Page 17 of Finding Home at Hearts Hotel

An awkward, heavy silence settled over the booth, stretching out for several long minutes. Owen wrapped his palms around the hot ceramic of his mug, drawing comfort from the heat as his fingers traced the smooth rim. He watched the white steam rise and curl under the low-hanging metal lamp, his mind spinning in a chaotic circle. It was the first time they had been truly alone together in ten long years, and the sheer weight of their shared history seemed to crowd the small space between them, making it difficult to breathe.

Gill reached for the sugar spoon, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted a single packet. She stirred her coffee slowly, the metal spoon clicking rhythmically against the ceramic sides of her mug. She looked out the window at the mangroves lining the bay road, her expression distant and deeply reflective, before she finally turned her head to meet Owen’s gaze.

They both leaned forward slightly, drawing a breath to speak at the exact same moment.

"How've you," Owen began.

"Are you," Gill started.

They stopped, their words colliding in the gentle air. A self-deprecating laugh escaped Gill's lips, and Owen couldn't help the small, genuine smile that eased the tight tension in his shoulders.

"You first," Owen suggested, gesturing toward her cup.

"I," Gill countered, her smile fading into something meaningful and thoughtful as she set her spoon down with a click. She took a slow, tentative sip of the hot coffee, swallowed, and then looked directly into Owen's eyes. "I like Isabel."

The words caught Owen off guard, tumbling out of her mouth without any warning or build-up.

Owen felt a tight, painful squeeze behind his ribs. His fingers tightened around his mug, his pulse quickening with a sharp wave of intense guilt that flooded his system. He looked down at the dark liquid in his cup, unable to hold her gaze. A heavy, suffocating shame settled over his shoulders. He felt like a traitor for having a heart that was starting to beat so fiercely for another woman, while Gill's life had been shattered because of their past connection.

Gill watched his physical reaction, her sharp eyes scanning his pale face. Having worked closely beside him in the trenches for months, she knew every minor shift in his posture, and she read his thoughts instantly. She leaned across the laminate table, her hand reaching out toward his, though she stopped just short of making physical contact.

"Don't do that," Gill warned him, her voice firm and clear. "Don't dare feel guilty."

Owen shook his head slowly, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle in his cheek began to twitch.

"How could I not?" he asked, his voice rough. "Look at what happened to you. Your academic career, your research, your father, it was all ruined ten years ago because of me. I walked away, and you took the fall."

A sharp, hot flash of protective anger flared deep in Gill's kind eyes. She slammed her palm flat against the wood of the table, the sharp smack breaking the hum of the kitchen.

"No," Gill said, her voice rising slightly. "Stop it right now. I mean it. This had nothing to do with you."

She leaned closer, her eyes holding his eyes captive with a fierce intensity.

"The Winebergs were vicious, and they were always going to find a way to destroy my father and me to protect their own interests," Gill told him, her fingers clenching into a tight fist on the table. "We could've gone behind Debbi’s back during that dig, but we didn't. We respected your commitment. We didn't even hold hands, let alone kiss, while you were still wearing her ring. We didn't do a single thing until after the divorce papers were finalized, and we only met up that one final time just before you left Charleston and I went away with my father."

She let out a slow, trembling breath, her expression softening into something deeply nostalgic and sweet.

"You were gallant," Gill whispered, her gaze holding his. "You were the most faithful, honorable man I'd ever met in my life. Even when you were trapped in that miserable, arranged marriage, you chose to respect that commitment while falling in love with me. You didn't break your vows. You held the line."

Owen looked down at his hands, his throat feeling dry as bones. He didn't feel gallant. He didn't feel honorable at all. When he closed his eyes, the memory of that final summer in Charleston returned with a suffocating, clinical clarity.

He felt like the person who had ripped the very roots out of her promising career, leaving her academic dreams to wither in thedirt. Gill had been a brilliant, rising scientist, and her father, the prestigious dean of the college, had been dragged straight into the devastating blast radius of the Wineberg wrath simply because of his daughter's connection to Owen. The Winebergs had used their immense wealth and political force to strip her father of his position, forcing him into a humiliating retirement and shattering his spirit. And Owen had been helpless to stop it, his own powerful family refusing to get involved in a messy public scandal.

"Your father," Owen managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. "I couldn't protect him. I couldn't save his position."

"My father knew the risks of standing up to corrupt people," Gill told him gently, her hand finally coming forward to rest over his knuckles, her touch was reassuring. "He never blamed you, and neither did I. We survived. We went away, we built a simple life in the shadows, and now, thanks to Darius and Baxter, we're finally going to get our justice."

She offered him a bright, beautiful smile that seemed to clear the last of the lingering Charleston fog from the booth.

"And that's why I need you to hear me," Gill continued, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. "I'm incredibly happy that you found Isabel. She is a wonderful, strong woman, and she looks at you the exact same way you look at her. You deserve to be happy. You've spent ten years carrying around a ghost. It's time to set the weight down and live."

Owen stared at her, a deep sense of wholeness finally taking root. The ancient, agonizing ache of his past was gone, replaced by a respectful gratitude. He squeezed her hand back, a genuine smile breaking across his features.

"Thank you," Owen said quietly, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a decade. "For everything."

"Thank you," Gill said, her eyes holding his. "For being my first love and showing me what true commitment and honor are." She squeezed his hand gently, her touch steady and reassuring. "Until I met Baxter, no one else ever measured up to you."

Owen swallowed hard, and to his mortification, he felt tears sting the back of his eyes as his throat went raw. He cleared his throat and took a slow sip of the hot coffee to help swallow the tight lump forming there.