Sandy had no idea how she should feel about that, though what she did feel was that funny little somersault in her stomach she hadn’t felt in years. But she was far too jaded and wary to take that at face value. Oh, she knew he’d cared for her back then. Enough to help her try to escape her marriage. She knew she’d loved him, too. And maybe, in her deepest heart of hearts, she’d dreamed of the kind of relationship with him that she hadn’t found with Waylan. But in the intervening years, she’d convinced herself the dream wouldn’t have come to fruition. That if she’d left Waylan—with or without Cam being a factor—things with Trey would never have been what she imagined. So little of reality ever matched dreams.
“He thinks he wants this.”
Adele frowned. “You say that like he shouldn’t.”
“He’s all caught up in the nostalgia and romance. He’s not thinking about the realities of what marriage would mean for us.” And God, she’d been there before. Waylan hadn’t thought about the realities of marriage either, and look where that had landed them.
The fact was, her reality couldn’t live up to the expectations of a man like Trey. She was a small-town girl at heart. A woman with responsibilities to her town. She couldn’t go jet setting from place to place, and the necessities of his business would keep him on the move. She wanted—needed—more than that from a marriage. She deserved more. She deserved everything. And for all his assets, she didn’t believe Trey could give her that.
“Sandra, you’re my best friend, so know that I say this with the utmost love and sincerity.” Adele set the plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. “Get your head out of your ass.”
Insult had Sandy snapping her head back. “Excuse me?”
“I know what you’ve been through. I know your life has been such that you have always been the one in control of everything. The one who had to be responsible, do all the juggling, consider all the practicalities. You’ve been doing it for so long, you don’t even know how to be any other way. But it’s time for you to stop being so goddamned practical. Love isn’t practical. It isn’t perfect. And sometimes it shows up at the most inconvenient times. But if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it. I think Trey is worth the work of figuring out.”
Sandy stared at her. “Who are you, and what have you done with my cynical best friend?”
“I know I’m a cynical bitch, but you have a real shot here. If you don’t take it, I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”
This was probably not the time to mention that she’d tried to end things last night and sent Trey on to London. He’d refused to make any kind of a decision while they were both hung over and insisted that they’d discuss it when he got back.
She’d hurt him. She knew that. But he couldn’t let his responsibilities slide because of her. No matter what Adele thought, one of them had to be sensible about this. He’d realize that once he got back to his normal life. And when he returned to Wishful for Cam and Norah’s wedding, they’d talk about the necessary divorce like the rational, responsible people they were.
So why did the idea of that make her want to weep?
Chapter 7
Sandy drove home in the wind and rain and decided it matched her mood. She’d almost picked up the phone a half-dozen times today to call Trey. But he was probably in the air or already on the ground in London, and she had no idea what she wanted to say. It felt foolish to just say I miss you. Though it was true. How was it that she’d done without him for most of her adult life and after one week of being with him, his absence was a physical ache? She’d have blamed that on the hangover, but Adele’s miracle cure had done its job. She no longer had the haze of alcohol or pain to blame her actions on, and regret had settled like the cold, in her bones.
I’m sorry, would certainly be appropriate. But somehow that seemed too small to cover the situation. Why had she pushed so damned hard to send him away? Why not wait, as he’d wanted, and discuss the whole situation when they were both rested and feeling human again? But she hadn’t wanted to wait. With the looming specter of Waylan to remind her of all the mistakes she’d made, she hadn’t wanted another minute of uncertainty about whether she’d made another. Because she was absolutely terrified of what she felt for Trey. If she gave herself over fully to this relationship, if they tried and it failed, and she lost him again, she didn’t think she could survive it. After everything she’d been through—divorce, cancer—it was the broken heart that would do her in.
Sandy was starting to realize it was already too late for that. She was in love with Trey. As Adele had pointed out, she always had been. She’d just managed to bury it all these years.
Staring into the fire, feeling utterly frozen, she whispered, “Please don’t give up on me.” He never had, in all these years. But she’d never rejected him quite so utterly.
The pounding on her door made her jolt, sloshing tea over the rim of her mug. Hastily, she set it aside and grabbed a kitchen towel on the way to the door. She didn’t want company, but after a weekend without communication, no doubt one of her meddling family was coming to check on her. She was hoping for one of her sisters-in-law. They’d be easier to manage than either of her brothers.
She yanked open the door. “Trey!”
He stood on her front stoop, as if conjured by her longing. His trench coat was soaked and rain streamed down his face, plastering his dark hair to his head. Without hesitation, she reached out and tugged him inside.
“Sorry, I’m dripping on your floor.” The innocuous words didn’t fit with his serious expression.
She didn’t give a damn about the floor. It took everything she had to resist the urge to wrap around him and fix her mouth to his, wet clothes be damned. But after how she’d behaved yesterday, she wasn’t sure of her reception. Handing over the kitchen towel in her hand, she said, “I’ll get you another towel.”
He was here, not in London. She’d told him to go, to take care of his business, and he hadn’t gone. What did that mean? She didn’t dare read too much into it, but her hands shook as she pulled a towel from the bathroom cabinet.
He was still standing there when she came back, though he’d stripped off the coat and hung it on the rack in the corner. “I may have a small lake in my shoes.”
“Just leave them by the door. You must be freezing. Come in.”
He toed off the shoes and socks, setting them on the little rubber mat intended for that purpose. Taking the towel she offered, he followed her into the living room, mopping off his face and briskly rubbing his head until his hair stood up in boyish spikes. Sandy wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it. She wanted to bury her face in his throat and hang on. But she could sense the tension in him. Lines of strain fanned out around his eyes. She knew she’d been the one to put them there.
Sandy picked up her tea from the side table. “I’m sorry about yesterday.” Oh my God, really? Can you be any more inadequate?
The corner of Trey’s mouth quirked up, but there was no real humor behind it. “I think it’s safe to say nobody should be held accountable for anything said under the influence of a hangover.”
“Still, I’m sorry I hurt you.” She was sorry for so much more than that, but she hardly knew where to begin, and she didn’t know what the hell he was doing here.