Chance(35)

Both of his brows pop up as he leans back against the dresser, crossing his legs at the ankle. "You're telling me that you threw yourself at him, while you were wearing that killer dress and the man turned you down?"

"You're making me sound pathetic," I say half-jokingly. "He wanted me. I could tell that he did but he kept talking about our friendship and hurting me."

"You think it was just an excuse? Do you honestly think he made that up to avoid having sex with you?"

It's so straightforward and simple that I have to stop and think about my answer. "I think he believes that he'll hurt me if we cross the line from friends to lovers. Caleb needs me as a friend."

He scratches the top of his head, which causes his hair to fall down into his eyes. He brushes it away with a swipe of his hand. "If a guy tells you straight up that he's bad news, you have to believe him. Stay away from him, Rowan. If he says he'll hurt you, he means it."





Chapter 30


I rest my head into the uncomfortable airport lounge chair as I reread the text message conversation I just had with Gabriel. After Graham had helped me pack, he'd given me a sweet kiss on the cheek and literally tucked me into bed last night. I woke at six to find a note on the kitchen table from him. He'd prepared a fruit salad for me to take with me and there was a car service waiting outside the building to whisk me to the airport. If I didn't consider Graham a close friend before last night, all of that has shifted.

I'd texted Gabriel in the car to tell him that I was taking him up on the offer to stay at the Foster house in the Hamptons for the weekend. I was mildly surprised when he texted me back immediately. My own sleep has been sporadic since Asher's been missing so I'm not shocked that Gabriel was wide awake just after six. He promised me he'd let me know the minute he hears from Asher and I made the same promise in return.

I open my email and scroll down the list of new messages. The majority are work related and given the short duration of the flight, I know that I won't have time to answer any of them when I'm in the air. I forward a trio of the urgent ones to Clive, along with a text asking him to reply to them as soon as he gets them.

I scroll back to my text messages and swipe my thumb down to Asher's name. I type out a short message telling him I miss him and I'll be away for a few days but he can call at any time. I stare at the screen willing the new message icon to pop up but there's nothing. Asher still isn't responding and even though I'm clinging tightly to the notion that he's fine and has tucked himself away so he can deal with whatever has pulled him down, I know that sooner or later I'm going to have to face the reality that he may not come back, or he may be unable to. It's too soon to think that yet though and for this weekend at least, I'm going to believe he's healthy, safe and thinking about coming home.

I pull in a heavy breath as I hear the announcement of my flight. My heart may not want to leave New York, even if it's just for a few days, but my mind needs to. With any luck, I'll find the serenity I need to come back here, stronger, more focused and less Caleb Foster obsessed.

***

"You'll stay for lunch, dear." His brows pop up in excited anticipation. "We're having fish today. You like fish, don't you?"

It's not my first choice but I'm not one to be picky when the invitation is coming from one of the sweetest people I've ever met.

When Clive told me I needed to fly out to Martha's Vineyard to secure the transfer of the rights to a software program, I had visions of meeting an arrogant developer who would fight me tooth and nail on every detail. Instead, I was greeted at the door of a quaint cottage by a man in his eighties who has an office filled with computers, a garden overflowing with roses and a smile that could melt the heart of even the darkest soul.

Ernie Jacobs has a brilliant mind and a lonely heart. I sensed it the moment he led me into this sitting room. The furniture consists of a perfect blend of modern pieces and antiques and the walls are dotted with photographs of a beautiful woman. They create a timeline of a rich life. I studied the image of the blonde haired beauty standing next to a young Ernie as they pledged their vows on their wedding day. The holiday family portrait of the two of them surrounded by their children and grandchildren captures the spirit of joy that is present in all their faces and the image of an elderly woman in the garden staring at the man behind the camera with a look of tender adoration in her eyes, speaks of a love that knows no boundaries of time or circumstance.

"She passed just last year." His voice cracks. "It's hard not to stare, isn't it? She was the most beautiful thing in the world."

I don't know much about enduring love. My parent's marriage fell apart beneath the burden of my father's affair. My mother couldn't shoulder the pain and she'd thrown him out into the street, literally. He'd come home from work one day to find everything he owned, scattered in a thoughtless mess on the sidewalk in front of our townhouse. It had been the beginning of the end of our ideal family. It all came to a crashing halt in the corridor of a courtroom in Queens with vile words being thrown around. I'd managed to maintain a relationship with each of my parents but with my mother in Florida and my father in Connecticut, it meant once-a-year visits and empty conversations on the phone.

"She was very lovely," I concur. "I'd really like to stay for lunch."