“But…I couldn’t have, not really. I mean, when? Amid all that fighting and trying not to kill each other?”
“And what about the past two and a half weeks, Brynn? Have we been fighting then?”
“No…but we both know it’s a temporary reprieve,” she said, her words all coming together in a rush. “It’s not like we entered this thing with a get-to-know-you goal in mind.”
His steady gaze told her what she’d been beginning to suspect. I already know you.
It was she who was clueless. She who was in unfamiliar waters.
The playing field wasn’t nearly as level as she’d thought. And she didn’t like it one bit.
“So tell me, then,” she said, lowering her voice. “What is it that you do?”
Will shook his head. “Eat your sandwich. I’m going to change my clothes, and then we’ll go for a walk on the beach.”
He was already moving toward the bedroom, where he’d put their bags, when she reached out a hand to grab his wrist. “Will, talk to me. I want to know—”
“No, you don’t, Brynn. You think you care now, but in a week, when this is all over, you won’t care whether I’m a billionaire or a bankrupt bum who drinks beer all day in his underwear.”
“Well, at least I’d get a good view from my window,” she said, trying for teasing.
He pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked away.
Brynn picked up the sandwich and took a mechanical bite even as her eyes stared unseeingly straight ahead at the dopey sailboat artwork. She’d been through a gamut of emotions over the past few months, but this was the first time that she felt good and truly ashamed.
She’d put endless energy into making sure she only saw Will as a callous womanizer with no care beyond bra cup size.
But it was Brynn who was the real user in this entire thing.
She’d been treating him like a glorified booty call. The sandwich turned sour in her stomach as she thought of all the times she could have asked him something about himself. Anything about himself.
But she’d been too busy looking for her next lay, worrying about her life, and getting riled up every time he wasn’t at her every beck and call.
She thought he’d wanted it that way, just as she had.
Obviously she’d been wrong.
“You ready?” he asked, coming out of the bedroom wearing faded jeans and a pullover fleece instead of the shorts and T-shirt of before. “You should grab a sweater or something. It’s colder along the water.”
Brynn hadn’t even eaten half of her sandwich, and he hadn’t eaten any of his, but neither of them seemed to care. Brynn dug in her suitcase for a sweatshirt, eager to join him before he changed his mind and went on a walk without her. Or worse, before he turned around and headed back home to find someone who cared about his work life. Or any part of his life.
They walked in silence down the long winding staircase toward the beach. The rain had died down to a faint mist, but the wind had picked up, whipping around them, carrying away the words they weren’t saying.
Will leaned down to take his shoes off, and Brynn did the same, despite the fact that the wind was cold, and the wet sand would be even colder.
It was colder, but it was also delicious, and Brynn curled her toes into the damp, chilly sand and took in a deep breath.
“I’m surprised you’re not freaking out about hypothermia, or bugs, or stepping on glass.”
Brynn gazed out at the gray, whipping ocean that was so comforting in its intense monotony. Routine could be powerful. But it didn’t have to be dull. She would do well to remember that when she went back to her real life. “I’m not afraid of anything right now.”
Will silently extended a hand toward her, and she took it. He twined his fingers with hers in a way she usually associated with romance and sweetness.
Not Will’s usual cup of tea. But perhaps he’d changed.
Or perhaps she’d been blind.
They walked hand in hand down the deserted beach, far enough to the water that the sand grew firm beneath their feet, but not close enough so that the frigid Pacific waters nipped at their toes. Brynn didn’t know how long they walked, silently, hand in hand.