Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(88)

“Snowden?” she repeated.

“Yes, that’s the plaintiff ’s attorney.”

“Oh.”

Hutch looked down at a f ile on his desk that required his attention. One gratifying consequence of meeting Phoebe was that he’d learned to delegate. This evidence that he trusted his subordinates had improved his relationship with his department heads, as well. “What about dinner tonight?” he asked.

“I can’t,” she said quickly. “In fact, I’m tied up for the rest of the week.”

Her rejection shocked him. Until now, she’d always been as eager to see him as he was her. Not wanting to sound possessive or unduly concerned, he murmured, “All week?”

“Yes…and next week, too.”

Her voice had grown fragile. “I see.” He didn’t know what had changed, but clearly something had.

“Listen, Hutch,” she said in a tight voice, “our relationship’s happened very fast, don’t you think? Maybe we should step back and analyze what’s going on between us before we continue.”

“It’s been almost two months. I know what I feel.”

“But do you know what you want? ”

Hutch felt a distinct chill. He had the feeling that she was breaking up with him, but he had no idea why. “Yes,” he countered sharply. “I want you in my life.”

His words seemed to take her aback. After an awkward moment, she said, “I don’t…I need time—to think.”

“About what?” he asked irritably. “Have I done anything to offend you?”

“No, never.” Her voice softened perceptibly.

“Then what’s this needing time all about? Isn’t that rather sudden?”

“I…I need to think, I really do. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”

Maybe best for her but def initely not for him. Hutch wanted to argue with her, to f igure out what had changed, but restrained himself. After all, it was up to her to accept or reject his love. Phoebe said nothing, and he was shaken by the loss that tore through him.

If she wanted time, he’d give it to her. Pride wouldn’t allow him to press his point or to plead.

“Tell you what,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “When you’re ready, you contact me.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Phoebe.”

She started to speak again but he couldn’t bear to listen. Gently he replaced the receiver and sat staring into space, wondering what had just happened. In the course of a few minutes she’d ended the most promising relationship of his life. Hutch stayed at his desk for the rest of the afternoon, attacking the paperwork in front of him. At four-thirty, Gail stepped into his off ice. “Is everything all right?” she asked bluntly.

“Yup.” Hutch glanced at her. “Never better. Why do you ask?”

Gail frowned, shaking her head. “For one thing, you’ve been very quiet ever since you got off the phone with John Custer.”

Hutch made a show of studying his watch. “Isn’t it quitting time?” he asked. In other words he had no intention of answering her question.

“Which brings me to something else,” Gail said. “You’re usually on the phone with Ms. Rylander about now.”

“I won’t be seeing Ms. Rylander again,” he said starkly. She didn’t bother to hide her shock. “Why ever not? You’re crazy about her and I know she feels the same way about you.”

“Apparently you and I are both wrong about that.”

The older woman clucked her tongue several times, sounding like an agitated hen. “And you’re going to sit back and do nothing? ”

“Yup.”

“Oh, Hutch, for the love of Mary, don’t be so stubborn.”

“This wasn’t my decision,” he said.

“Did you at least f ind out why?”

“I tried.”

“Try harder.”

Hutch lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “As far as I’m concerned, the ball’s in her court. If Phoebe wants to call me, f ine, but I’m not holding my breath.” He sounded resolute and sure of himself, although he didn’t feel either of those things. Gail hesitated and then, with a f inal shake of her head, left his off ice.

As soon as she shut the door, Hutch exhaled, letting go of the pretense, and his entire body sagged with defeat. For a moment he thought about confronting Phoebe and demanding she tell him what he’d done that was so terrible. He couldn’t think of a single thing to warrant this reaction and felt sick as he contemplated the new fact of his life—what had seemed so promising only hours earlier was now completely and utterly over.

He stayed at the off ice until nearly eight. Then, with a heavy heart, he drove home. Dinner was a frozen entrée he shoved in the microwave and ate in front of the television.

His phone rang twice but he didn’t pick up. Whoever had called wasn’t interested in leaving a message, which was f ine because he wasn’t interested in listening to one, either. The late-night news f lashed across the screen, and Hutch realized he’d been staring at the television for hours, but couldn’t remember anything he’d seen. No matter how many times he went over his conversation with Phoebe, he couldn’t explain her sudden decision—or was it sudden?—to end their relationship. Needless to say, Hutch didn’t sleep well that night or the next. He kept busy at work, met with his attorney and made every effort not to think about Phoebe. He didn’t succeed but pretended he had. The lawsuit occupied his mind when he wasn’t dwelling on Phoebe.