Some Kind of Wonderful (Puffin Island 2)

He didn’t move. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you apologizing for leaving me?”

“No.” His gaze held hers, dark and hypnotic. “I’m apologizing for the way I did it. I should have done it face-to-face.”

So he didn’t regret leaving her.

She was right back there, eighteen years old and bathed in humiliation. “Good to have cleared that up. Is that all you came to say? Because I’m busy.”

“I didn’t come to say that. I came because I thought you might need help.”

“Why would I need your help?”

“You’ve injured your right wrist. You’re struggling.”

“Excuse me? I’m doing just fine and even if I wasn’t—” she gaped at him, confused and exasperated “—am I supposed to believe you’ve suddenly morphed into this caring, sharing guy?”

A muscle flickered in his jaw. “I’m offering to help you.”

She breathed deeply, wishing she’d paid more attention at her meditation class in college. “Goodbye, Zach. Close the door on your way out. And don’t knock on it again. Or enter my house through any other means.” Only with him would she have needed to add that qualifier. Maybe she’d get that lock he’d suggested. If only to keep him on the other side of her door.

“Your next hospital appointment is Tuesday?” He eyed the letter she’d left on the counter and she snatched it up.

“That is none of your business.”

“I’ll fly you there.”

She blinked. Her ex-husband was offering to take her to the hospital for them to check her broken wrist? As far as she could see that turned a crappy trip into a double-crappy trip.

“I can’t afford your services. Or do jilted wives get a special rate?”

He held her gaze and when he spoke his voice was devoid of emotion. “There’s no charge.”

“No, thanks.” Flustered, she jabbed her fingers into her hair. “Look, you said you wanted to talk, so go ahead and say what you want to say and then leave.”

“Not me. You.”

Confused, she stared at him. “I don’t need to talk.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t see water flowing under that bridge.”

Heat spread across her skin and misery seeped into her bones. “Believe it or not I know when I want to have a conversation. I don’t. So you can just—”

“You never used to bottle things up. You used to come right out and say whatever was on your mind. It was one of the things I liked about you.”

The breath left her lungs in a whoosh.

He’d never said he’d liked anything about her. He’d never complimented her or used smooth words.

At the time she’d told herself it didn’t matter that he wasn’t able to express his feelings.

It was only after he’d left her that she’d realized the reason he hadn’t expressed himself was because he hadn’t felt the things she’d wanted him to feel. She’d imagined his feelings to suit her own needs, but in reality they hadn’t existed.

It was bitterly ironic that the first time he said something personal to her was ten years after they’d broken up. And even more ironic that he’d used her own emotional transparency against her.

“There is nothing I want to say.”

“I walked out on you ten days into our marriage.” His gaze was steady. “Most women would have plenty to say about that.”