All They Need(15)

“I’m sorry. There’s been so much going on…?. I never meant to create expectations.” His words sounded lame, even to himself. He’d fallen into a relationship with her, allowed her to move in, shared his days and his nights with her, but he’d never once thought about where they were going, or wondered what she thought their relationship was about. He’d been too busy flailing around in his own crap after his father’s diagnosis—winding down his own company, stepping up to take over the reins of the business, trying to support his mother, trying to do anything and everything to ease his father’s distress.

“You didn’t create expectations. I did.” Her voice was heavy with tears but she was doing her best to hold them in.

“God, Hales, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her into his arms, guilt a physical burn in his chest.

She might be prepared to let him off the hook, but he wasn’t. He’d been selfish, taking comfort where he could find it. Not thinking about the consequences. Not thinking about tomorrow at all.

She rested her head on his shoulder but didn’t try to return his embrace. After a moment he let her go. Her eyes were filled with tears and she brushed them away with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. Then she stood and rushed from the room.

Flynn heard the bedroom door click shut. He mouthed a four-letter word, angry with himself, angry with the situation. He fell back against the cushions and raked his fingers through his hair.

He had no doubt that right now, Hayley was howling her eyes out on the bed they were supposed to share tonight. He swore again. He was a bastard. A stupid, selfish, thoughtless bastard.

The urge to get up and go gripped him, to walk away from the cottage and the scene that had played out, but he didn’t move. The least he could do was be here if Hayley needed him. The very least.



MEL SPENT THE first half of the afternoon repairing the rotten windowsill. Her thoughts drifted from topic to topic as she chipped away the damaged wood with a hammer and chisel, but she kept coming back to Flynn and his girlfriend.

They were an attractive couple, with his dark good looks and her pale skin and fiery hair. They were socially well-matched, too, both bringing equal clout to the table. No one would look down their noses when they arrived at functions or events. No one would whisper behind their backs or laugh and speculate about how long their relationship would last and what, exactly, Hayley had done to land her man.

The chisel slipped and Mel’s breath hissed out as the sharp metal sliced into the fleshy part of her thumb. She sucked on it for a second before inspecting the wound. Blood welled, but it was a shallow cut. She’d live.

She went inside for a bandage and returned to finish the repair, replacing the excised wood with builder’s filler. Afterward, she made the ten-minute drive to her parents’ place to help her mother finalize the invitations for their upcoming thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. She stayed for an early dinner, then drove home.

She was in the bedroom, ready to pull on her pajamas for a cozy night in front of the TV, when a knock echoed through the house. It came from the back door, and she quickly pulled her cargo pants on. She fastened the stud as she made her way to the kitchen and the door.

It was Flynn, his face shuttered, his body half turned away. “Sorry to disturb you. I need to give you this.” He handed over the key to the cottage.

Mel stared at it for a second before lifting her gaze to his. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Is something wrong with the accommodation? If there’s a problem, I can offer you one of the other cottages.”

“It’s nothing to do with the cottage. Everything’s been great. Something has come up.”

She tried to gather her thoughts. She’d had last-minute cancellations, and she’d had no-shows, but she’d never had guests walk out halfway through their stay.

“Okay. Well. I hope you enjoyed your time here. What there was of it, anyway.”

“We did, thanks.” He gave her a small, tight smile before turning and walking down the steps.

She watched him for a minute, frowning. Maybe it was her imagination, but he looked tired. Defeated.

She caught her own thoughts and made a rude noise. Flynn Randall was filthy rich, better-looking than any man had a right to be and in the prime of his life. He probably didn’t know how to spell defeat, let alone how to experience it.

She, on the other hand, was an expert.