Page 97 of A Cup of Autumn
The less-than-eloquent opening wouldn’t score him any points, but it was a start.
Raine turned. Her lips pressed together tightly.
His heart squeezed. Usually, she came around the corner to greet him. This time, she remained behind the counter.
Only yourself to blame.
A glance at the seating area showed people staring.
Great. Now they had an audience.
Might as well get it over with. He handed her the gift bag. “I brought you something.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
“Thanks.”
He rubbed his palms against his pants. “Open it before you thank me.”
She opened the gift bag, pushed aside the black tissue paper, and pulled out a leather journal. She opened the cover and read his inscription. “I don’t know how to pronounce this.”
“Bak skyene er himmelen alltid blå.” Keaton read the line and then he translated it for her. “Behind the clouds, the sky is always blue. It’s a Norwegian proverb.”
She closed the cover. “This is a thoughtful gift.”
“It’s a journal. You said you didn’t have one.”
Raine ran her fingertip along the binding. “I don’t.”
“Use it as a journal or a notebook or a recipe book. Whatever you want. I keep mine next to my bed so I can jot down thoughts.”
“That’s a good idea. I didn’t get you a goodbye present.”
His heart stumbled. It didn’t want to believe this was the end. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”
The last thing he wanted was for her to feel bad. He raised his hand to cup her face, but she turned away from him.
“You gave me enough while I was here,” he added.
You could have so much more if you didn’t leave.
Callie’s words swirled in his mind.
Keaton had to go. Dreams were meant to be pursued, not forgotten about and tucked away like a memento. “Thank you, Raine.”
She stared at the journal. “I should be thanking you for helping with the Boo Bash.”
This was awkward.
It shouldn’t be.
And Keaton hated that it was. He dragged his fingers through his hair.
“I’ll be back for Christmas.” No, that wasn’t enough. He took a breath. Time to lay it on the line. “I don’t want this, us, to end. We could keep—”
“I can’t.” She held the journal in front of her like a shield. “I don’t do long distance. I tried. Twice. It doesn’t work.”
