A Brand New Ending (Page 20)

“How’s it going with Kyle?” Harper asked curiously.

She shifted her weight. The real reason she’d sought out a brisk walk was to clear her head. Since discovering she was still married, she’d thrown herself into research the past twenty-four hours, trying to find the easiest, most organized way to fix the mess. Unfortunately, she’d ended up with a slight headache from looking at all the divorce and court sites.

Harper knew she’d run off to California with Kyle, but she believed it was more about pursuing their careers than a love affair. When she’d moved back home, Ophelia told her they’d had an epic fight that hadn’t been settled, and Harper didn’t ask any questions. Harper had mastered the art of simplicity and one-word answers and avoided long, rambling confessions of emotion like the plague. Ophelia always wondered how that’d work if one day her sister wanted to have a love affair of her own. Harper tended to stay close to home and didn’t date much.

Ophelia kept her response neutral. Ethan had always been her confidant, and she rarely ran to her sister with her troubles. “Fine. He’s working on a new screenplay.”

“Cool. I’ll ask him more about it at dinner.”

Ophelia jerked. “He’s not joining us for dinner.”

Her sister frowned. “Why not?”

Panic nipped at her nerve endings. “Well, he’ll be working. Or busy. I’d rather it be just us.”

Usually, Harper would nod and stay out of it, but her frown deepened. “That’s messed up. He was practically part of the family, and now he’s staying at the inn. Why wouldn’t you invite him to dinner?”

She tried not to sound desperate. “Just because he has a room doesn’t mean he should automatically come to every family gathering.”

Suspicion glinted in her sister’s eyes. “What type of falling out did you guys have, anyway? Seems a bit extreme to me—especially since you’re the forgiving type.”

Ah, crap. How was she going to explain her way out of this one? Damn him. His presence was screwing up everything.

“It’s complicated,” she finally said. “There’s more history than I let on between us.”

“Ah. I always figured you guys were banging when you ran away together. Still hot for him, huh?”

Her mouth fell open. “No! I don’t want to talk about it. I just . . . I don’t like him anymore, that’s all.”

Harper laughed and rose from the stool, giving Flower a pat. “Sounds like Ethan and Mia. They bantered all summer and swore they didn’t like each other, but I knew they just wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.”

“It’s not like that with Kyle,” she insisted. “Yes, we had an affair when we were young, but things changed.”

“You were so different when you got back from California,” Harper said. “Mom always said a broken heart causes more character growth than a Disney movie.”

Ophelia shook her head, laughing. “Mom was always right.” She paused, but in that fleeting moment, she wanted to share more with her sister. “He hurt me. I guess I still haven’t gotten past it.”

Harper nodded. “I get it. Makes sense now that you didn’t want him staying the winter. But maybe it’s a sign.”

The words gave Ophelia an eerie sense of déjà vu.

Hadn’t Kyle said the same thing?

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t run away from the past forever. Maybe he’s back because you need closure.” Her sister gave her a meaningful look. “Or not.”

Ophelia opened her mouth to protest, but Harper just waved her hand in the air and cut her off. “I’m on your side either way. Invite him or not. Just saying it may be a bit strange to have a family dinner while he’s holed up alone in his room.”

Ugh. Her sister was right. How could she possibly tell him he couldn’t join them?

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Thanks for the chat. I better get back.”

“Sure. See ya later.” Harper left the stall, locking it behind her, and headed toward the field.

Ophelia retraced her steps on the path to the inn. The sharp air stole her breath and reddened her cheeks, but she loved the surge of adrenaline that shot through her. A distant bark warned her that Wheezy and Bolt were on their way. When they spotted her through the bare trees, they made a mad dash, sprinted full speed ahead, and knocked into her legs, making her laugh.

She walked with the two furballs bouncing at her heels, drinking in the magnificent view of ice-crusted branches, blue sky, and the snow-topped peaks of the Gunks shimmering in the distance. Deep inside, peace settled over her with the reminder she’d made the right choice. This was her home, where she belonged. As badly as she had wanted to love her time in California, she always felt displaced, as if something in her soul was off. She’d run across the country to find something that had been at home all along.

But Kyle had been lost in the process.

She sighed, lingering on the memories, and decided to invite him to dinner. If she was clear and forceful enough to explain it was only for appearances, maybe he’d understand she wasn’t weakening or giving him an opening. Between Ethan and Mia and Harper, she wouldn’t have to say a word to him, and afterward he’d disappear back into his room.

It’d be safe enough.

Decision made, she finished her walk and began planning the menu.

“What are you doing here?”

Ophelia stared at Kyle, framed in the kitchen doorway. Clad in black pants and a snug charcoal Henley emphasizing his impressive pecs and broad shoulders, he emanated masculine yumminess.

Irritation coursed through her.

He was a writer, dammit. He shouldn’t be so fit, considering his profession judged success by how many hours his ass was in a chair. Was he still doing that crazy core workout?

After long writing sessions, he’d complete his own gym circuit consisting of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and a variety of creative Pilates moves that pit his own body weight against him. She used to make him do his routine shirtless so she could sit back, watch, and drool. Most of the sessions had ended with them both naked in bed.

“Helping you cook, of course. Got any extra aprons?”

Her eyes widened. “No, and I don’t need any help. I’ll call you when Ethan gets here. Just go back to your room.”

His lips quirked. He ignored her, prowling around the kitchen with curiosity. “Absolutely not. Besides, we always cooked together.”

The memory slammed into her and stole her breath. In the beginning of their marriage, they’d spent endless hours exploring various ingredients available in California and experimenting with recipes. Cramped in their one-bedroom studio, with no counter space and a small oven, they’d squeeze together, drink cheap wine, and feed each other morsels of food. She’d learned how to cook well from her mother, and Kyle had been forced to learn early since his father barely knew how to boil water.

Cooking together gradually became less frequent as he spent more time at the production company’s offices.

How many nights had she stared at a perfectly prepared meal while she ate alone? Too many to count.

She kept her voice firm. “Things are different here. I have a strict organizational plan and have to cook alone. I need plenty of space. You’ll only mess things up.” Serving guests required following a routine to make sure she got all the food on the table at once and was able to quickly reproduce dishes on demand. Once, preparing a meal had been a choreographed dance between partners. Now, after so many years apart, it’d become a solo effort—and she was stingy with her spotlight.