“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Emily and I aren’t together anymore.”
“Because?”
I keep making the tea.
“Look at me, Jameson.”
I drag my eyes to hers.
“Why aren’t you with Emily anymore?” she asks.
“Emily deserves better.”
She watches me.
“Ferrara.” I frown as I get my wording right. “I don’t want this life for her.”
“You don’t want her being with a workaholic, you mean?”
I shrug as I pass her the cup of tea.
“So, you ended it with her . . . for her?”
I purse my lips as I remain silent.
“Well that proves it, Jameson.”
“Proves what?”
“That she’s the one.”
I frown.
“You know, ever since you were a tiny little boy, you’ve done this.”
“Done what?” What is she talking about?
“When you were very little, maybe three or four years old, you used to have this little pale-blue pickup truck.”
I listen.
“You loved it. It fit in the palm of your hand, and you always carried it around. It was your pride and joy.”
I smile softly.
“The thing is, Tristan loved it too. He had his own, but yours was the special one. And even though you loved that truck with all of your heart, the moment that Tristan got upset about anything . . . you would give it to him. You couldn’t stand seeing him upset, and you felt responsible to make him happy.”
I frown.
“As you grew up, I watched you do this many times, Jameson, with many things. To the outside world you were aloof and cold, but for the ones you loved, you would do anything to make them happy. You have more heart than sense.”
My eyes hold hers.
“Why do you think that Emily wouldn’t be happy with you?”