Under the Northern Lights(73)

Wishing I could rewind time and not open the door, I let out a weary sigh. “I really don’t have time for this right now, Shawn. Mom wants me to make some pies, and baking isn’t my strong point . . . as you know.”

Shawn laughed as he stepped into the house. “Yeah, I remember. But an answer only takes a few seconds. Surely you have a few seconds to spare?” He paused to dramatically get down on one knee. “Mallory Reynolds . . . will you be my bride, for the second time?”

Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but my answer is no. I just want to be friends. Now can I please finish getting ready for work?”

Frowning, Shawn stood up. “You need more time. I understand.”

Digging my nails into my palms, I calmly told him, “I really don’t need any more time to think about it. I’m one hundred percent certain I don’t want to be married to you. That’s why I divorced you in the first place. We don’t work as a couple.” Mainly because you never listen to me.

Setting down the flowers, Shawn took a step forward. “Come on, Mallory—don’t be hasty about this. Just think about it; think about us; think about . . . this.” Before I could stop him, he bent down and attached his lips to mine. Even though Shawn and I had been very intimate before, it was odd to have him kiss me now . . . like I was kissing my brother or something.

I instantly shoved him back. “Damn it, Shawn. Now you’re starting to annoy me. As I’ve told you several times before, I don’t want to be with you like that. You and I are just friends, but if you keep pushing me, you’re going to lose—”

Shawn finally looked upset as he cut me off. “Is this because of that Michael guy? The one who saved you?”

Shock made me suck in a quick breath. Hearing his name hurt. “How do you know about Michael?”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Your mom. She let it slip to Suzy, Suzy told Judy, Judy told Beth, and Beth told my mom. You know how small towns work.”

I blinked in surprise. “Yeah, I do . . . I’m sorry. I should have told you, but . . . I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He nodded like he understood. Then he said, “You’re going through a breakup. I understand how much that sucks. I’ll give you space, Mallory.” Leaning in, he kissed my cheek. “You can keep the flowers.”

He was gone before I could object, and I knew with absolute certainty he’d ask for my hand again. Once he felt I’d had enough time to get over my loss. Like I ever would . . .

Spring transitioned into summer so slowly it was almost like someone kept pressing the pause button on time. Michael was on my mind every day. Nothing I did seemed to shake him for long. His eyes haunted me during the day; his lips haunted me at night. I couldn’t stand not knowing what he was doing. Was he getting enough to eat? Was he sleeping okay? Was he missing me every second too?

Being around my family eased my pain some. Mom was helping me master my baking skills—it was a painstaking process. Dad was giving me odd jobs around the house, helping me stay busy. Patricia stopped by the diner almost every day for lunch. She said it was to support the family business, but I knew she was also checking up on me . . . cataloging my mental state. Shawn proposed to me every single day. And no matter how many times I told him no, he was never deterred enough to stop.

Today he’d decided to do it in the middle of the diner. Down on both knees this time, he held his hands wide open. “Mallory Reynolds . . . I can’t live without you. Please be my wife.”

The patrons in the diner were both amused and touched by his romantic display. I was just annoyed. “Shawn, please . . . I’m serious. Stop asking me to marry you. My answer from here on out will always be no.”

Shawn dropped his hands but stayed on his knees. Some of the customers frowned and shook their heads at me. Mom was watching me with a concerned expression on her face, and my sister, here for lunch, was alternating between watching the exchange and writing stuff down in her journal.

“Mallory, why are you killing me? You know you and I are destined to be together.”

Reaching down, I pulled him to his feet. “Yes, Shawn, as friends. Although if you keep this up, I can’t guarantee that we’ll have that for much longer. And besides, don’t you remember how we were together? We were a disaster.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. Some customers went back to their lunches, but most were still watching the show. “We were young; maybe it would be different this time.”

Turning him around, I started pushing him toward the door. “Or maybe it would be exactly the same. But regardless . . . my heart is somewhere else, Shawn.”

Irritated, Shawn stopped letting me manhandle him. “With a man you’ll never see again? A man you’ve put on a superhigh pedestal, leaving zero chance for anyone else? That’s really not fair, Mallory.”

Tears burned my eyes as I stared at him. “Do you think I want to be in love with someone I can’t be with? Do you think this is fun for me, Shawn?”

His shoulders slumped, and his expression—for once—looked sympathetic. “No . . . I’m sorry, Mallory. If you really want me to stop asking . . . I will.”

“Yes, please stop. I don’t want to lose your friendship, but that’s what you’re killing each time you ask me something you already know the answer to.”