Dane's Storm(30)

“You figured I was married?”

She shrugged one shoulder, glancing around the restaurant before looking back at me. “I didn’t give it a whole lot of thought, but, yeah.” She smiled. “I figured a man like you’d be snatched off the market pretty quickly.”

I regarded her for a moment. A man like you. Who was that to her? Eligible? Loveable? Divorceable? “I came close last year,” I admitted.

Her eyes snapped to mine and she blinked. “Oh . . . well, I’m sorry. I mean, that it didn’t work out.”

“Not everything works out.”

“No, no it doesn’t. What, ah, happened? I mean”—she took a sip of her wine—“you don’t have to tell me. It’s really none of my business.”

That was true, but for some inexplicable reason, I wanted her to know. “She was the daughter of a family friend and happened to move to San Francisco a couple of years ago. We got together as old friends and things progressed from there. It seemed . . . easy, I guess, that we were already acquainted.” Audra’s body seemed stiff, though her finger was moving casually around the bottom of her wine glass. “After a year, it seemed like the next logical step was to get engaged. I went home to—“ I stopped suddenly, realizing what I’d been about to say.

“You went home to get the ring your grandmother promised to the first grandchild to get married. Unless, of course, they were marrying me.”

A hiss of breath came through my lips. I leaned closer. “Shit, Audra, you know how I felt about that. You didn’t want that ring so I didn’t fight for it. You made me promise I wouldn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t want that ring. Do you blame—” She took a deep breath and seemed to gather herself, taking another sip of wine and waving her hand in the air. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. You went home to get your grandmother’s engagement ring and what happened?”

“I don’t know.” I grimaced with the slight amount of guilt I still felt. “It was like the second that ring was in my hand, I knew without a doubt I didn’t want to marry Winnie.”

Audra had just taken a sip of her wine and she sputtered slightly, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Winnie?” She wiped at her lip. “You almost married Winnie Sinclair?” Her eyes flared with what looked like outrage. I had so rarely seen Audra angry that I couldn’t be sure. She tended to hide emotions like anger behind a wall so thick, a bulldozer couldn’t knock it down. Or she had. Dammit, why did it suddenly feel as if no time had passed? Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe in some ways we were both still stuck in the same place we’d been in seven years before.

“Well, your grandmother must have been thrilled about the possibility,” she tossed at me. “And devastated when it didn’t work out.”

“It wasn’t Winnie’s fault my grandmother was so fond of her.”

Audra let out a small laugh. “No, of course not. I’m sure she’s perfect.”

“She’s not perfect, but she’s a nice person. I was sorry to hurt her.”

Audra’s shoulders drooped slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. “God, I’m sorry. I’m acting bitter and unkind.” She took a deep breath, and I found that I was almost disappointed to watch her gather herself. It felt like she’d just showed some honesty, not just that detached politeness she’d hidden behind toward the end of our marriage. I’d hated it. I’d wanted something—some emotion, any emotion—yet she’d seemed completely unwilling to give me anything at all in that regard. “It’s just . . . I guess everything that’s going on with your grandmother has brought some things from the past to the surface.” She offered me a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Let’s pretend I never said any of that. I really am sorry things didn’t work out for you and . . . Winnie.”

I wasn’t. I wasn’t sorry in the least. I’d been sure of my decision then, and time hadn’t changed that.

But I simply nodded. Our waitress arrived with our food and set it before us, smiling as she asked if we needed anything else at the moment. When we said no, she left us to our food.

For a few minutes, we simply enjoyed the delicious pasta dishes we’d ordered.

“So, ah, I know you went into floral design, but do you still paint? Or sketch? Even as a hobby?”

“No, not much.”

“Why not? You loved it so much. I didn’t think you could stop if you wanted to. It was such a part of you, Audra.”

She sighed as she played with her food, and as I watched her, my mind drifted to the day I’d first shown the building to her, after we’d been married in a small ceremony at the courthouse. I recalled the dreamy expression on her face, the same one that always appeared when her creativity had been tapped. My heart had turned over in my nineteen-year-old chest. God, I’d loved her. I’d loved the unguarded look of joy that overcame her pretty face when she let herself dream. I knew her upbringing hadn’t allowed for much of that, which meant she was cautious with it. That had made it precious to me. Made me want to put that look on her face as much as I possibly could. Sometimes I’d felt so in love with her, I thought I could happily devote my life only to that and always be satisfied. I’d come up behind her as she’d talked about her plans to turn the space into a gallery, and I’d laid my hands on her growing belly. Initially, I’d been so scared when she’d told me she was pregnant, overwhelmed with images of how I’d pictured my future, and ways in which a baby was going to change . . . everything. College . . . a career, my relationship with Audra. But as the weeks had gone on, the fear had lessened, and I’d just felt this sense of rightness, of pride, of an even deeper love. Audra had turned in my arms that day in the empty building, and she’d kissed me . . . a beloved little life growing in the space between us. We’d had no idea . . . God, we’d had no idea about the storm brewing in the distance, heading straight toward us.