Page 34 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

“But don’t touch me,” she continued, that strange intonation in her voice again. Flat. She could feel her quickening heartbeat, that same painful heaviness that preceded one of her all-too-familiar episodes. She willed herself to calm down, to keep her voice steady. “If this is going to work, that and the Gem thing both need to end now.”

He sat up fully, moving closer to the edge of the bed, sitting more stiffly, feet flat on the floor and hands folded between his bent knees.

There was no way he could know the emotions roiling inside her, the physical response that she was having to thisconversation, to his presence, that was manifesting in her chest. But still, his silence put her on edge, this big, hulking figure just sitting there, not looking at her, not talking. She found herself worrying briefly that he was mad or upset with her, but quickly acknowledged that that fear was just a remnant of a past emotion. The ghost of the way she used to be with him, always wanting to make sure he was happy and okay.

It didn’t matter now. She didn’t wish him ill, sure. But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—care about his happiness any longer. Not like that.

Her breaths came quicker now, accelerating with the beating of her heart. She refused to let him see her this way. He had to leave, and he had to leavenow.

Abruptly, she stood and tried to find a way to make hopping look dignified as she quickly made her way to the bathroom.

“I’m using the bathroom now. You should go” was all she managed to get out before closing the door quickly without waiting for a response. Bracing her hands on the sink, she stared at her reflection, pale face and dilated pupils staring back at her as she willed her heart rate back down to normal.

“Julia.” His voice was muffled but still close enough to tell her that he was on the other side of the door. “I just hope you know how sorry I—”

“Good night, Ethan!” she called back, her heart rate picking up again, the edges of her vision going spotty and dark. “I’ll see you in the morning!”

There was silence on the other side of the door. Then a heavy sigh. Finally, she heard footsteps retreating until the telltale creak of the stairs told her it would be safe to come out again.

Unfortunately, she was in no position to go anywhere, soshe rode it out as best she could, sinking down to the floor and allowing the cool tile to press against her overheated cheek. Her heart rate slowed incrementally over a period of time that felt close to forever, but eventually she was able to boost herself up on shaky arms and make her way back to her room, this time not caring how stupid her hops looked.

Lying back down on the bed, she curled onto her side.

And that’s when she finally let the tears fall.

13

Ethan glanced athis watch for what felt like the fiftieth time in the last five minutes. He knew there was nothing about the gesture that would make Katy or Noah arrive any faster, but it provided him with a distraction, if nothing else, from the nerves roiling in his belly.

He hadn’t slept at all last night. It wasn’t because the bed in his very tiny room was uncomfortable—quite the opposite, in fact, as he found it deceptively agreeable despite its size—but because his mind had been swirling with a replay of his conversation with Julia.

Although he’d been desperate when he’d called her, he had still known that coming here would be, frankly, messed-up. That the avalanche of old memories and a confrontation with how everything had gone wrong would all come to a head. Maybe he’d been optimistic in believing they could get past it quickly or let their shared history trump whatever had happened to them at the very end, as though eight years of silence could somehow simply be swept under the rug or forgotten, buthe knew now that it had been a fool’s hope. Julia had made it abundantly clear that she may have forgiven, instigating a delicate truce for mutual gain over the next few days, but she would not forget.

Then, because he was a coward, instead of dwelling on the painful memories of his past, he checked his watch again.

He’d been tracking their plane, so he knew it had touched down that morning at exactly 8:47 a.m. It wasn’t a commercial flight. Instead, they’d chartered a sleek private jet, making a single stop to refuel in the Midwest before heading straight to the small regional airport in Jamestown. From there, it was a quick thirty-minute drive down winding country roads to the bed-and-breakfast.

The hefty travel day wasn’t exactly the five-star treatment those two were probably used to these days, even if Fordham PR had sprung for the private jet to smooth things over.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the lake, the place that had drawn him back again and again for the first half of his life. It was hard to believe that he hadn’t been back here, looking out onto the water, for almost ten years.

Following his sleepless night, he had gotten dressed in a semicasual ensemble of jeans and a crisp white dress shirt and made his way downstairs, both anticipating and dreading the possibility of seeing Julia again. An unidentifiable emotion had risen up in his chest when he’d realized the dining area was quiet, the house still peaceful and sleepy, although evidence of life had manifested in a sideboard that had been set up with a light breakfast. Fresh coffee, juice, muffins, scones, some bread already sliced, jam and butter in small glass containers on the side, and a platter of various cut-up fruits. It was a nice touch, and with the bread still soft and the baked goods still warm, itbrought an image of Julia to his mind, sleepily setting it all up for their guests. For him.

After eating, he’d begun his pacing of the gardens before settling down on one of the new red Adirondack chairs on the dock and staring out toward Lake Linden, a light mist settling on the surface of the water, breathing out its secrets. He hadn’t thought of it as Lake Linden in years—it had always been just “the lake,” the backdrop to summers that had felt endless once upon a time. Now the name sounded almost too formal, too distant for something that had once felt like home.

There was a painfulness to it, that sweet-sharp ache that accompanied nostalgia and regret. And even though the old dock had clearly been torn down and a sturdy, pressure-treated redwood one had taken its place, it still felt like a spot imbued with memories in its very fiber.

Allowing his mind to wander slightly, he found himself wondering how Julia was doing. How her ankle felt. He wondered if she had slept at all last night or if she had lain awake like he had, thinking about them and all that had transpired. He wondered if she kept the ice on her leg wrapped tightly to reduce the inflammation or if she was hobbling around on it still, like some sort of invincible cyborg who healed at record speed, though he was certain nothing could be farther from the truth.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

A sharp zing of panic went through him in the milliseconds before he pulled it out, a litany of disasters that might have befallen his plan whirring through his mind. He answered quickly without checking the number, heart in his throat, and was taken aback by the voice he heard.

“Hi, Ethan.”

It couldn’t be.

“Emily?” He scrubbed his hand painfully over his face, as though the gesture would somehow erase this moment from existence. “How did you get this number?”