Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(90)

ERIK: Doing some thinking.

HILLZ: And?

And?

If you could go back in time and never meet Laire Cornish, would you?

“No,” he said softly to the cold, whistling wind. “I wouldn’t.”

I wouldn’t trade it. I’d take the good and handle the pain better than I did.

This was an interesting revelation for Erik because so much of the last six years had been spent feeling like he hated Laire, wishing he’d never met her, wanting to punish her for hurting him as she did. But now? Faced with the ultimate question of whether he’d erase her from his life? He wouldn’t. She was the realest thing he’d ever known. She was open and honest, sweet and fresh. No matter how things had ended between them, she’d taught him more about what he ultimately wanted from a life partner than anyone else. How could he reject that knowledge? It was worth more than the pain he’d suffered, wasn’t it? Used correctly, it could shape the sort of relationship that might, someday, make him happy again. He knew what to look for, and what not to look for, in a partner. That knowledge was priceless, and he wouldn’t have it without her.

HILLZ: About what?

ERIK: I’d like to change.

HILLZ: Really?

ERIK: Yeah.

HILLZ: Tell me more! ? ? ?

He groaned at the smiley faces filling the screen. He could see her setting him up on dates the second he returned to Raleigh.

ERIK: Chill out. I’m not ready to get married or anything. I’m just figuring some things out.

HILLZ: That’s good. Really good. That’s all I ever wanted you to do.

ERIK: Thanks, Hills. Thanks for putting up with me. I’ve been pretty awful.

HILLZ: She did a number on you. But yeah, it’s time for you to move on.

ERIK: If I never hear the words “move on” again, it’ll be too soon.

HILLZ: LOL. MOVE ON. MOVE ON. MOVE ON.

Erik’s lips quirked up into a grin, and suddenly he was reminded of the little scamp at breakfast who’d given him such a hard time. He hoped she didn’t have a brother, because he was certain to be heckled just as much as Hillary heckled him.

And yet, there was no denying her awesomeness. Four years old and holding her own against a grown man. He chuckled again. If he could have a kid like Ava Grace someday, it might be worth it to try to find the right girl.

Erik sighed, looking away from his phone at the horizon. It was only four thirty, but the sun was low in the sky. It’d be dark soon.

ERIK: Wench. I have to go. Sun’s setting. No heat here and plenty cold.

HILLZ: Poor Erik.

ERIK: Wiseass. Love you.

HILLZ: I’ll call the insurance company and be in touch. Love you too.

He tucked his phone in his pocket and walked back into his bedroom, closing the sliding door and locking it behind him. There were no lights to turn off as he headed downstairs, walking over the saturated, squishy carpet and water-damaged, buckling hardwood floors on his way to the front door. He locked it behind him, then headed down the steps to his car.

For the first time in a long time, he felt lighter. His heart felt lighter, or warmer maybe. He couldn’t describe it, only knew that it was changing after a long time of suspended animation. Living in a frozen emotional state might have protected him from further heartbreak, but it hadn’t allowed him to heal or grow. The gaping, angry wound that was Laire Cornish’s unexplained rejection had festered for long enough. It was a strange and unexpected relief to finally give himself permission to start moving on.

***

Laire pulled the covers up to Ava Grace’s chin and kissed her on the forehead as she slept. She had no plans for tomorrow, but maybe she would take her daughter somewhere special if the roads were clear enough to drive and it was warm enough to be outdoors. Ava Grace hadn’t seen the lighthouse yet, or had a run on the beach. And they should be able to find a place open for lunch in Hatteras, right? They could drive by her new school and maybe look in the windows. Tomorrow would be all about Ava Grace, and tomorrow night she would work for as long as Kelsey agreed to babysit.

As for tonight . . .

One of the things she’d always liked best about the Pamlico House was the widow’s walk on the fourth floor. As a waitress at the restaurant, so many years ago, she’d often taken her break up there, staring out at the ocean on one side and the Sound on the other, letting the wind whip her hair around as she daydreamed about a life spent with Erik Rexford. Those dreams had been crushed instead of granted, of course, and maybe that’s why she hadn’t gone up to the widow’s walk yet. It was hardest to face the places where she’d been the happiest.

But she was suddenly reminded that the Leathams lit the fire pit upstairs every night between eight and ten, and Kelsey had encouraged her to go up and relax when she had some free time. She told Laire that they left out warm blankets in the European tradition, and she could stare up at the stars while the fire warmed her face.

Laire had been reluctant to leave Ava Grace alone in the room the first few nights, but she was much more comfortable at the inn now, and—Laire looked down at her daughter’s angelic, sleeping face—fast asleep.

Maybe tonight she’d wander upstairs for an hour and relax—sit by the fire with her head tilted back, as Kelsey had suggested, and stare up at the stars. Breathe in the cold, salty air with a heavy wool blanket warming her legs. Just be. Just . . . be.