And that he had no right to any part of her heart.
“I take it you're here to get Poplar Cove ready for your son's wedding.”
He didn't answer for a long moment, his gaze growing even more intense. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. And to help Connor too.” He cleared his throat. “He's going through a rough patch right now. I need to be here for him.”
Listening to Andrew talk about his son with such love mucked around with her insides. He was too close, close enough to set off a thousand butterflies from their cocoons. And, stupidly, she couldn't help but note the absence of a wedding ring on his left hand. As if it mattered whether or not he was married.
“But Sam and Connor aren't the only reason I came back, Izzy.”
She hadn't heard that nickname in thirty years. Wouldn't have dreamed of letting anyone call her Izzy. Her ears started ringing, a high-pitched whine. She couldn't listen to any more of this, not now, not on the dock in front of her house, not in the very place he'd told her he loved her for the very first time.
“Don't call me that,” she said, but the clouds were drawing a curtain on the sun, turning daylight to night. She felt herself falling, wanted it to be anywhere but into his arms.
Chapter Sixteen
ANDREW LIFTED Isabel up and rushed up the beach to her house. Seeing her black out like that had scared him and even though her eyelids were already blinking open, her eyes working to focus on his face, he was still shaken.
“I'm fine,” she tried, but the words sounded weak, utterly unlike her.
“Shh,” he said, instinctively pressing his lips against her forehead. “I've got you,” he said as he took the steps up to where he remembered the old master bedroom being as a kid. Pushing the door open with one knee, he saw that Isabel had indeed taken over the room from her parents, had transformed it as her own.
Gently laying her down on the bed, he moved across the room, picked up a blanket from a chest in the corner. He took it back to the bed, covered her with it, sat down on the edge of the mattress and stroked her hair. A thousand emotions rushed through him as he took her in, lying on the bed, her blond hair fanned out on the pillow. There was no point wishing he could have woken up to her like this a thousand times in the past thirty years. But he wished it anyway.
And then she was shifting beneath the blanket, kicking it off to push away from him and sit up against the thick wood headboard, holding her head in her hands.
“What do you want, Andrew?”
He remembered now, she'd never been a shrinking violet, had never been scared to tell him exactly what she thought. But he was worried about the way she'd dropped on the beach, had to make sure she wasn't ill.
“Are you sick?”
“No.” The word was a sharp bullet from her lips.
“You fainted.”
She massaged her temples. “I have a headache. I didn't sleep well.” She dropped her hands, glared at him. “Why the hell are you here?”
“Izzy-”
“I already told you not to call me that.”
He took a breath, found his lungs didn't want to take in — or give — any air.
“I came to say I'm sorry.”
She blinked once, twice, almost as if she were trying to figure out just what game he was playing. “Okay.”
He was stunned by her response. There had to be more there, didn't there?
But she was already swinging her legs around the opposite side of the bed. He reached out a hand to stop her from leaving.
“No, wait.”
He looked down at where they were touching, felt the same strong surge of electricity that had always been between them. He knew he should pull his hand away, but he just couldn't let go of her. Not when he'd waited so long to touch her again.
“Please. I need to say these things.”
Her chest was rising and falling fast as she shook off his hand.
“Fine.” She shifted farther from him on the bed. “Go ahead.”
He hadn't had time to rehearse this, hated trying to win her over without a plan.
“I screwed up, Isabel. I know you already know that, but I've wanted you to hear me say it for so long. I don't know what happened thirty years ago, why I got drunk that night and…”
“And slept with someone else,” she said, quickly finishing his sentence. “Knocked her up and got married.”
He went completely rigid. “You were the one I loved. Always.”
“You should have thought of that before you had sex with her.”
“I was a stupid kid. Full of hormones. I didn't know what to do with them.”
“Really?” she challenged. “You couldn't find any new excuses in the past thirty years? Couldn't think of anything more interesting than how hard up you were because I wouldn't put out? That's sad, Andrew. Really sad.”
“I swear to you, if I had known the way it was going to turn our lives upside down, if I could have seen how it was all going to turn out, I never would have done it.”
“You still don't get it, do you? You think we ended because you got her pregnant, don't you? Because you had to do the right thing and marry her? You think if it had just been that one night with no consequences, then I would have eventually forgiven you.”
She was up on her knees now on the bed, in the heat of her fury.
“Well you were wrong. You broke my trust, Andrew. I could never have forgiven you, even if there hadn't been a baby involved.”
He watched helplessly as she got off the bed, went into her closet and came back with a handful of papers.
Shoved them into his chest.
“Here. These are yours.” She pointed to the door. “Now get out.”
He looked down, realized he was holding the letters she'd written him, the ones he'd kept in the dresser at Poplar Cove. Desperation tore at him. He couldn't let her go so easily. Not now that he was finally with her again.
“Don't you remember how it was for us, Izzy? Don't you remember that we were going to leave everything behind and sail around the world in a boat that I built? Can't you remember how much you loved me?”
“Me, me, me!”
She was yelling now, coming at him from across the room, her fists beating his chest. He had to put his hands on her shoulders to hold them both steady.
“I, I, I! Every single thing you've said so far has been about you. About how much pain you're in. About how badly you need forgiveness. About how much you've changed. About how I should look at the letters as proof of how much I loved you.”
hat he had no right to any part of her heart.
“I take it you're here to get Poplar Cove ready for your son's wedding.”
He didn't answer for a long moment, his gaze growing even more intense. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. And to help Connor too.” He cleared his throat. “He's going through a rough patch right now. I need to be here for him.”
Listening to Andrew talk about his son with such love mucked around with her insides. He was too close, close enough to set off a thousand butterflies from their cocoons. And, stupidly, she couldn't help but note the absence of a wedding ring on his left hand. As if it mattered whether or not he was married.
“But Sam and Connor aren't the only reason I came back, Izzy.”
She hadn't heard that nickname in thirty years. Wouldn't have dreamed of letting anyone call her Izzy. Her ears started ringing, a high-pitched whine. She couldn't listen to any more of this, not now, not on the dock in front of her house, not in the very place he'd told her he loved her for the very first time.
“Don't call me that,” she said, but the clouds were drawing a curtain on the sun, turning daylight to night. She felt herself falling, wanted it to be anywhere but into his arms.
Chapter Sixteen
ANDREW LIFTED Isabel up and rushed up the beach to her house. Seeing her black out like that had scared him and even though her eyelids were already blinking open, her eyes working to focus on his face, he was still shaken.
“I'm fine,” she tried, but the words sounded weak, utterly unlike her.
“Shh,” he said, instinctively pressing his lips against her forehead. “I've got you,” he said as he took the steps up to where he remembered the old master bedroom being as a kid. Pushing the door open with one knee, he saw that Isabel had indeed taken over the room from her parents, had transformed it as her own.
Gently laying her down on the bed, he moved across the room, picked up a blanket from a chest in the corner. He took it back to the bed, covered her with it, sat down on the edge of the mattress and stroked her hair. A thousand emotions rushed through him as he took her in, lying on the bed, her blond hair fanned out on the pillow. There was no point wishing he could have woken up to her like this a thousand times in the past thirty years. But he wished it anyway.
And then she was shifting beneath the blanket, kicking it off to push away from him and sit up against the thick wood headboard, holding her head in her hands.
“What do you want, Andrew?”
He remembered now, she'd never been a shrinking violet, had never been scared to tell him exactly what she thought. But he was worried about the way she'd dropped on the beach, had to make sure she wasn't ill.
“Are you sick?”
“No.” The word was a sharp bullet from her lips.
“You fainted.”
She massaged her temples. “I have a headache. I didn't sleep well.” She dropped her hands, glared at him. “Why the hell are you here?”
“Izzy-”
“I already told you not to call me that.”
He took a breath, found his lungs didn't want to take in — or give — any air.
“I came to say I'm sorry.”
She blinked once, twice, almost as if she were trying to figure out just what game he was playing. “Okay.”
He was stunned by her response. There had to be more there, didn't there?
But she was already swinging her legs around the opposite side of the bed. He reached out a hand to stop her from leaving.
“No, wait.”
He looked down at where they were touching, felt the same strong surge of electricity that had always been between them. He knew he should pull his hand away, but he just couldn't let go of her. Not when he'd waited so long to touch her again.
“Please. I need to say these things.”
Her chest was rising and falling fast as she shook off his hand.
“Fine.” She shifted farther from him on the bed. “Go ahead.”
He hadn't had time to rehearse this, hated trying to win her over without a plan.
“I screwed up, Isabel. I know you already know that, but I've wanted you to hear me say it for so long. I don't know what happened thirty years ago, why I got drunk that night and…”
“And slept with someone else,” she said, quickly finishing his sentence. “Knocked her up and got married.”
He went completely rigid. “You were the one I loved. Always.”
“You should have thought of that before you had sex with her.”
“I was a stupid kid. Full of hormones. I didn't know what to do with them.”
“Really?” she challenged. “You couldn't find any new excuses in the past thirty years? Couldn't think of anything more interesting than how hard up you were because I wouldn't put out? That's sad, Andrew. Really sad.”
“I swear to you, if I had known the way it was going to turn our lives upside down, if I could have seen how it was all going to turn out, I never would have done it.”
“You still don't get it, do you? You think we ended because you got her pregnant, don't you? Because you had to do the right thing and marry her? You think if it had just been that one night with no consequences, then I would have eventually forgiven you.”
She was up on her knees now on the bed, in the heat of her fury.
“Well you were wrong. You broke my trust, Andrew. I could never have forgiven you, even if there hadn't been a baby involved.”
He watched helplessly as she got off the bed, went into her closet and came back with a handful of papers.
Shoved them into his chest.
“Here. These are yours.” She pointed to the door. “Now get out.”
He looked down, realized he was holding the letters she'd written him, the ones he'd kept in the dresser at Poplar Cove. Desperation tore at him. He couldn't let her go so easily. Not now that he was finally with her again.
“Don't you remember how it was for us, Izzy? Don't you remember that we were going to leave everything behind and sail around the world in a boat that I built? Can't you remember how much you loved me?”
“Me, me, me!”
She was yelling now, coming at him from across the room, her fists beating his chest. He had to put his hands on her shoulders to hold them both steady.
“I, I, I! Every single thing you've said so far has been about you. About how much pain you're in. About how badly you need forgiveness. About how much you've changed. About how I should look at the letters as proof of how much I loved you.”