Page 51 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
“I don’t want to move on,” I said stubbornly. Not with Wes, not with any man.”
“It just seems a shame if both of you—”
“No. It’s pointless to even think about.”
She stayed silent.
I sighed. “Thanks for listening, Tess. I had to get it off my chest, and this is just too personal to share with the group.”
“Of course. I hope it made you feel better.”
“It did,” I lied.
The truth was, the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Because as days of avoiding Wes stretched into weeks and my feelings for him didn’t subside, I grew more and more terrified that they never would. I tried everything I could to distract myself—I cleaned the house top to bottom, I baked a zillion pies, I dug out my old sewing machine and tackled the long-ignored pile of clothing that needed mending.
But nothing worked. I thought of him constantly, missed him terribly. And I couldn’t hide from him forever—Abby’s sixth birthday dinner at Lenore and Doc’s house was scheduled for the last Saturday in September, and there was no getting out of it.
I’d have to face him and act like I was okay, like what we’d done hadn’t wrecked me, like I still believed the lie I’d told him that night—that it had been about Drew for me.
I don’t believe you, he’d said.
Did he now? Did he think because I’d stayed away from him for two weeks I’d meant what I’d said? Was he hurt by that? I hated the thought that I’d caused him pain, but I was trying to protect us both.
Pain was necessary.
The Saturday of Abby’s birthday dinner was a sunny, cloudless day that didn’t match my dark, foreboding mood at all. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Maybe I’d have a meltdown at the dinner table and cry into my chicken and dumplings. Maybe Wes would be so mad he wouldn’t even talk to me and dinner would be a tense, silent affair. Maybe Lenore would somehow find new ways to cut away at my self-worth and I’d finally snap and flip a table.
That last one was a
ctually kind of a satisfying thought.
We weren’t too busy at work, and Georgia and I actually found time to sit down and have a cup of coffee during late morning.
“Everything okay?” She lifted her cup to her lips with both hands.
“Yeah,” I said, but then my shoulders slumped. “No.”
She smiled. “Want to talk about it?”
Did I? While I was thinking about it, Margot came into the kitchen.
“Whew,” she said, taking a cup down and pouring coffee into it. “All gone. Kind of nice to have a slow day now and then.”
I nodded, but the slow traffic made me kind of sad, too. It meant they wouldn’t need me as much, and the start of the cold, lonely season I was dreading.
“Can I join you guys?” Margot asked.
“Of course,” I said.
She sat down and flipped her long blond braid over her shoulder. “Actually, Hannah, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Georgia and I have been talking about a Valentini Inn cookbook for a while, a series of them actually, and we think you’d be the perfect person to start with. Maybe a breakfast edition?”
I found myself perking up a little at the thought of a creative project. “I’d love that. I mean, I don’t know anything about putting a book together, but I can supply the recipes.”
“That’s all we need,” said Georgia. “Well, that and photos, but we’re going to hire someone for that.”
