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Striking a match against the fireplace, Paul threw it into the kindling. He added a few logs and the fire roared to life. “You make that look easy,” I said. “Do you build fires for a living?”
“I wish. No. I handle media and internal relations at Morgan and Son. I don’t build fires, but I do help put them out.”
“Any fires happening right now we should know about?”
When he turned to me, his eyes searched my face for a second before he said, “Nothing right now. But if you stick around I’ll be happy to show you how it’s done.”
I gave him a weak smile. “I’m not interested in drama or fires. I prefer to stay away from the spotlight.”
“Maybe. But my father recognized something in you, which means there’s a spark there somewhere.”
I was starting to feel it, too. The fire that had once burned inside me rekindled.
***
Colton and Robert joined us in the dining room shortly before dinner. I tried reading Colton’s face, but he gave no indication that his private meeting went well. We sat next to each other at dinner, Paul and his mother across from us and Robert at the head of the table.
“Is everything all right?” I whispered when the family was distracted talking about the baby’s christening.
“I’m not sure,” said Colton, shortly after Marie wished us bon appètit.
“I just don’t know how this will all work,” he continued, rubbing the palm of his hand against his jeans. He looked up and his eyes held mine. Now, I wasn’t sure if his words were about his meeting with Robert or us. The way his eyes warmed up my insides made my heart ache.
“I want it to work out,” he said in a low voice. “But I just don’t know.”
“Frances,” said Marie, “You haven’t touched your dinner. Do you not like it?”
Taken aback by her interruption, I picked up my fork and took a bite. “Mmm, it’s delicious,” I said, even though I barely tasted a thing through the sour taste in my mouth from Colton’s words.
Dinner dragged on and I was exhausted by the time Marie served her “famous” apple pie. Shortly afterward, I thanked them for their hospitality and said I would turn in early for the night.
“I’ll walk you upstairs,” said Colton, rising from his seat.
He followed me up the stairs, and my heart raced at the thought of him watching me. Despite everything that happened between us, I couldn’t deny I still had feelings for him.
Colton walked me to my bedroom door and I turned to face him. He stared into my eyes again and I wanted to tell him everything at that moment. That I was sorry, that I still wanted him. When he pushed a strand of my hair back behind my eyes, I nearly did.
“Colton,” I whispered, and reached for him. He caught my hand mid-air and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed and I saw him struggle but didn’t know what he was thinking. When he opened his eyes, they seemed sad. He kissed my knuckles, then pushed off the door trim and left me standing there with nothing but the truth inside my heart—too afraid to open myself to someone. Too afraid to get hurt, again.
So, what did I want? Did I still want a relationship with Colton? Am I willing to fight for one?
I was still berating myself five hours later, lying in bed, completely awake at two in the morning. Throwing the comforter off of me, I grabbed my sweater and pulled it over my head. I’d changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for bed, but a chill permeated the air now.
I considered walking over to Colton’s room to see if he was awake, but knew it would look terrible if someone caught me in there at this hour. So, I tiptoed downstairs and walked to the kitchen looking for a small pot to boil water for tea. I didn’t want to use a kettle and wake up the entire house. But when I reached the kitchen, my eyes caught a figure in the dining room. He sat facing the fireplace, his legs outstretched in front of him, balancing a half-empty glass on his thigh.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked in that familiar deep voice of his. It sounded rough right now, as though he hadn’t spoken in months.
“No,” I said, coming to stand beside him. Colton stared ahead at the dark and cold fireplace. White light from the moon shone on the left side of his face, illuminating his features enough for me to see the straight line of his lips and creased forehead. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.” He sipped his drink and brought it back down to his knee.
“How did the meeting go with Morgan this afternoon? We didn’t get a chance to speak about it.”
“All right, I guess. He asked a lot of questions but didn’t give me many answers.”
I nodded, figuring Morgan would have said something at dinner had they struck a deal. Knowing I had to say the next part didn’t make getting the words out any easier. Wrapping my arms around my waist and clenching my sweater, I took a deep breath in.
“I’m glad I found you here,” I said. “We need to talk.”
