was leaving—as in going back to LA? She wanted to text him and ask but didn’t dare. Not right now. He needed time to cool off. And so did she, though perhaps not for the same reason. She was outraged by his TV-show pitch but even more unsettled by the kiss—and where it could’ve gone had they not been interrupted.

She sank down into her chair and drifted into
a mindless haze.

The trailer door opening jarred her back to awareness. Sara stepped inside, her face a crease of concern. “You okay? I see Sean left. Dylan said things were tense when he came back.”

Tori looked up at her sister with a wry smile. “Is that really what he said?”

Sara shrugged as she sat in a chair angled near the desk. “He thought he might’ve interrupted something. But don’t
be mad at him; I pressed him for information to the point that he yelled at me and stalked off.”

Tori scoffed and shook her head. “Men.”

“So what happened?”

Tori smoothed her hand over her hair, realized it was loose, and used both hands to pull the ponytail tight again. She turned in her chair to face Sara. “I asked him for a divorce.”

Sara gasped. “You didn’t. Why?”

“Because I don’t want
to be married to him. It was a stupid idea in the first place—we hardly knew each other. And please, don’t compare us to Derek and Chloe. They’re a total aberration. Freaks, really.” She picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it on and off. “When you combine that with the timing, things were doomed.”

Sara opened her mouth but then closed it again. She looked away, and Tori could tell she was taking
time to process what she wanted to say. She’d had to do that a lot in her youth, but with maturity and practice, she’d become quicker in organizing her thoughts. Sometimes, however, she had to revert to her old habits, especially when the conversation was tense or emotional.

When she faced Tori again, her expression was serene, though she worried the edges of her long-sleeved shirt with her fingertips.
“I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. You’re in a funk. Maybe even depressed. You really need to get help.”

“
You
didn’t have to.”

“No, but then again, I don’t walk around like I’m in a coma half the time.”

Tori dropped the pen onto the desk. “Ouch, I’m not that bad.”

“Actually, you really are. I think you have no idea how you seem. If I was meeting you for the first time, I wouldn’t
like you. You’re cold, detached, sort of bland.”

Super ouch.
“I’m not depressed, at least not clinically.”

“How do you know? It’s not like you have to be suicidal, like Alex was. Lots of people deal with depression every day without thinking they’re sad and without thinking they want to end their lives.”

Tori picked the pen back up, growing agitated. “What makes you an expert?”

“I did a lot
of reading after Alex died. That’s how I figure things out—you know that. Especially with how Mom was acting.”

Mom had been incredibly depressed. She’d also seen a therapist and had even tried taking antidepressants, though she’d ended up forgoing them because Alex had used them as part of his drug cocktail when he’d killed himself.

Tori leaned her head against the chair, which dug the gathered
part of her ponytail into the back of her skull. Thinking and talking about Alex so much had dredged up a ton of emotions. Her chest constricted.

Though she hadn’t been living in Ribbon Ridge, she’d still worked hard to maintain relationships with her siblings—at least those who reciprocated. She and Alex had shared a prolific electronic relationship: texts, e-mails, instant messages. She’d read
so many of them a hundred times since he’d died. Especially the text in which she’d told him about marrying Sean and asked him to keep it secret—she’d sent it minutes after the ceremony—and Alex’s response . . .

She shoved the thought away and blinked before Sara could see evidence of her emotion. Damn, she was right. She
was
cold and detached. On purpose.

Maybe she could embrace another emotion;
she could be angry. And she could direct the anger toward Sean for using her family to advance his career via a television show.

“What did you think of him asking about the show?” she asked tentatively, hoping Sara wouldn’t want to do it.

“You know me, I never loved doing it in the first place. I guess I did at first, until I realized how many people watched it. Then it scared the crap out of
me.”

Tori had actually thrilled to that part of it. She’d loved knowing millions of people were watching them. It had made her feel special. She knew otherwise now—that fame and notoriety meant nothing. Everything she’d thought was important had seemed silly after Alex had died. Money, success, friendship, love . . .

“Tori?” Sara prompted, drawing Tori out of her daydream.

“Sorry. Brain’s on
overload. But it sounds like we agree the show’s a bad idea.”

“I didn’t say that,” Sara said slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be good—a celebration of Alex, even.”

Tori gaped at her sister. “How can you possibly think that? Everyone’s still trying to work through losing him, especially Mom and Dad. It’s a terrible idea.”

Sara pulled at the edges of her sleeves. “You’re probably right.”
She stood up but paused before leaving. “What did he say about the divorce?”

Nothing.
“We’re going to talk about it later.” That was exaggerating things a tad, particularly when she had no plan to discuss anything. She’d made up her mind—about him and his stupid show.

Sara offered a sad smile that further stirred the emotions Tori was trying to rebury. “I just want you to be happy. So if a divorce
will do that, I support you. Promise me you’ll think about what I said. You need to get back to living your life.”

Here we go again—the old Tori argument.
Tori braced her hands on the armrests of her chair.

“You have to be able to find joy again. Mom’s doing it. Dad’s trying, I think. If you don’t, I can’t imagine what sort of life that will be.” She turned and left.

Not
the old Tori argument.
And damn it, she was right again. Mom had said the same thing this morning about having to figure out how to navigate this new Alex-less territory.

Dread curled up her spine. She felt paralyzed—all because of that unanswered phone call. Why had Alex called her that night? Did the letter he’d written to her explain it at all? She’d been so pissed when Aubrey had told them that they’d all get their
letters from Alex—he’d written to each of them—at a time predetermined by him. Well, when the hell was her time? When was she going to be able to escape this emotional prison? A terrorizing thought struck her: What if his letter said nothing? What if she would never know what he’d wanted?

Maybe she was doomed to languish in the hell of grief and guilt forever.

S
EAN PULLED INTO
the parking lot at the offices of Deacon Street Productions. The breeze rustled the palm trees as he stepped out of his Acura. He saw Mike’s Mercedes next to the building and made a silent prayer that he wasn’t about to be fired.

He made his way into the building, a converted mid-twentieth-century house with additional space added onto the back, eclipsing what
must have been a very large backyard.

Their receptionist, Katie, smiled at him as he walked in. “Hi, Sean! How was Europe? Wait, you just came from Oregon.” She shook her head. “How was all of it?”

A crashing nightmare.
“Fine, thanks. Is Mike free?”

“He’s on a call, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks, I’ll be in my office.” He normally would’ve stayed to chat, especially after being
gone for so long, but he was in a terrible mood despite a long night’s sleep in his own bed.

After leaving the monastery yesterday, he’d gone directly to the Archer’s garage apartment, gathered his things, and flown home. The fury brought on by Tori asking for a divorce had nearly obliterated the pulsing lust he’d felt for her just moments before.
Nearly.

What made him angriest of all was the
fact that she’d felt it, too, and yet she’d had the gall to say she’d been a fool to marry him. What a crock of shit.
He
was the fool for putting up with her crap for so long.

He walked into his office and froze. Empty boxes were stacked in the corner, taking up what little space he had that wasn’t occupied with a desk and pair of chairs. It was only slightly better than a glorified closet, but
that was fine, since he didn’t spend a huge amount of time here. Still, the boxes seemed as though the writing was on the wall. Had they been staged to offer additional intimidation? That was absolutely something Dale would do, the git. And did Hollis’s office have empty boxes too?

He dropped into his chair and set his laptop case on the desk, then tossed his phone beside it.

“Hey,” Mike said,
coming into his office. He went to one of the nondescript office chairs situated in front of the desk and sat down. “You’re back. Must mean good news.” He looked at Sean expectantly.

“It’s not bad news.”

Mike frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Sean flicked a glance toward the corner. “Why are there boxes in my office?”

Mike waved a hand. “You know how much our storage sucks. Just ignore
them.”

He hadn’t really answered the question, but Sean knew better than to persist, especially when he was about to probably piss Mike off.

Sean took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I need a little more time.”

Mike exhaled a sound of disappointment. “Take all the time you need, but your job might not be here when you’re done.” He set his elbow on the desk. “I don’t think you understand
how critical this is. You aren’t going to get a second chance.”

“I
do
understand. I have an idea I wanted to run by you. I’m pretty sure Kyle Archer will agree to the show.”

Mike slapped his hand down flat on the desk as his mouth dropped open. “
Pretty
sure? You mean you don’t know? Has
anyone
committed?”

Sean ignored the question and forged ahead. “Kyle’s a world-class chef, and he’s renovating
an old monastery church into a restaurant. Following the progress of the renovation and how he comes up with his menu would be a great limited-run show. I’m thinking eight or so episodes.”

Mike stared at him like he’d grown horns. “Yeah, sure, I guess. It’s not a bad idea, but it’s not what Dale wants. And if Dale doesn’t get what he wants . . . ” He arched his brows and looked off to the side.

Yes, if Dale didn’t get what he wanted, everything went to hell in a handbasket. “I’m still working on the show he wants. In the meantime, can I at least pitch this to him?”

Mike shook his head. “He’s in Belize. I’ll run it by him. This additional project might score you some points. For whatever reason, he’s got a total hard-on for this Archer family bullshit.”

Sean wanted to call him out for
referring to his wife’s family—his family, he supposed—as bullshit, but they were barely his family and likely wouldn’t be much longer.

“But, Sean, if I pitch him this idea too and then none of this comes to fruition, you are worse than screwed. As it is, if you get knocked out by Hollis and her project, Dale will give you a good recommendation. Fuck it up completely, and you’re on your own.”

Sean swallowed. Dale was such a capricious dick. Sean had thought about looking for a new job last year, but then the Europe gig had come up, and he’d been immersed in that. Maybe it was time to dust off his résumé, but hell, this town was smaller than the village he’d grown up in when it came to the spread of information. Dale would find out he was looking for a job and can his arse faster than
he could say
piss off
.

“I get it,” Sean said, his insides curling with anxiety.

“So what’s the plan? Why are you here if you have people to persuade to do a show?”

“I’ll be going back up soon, but I had stuff to do.”

“What the hell could be more important than saving your job?” Mike’s phone chimed. He pulled it from his back pocket and read the screen. “God fucking damn it. Can’t anyone do
anything right today?” He stood up and tapped at his phone, then put it to his ear. Turning, he left Sean’s office without a backward glance.

“Thanks. Good talk.” Sean got up and closed his door. He looked around his crappy little office and, for the first time in his two years at the company, felt utterly defeated. What had once been a promising step along the path to having his own company
one day was now a torturous hell. Unfortunately, it was a hell he needed.

As if to remind him of that fact, his phone vibrated against the desk. He peered at the screen and saw it was his dad. He’d e-mailed his parents the other day, explaining that he was taking off for work again and would call them soon.

He slid his finger across the screen and put him on speaker phone. “Hi, Dad. Sorry I
haven’t had a chance to call.”

“We wondered. Everything all right?”

“Everything’s great.” He hoped he sounded convincing. Best to just redirect the conversation. “Are you in Scotland?”

“Not yet. Leaving tomorrow.”

“I had a twenty-five-year Bunnahabhain the other night.” Sean didn’t bother hiding the wistful tone in his voice. In fact, he probably amplified it for his father’s appreciation.

Dad let out a low whistle. “I’d have liked to toast that with you. How was it?”

“As good as you remember.”

Dad had received a bottle when he’d retired early. His arthritis had forced him to stop working sooner than he would’ve liked, but the plumbing company he’d worked for had sent him off in style.

“We’re going to visit eight distilleries on our trip. I wish you could come with us. Your mum’s
heartbroken. When are we going to meet this wife of yours?”

Likely never.
Sean’s heart twisted as he thought of his mother’s disappointment. Her only son married, and she’d not only missed the ceremony, she’d had no contact with her daughter-in-law. It was as if he’d never actually married anyone at all. “I don’t know, Dad. She’s been struggling since her brother died, and I’ve been gone. Honestly,
it’s a bit like we’re strangers again.”

That was a good way to characterize it. Except for the kissing. They’d fallen back into that like they’d been made for each other. He’d remember the imprint of her mouth on his until the day he died.

“That’s too bad, Sean. You’ll work on it. Next year at this time, the four of us will do the Highlands tour together.” They did Lowlands one year and Highlands
the next—this was a Lowlands year. “And I’ll have both new hips by then. Ah, I can hardly wait.”

Sean heard his father’s smile in his voice and felt a pang of distress. If Sean lost his job, Dad might not get his second hip surgery before next year. Or even two years from now. He was scheduled to have his first operation in just three weeks, and he could scarcely wait to feel better.

“Does Mum
want to talk to me?” Sean asked.

“Nah, she’s watching her program. She sends her love, though. We’ll call you when we get back.”

“Please do. Have a great time, and be safe.”

“Take care, Sean.”

Sean ended the call and rested his forehead against his desktop. What a bloody clusterfuck. He couldn’t lose his job. Not now. He had to find a way to convince everyone to do this damned show. And now
he had to persuade Kyle to do the other show, too. Sean was afraid he’d just dug his hole even deeper.

A sharp knock on his door made him look up from the desk, though he didn’t sit up.

Hollis cracked the door and poked her head inside. “Oh!” Her loose, blonde curls framed her young, spray-tanned face. “Am I interrupting your nap?” She pursed her lips. “It’s kind of early, isn’t it?”

He sat
up and straightened his shirt. “I wasn’t sleeping. What’s up?”

She opened the door wider and bounced inside. “Just saying hi! You’ve been gone so long I almost forgot what you looked like! Dale and I were just making that joke the other day at lunch.”

Yes, you and Dale had lunch together. I’m sure what really happened is that Dale was eating in his office, barked for you to come in so that he
could shout a few expletives in your general direction, and then sent you on your way.

“Uh-huh.” Sean tapped his fingers against the desk. He cut right to the reason for her annoying visit—why bother with small talk? “How’s your show coming? Shouldn’t you be in Nashville?”

“Oh, I was.” She fluffed her hair. “They’re discussing things, but it’s pretty much a done deal.” She winced. “Sorry. That’s
a bummer for you.”

“Yeah, well, until it is a done deal, I’m still in the game, right?” He offered a condescending smile. “I’ve just pitched another idea that Dale’s going to love. And it goes hand in hand with the other special he wants. I wouldn’t get too complacent if I were you.” He leaned forward and darted a glance toward the empty boxes in his corner. “How many did they stack in your office?”

She paled a bit beneath her vaguely orange glow. “Why aren’t you in Seattle?”

“It’s Oregon, actually, not Washington.” He tried to quash a smirk but was completely unsuccessful. She was annoying as all hell, but he was better than that, wasn’t he? He pulled his expression together and gave her a pleasant smile. “I’ll be heading back up to Ribbon Ridge in a few days. Like you, my people are mulling
things over.” Though likely not about what he wanted them to.

“Well, good luck!” She tried to smile at him in return, but the frustration in her eyes ruined the effect, instead making her look pained or constipated. She spun on her heel and left without shutting the door completely behind her.

Brilliant.

He ought to be on the next plane to Portland, but he didn’t think that was wise. Tori needed
some time to think about things. And he sure as hell needed time to get over his crushing desire to shake some sense into her. The show wouldn’t be a bad thing. In fact, if she did it, maybe he’d give her the frigging divorce—a fair exchange.

He froze, his eyes fixed on the empty, intimidating boxes. Why not? He was a good negotiator. He’d give her what she wanted, and she’d give him what he
wanted. Win-win.

It was risky. He could end up pissing her off even more than he already had. Or, he’d get exactly what he needed, though he’d also get a divorce. Too bad he didn’t really want that at all.

T
ORI PULLED HER
gaze from the gray sky outside the window of the work trailer. After a week of stunning fall weather, today had dawned dark and dull. Everyone blamed her for bringing the threat
of rain back with her from San Francisco, where it had been pouring like crazy.

She tried to focus on the plans in front of her—she still had so much to do for phase three. Assuming they even got to phase three. If this zoning appeal went through, the entire project was screwed. Aubrey had assured her that wouldn’t happen.

Tori’s real job was also taking up space in her head. Her boss had been
great about letting her cut projects back so that she could focus on this with her family. However, now that he understood the depth of the work, he wished they’d just outright hired her firm. In a nutshell, he wanted the revenue, especially to compensate for her being gone so much. She’d tried to explain that even though she wasn’t in San Francisco full time, she’d still done what amounted to
full-time work, at least since May. She had no social life. She worked at the monastery, she worked for the firm, she ran, and that was pretty much it. In short, her life was a grind—a tedious, exhausting grind. For some reason, she hadn’t even noticed until now.

Until Sean had come back into her life and reminded her of how things had been before Alex had died. And Sean was taking up the most
space in her head.

She groaned and massaged her forehead. She thought of him almost constantly, told herself to contact a divorce attorney, but she’d been busy. Which was a lousy excuse, because she was always busy.
Knock it off
.

Clenching her jaw, she picked up her phone and dialed Aubrey Tallinger. She didn’t do family law, but she’d be able to refer Tori to someone.

The receptionist at her
small law firm answered and put Tori straight through to Aubrey.

“Hey,” Aubrey said, “I was just about to call you.”

Tori leaned back in her chair and braced herself—Aubrey hadn’t been the bearer of good news this week. “What’s up?”

“I wish I didn’t have to call you . . . ”
Uh-oh.
“I just got a notice from the county. You’ve been fined for holding Derek’s wedding before the commercial zoning
variance was approved.”

Tori shot forward in her chair and leaned her elbows on her desk. “What? Why?”

“You held a commercial event at the location before the zoning change had taken effect.”

“It wasn’t a commercial event! It was our brother’s wedding.”

“But you hired vendors, executed contracts that took place at the property, right?” Aubrey asked, her voice remaining cool and calm while
Tori’s blood pressure was spiking.