Page 128 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
Why wasn’t he listening to me? I said that I felt bad for not talking to him about a decision that affected both of us. He wasn’t giving me the chance to forgive him. He was just giving up. How dare he let me go without a fight? My sadness and confusion turned to anger.
“That’s it? End of discussion? You hardly let me speak! How do you know I won’t forgive you? You just assume that I can’t and that’s it? Now you’re just making the decision that we’re over?”
“I thought that’s what you’d want,” he said.
Jumping to my feet, I yanked the divorce papers away from him and waved them in the air.
“I want you to stop assuming that I can’t and won’t forgive you. I want you to stop thinking so little of yourself that you think I could possibly be happy with anyone else. Because I can’t. I knew that the night we got married. Thinking a divorce would make this easier was just a stupid mistake. If anyone should be sorry here, it’s me. I hurt you and—”
My rant was immediately silenced by Nick’s mouth. His kiss was full of passion and intensity. Of hope. Of forgiveness. We were going to put this ridiculous argument behind us. Neither of us needed any more words to move forward.
Well, maybe just a few more.
Nick broke away from the kiss and framed my face with his hands. His sparkling eyes saw straight into the center of my soul.
“I love you,” he said.
To hear those words—finally! The feeling was better than any I’d had before. “I love you too.”
A crooked grin spread across Nick’s face. “Fuck, it feels good to say that.”
Nick erased the smile on my face with another kiss.
“Would you build me a fire?” I asked.
“Now?”
“Yes. Please?”
He reluctantly let me go and went to the fireplace. When the wood was burning hot, I knelt next to Nick and tossed in the divorce papers.
We both watched the white paper turn brown at the center and catch fire at the edges. When they were fully black and curled into a disappearing crumple, I smiled.
Good riddance.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, I smiled while folding up the newspaper and tucking it beneath a stack of mail.
The local newspaper had written a front-page article about my attempted kidnapping and subsequent illness for this week’s edition. Considering that neither of us had given an interview and Jess’s official statement had been extremely brief, I’d been surprised at how much the editor knew about my ordeal.
I hated how public my life had been in New York but nothing about the Prescott Gazette’s bulletin bothered me. It was the first time in my life I hadn’t cringed after seeing my name in typed font. The article wasn’t nosy or critical. It was caring and sweet. The community was simply concerned about their kindergarten teacher.
I had gone back to work this week, and though I’d come back much sooner than Nick had liked, being with my students had done a lot to help me get back to normal.
It was Friday afternoon and I’d left work early, rushing back to Nick’s house, ready to start the weekend.
“Hey,” Nick called.
I glanced at the clock. He was home early. I hoped everything was okay because I didn’t think I could take much more drama.
“You cooked?” Nick asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Don’t sound so shocked. Or skeptical,” I said. “I used the Crock-Pot. I’ve decided it’s going to be my specialty.”
“Considering all you have to do is dump everything in and turn it on, you should be able to handle it.”
I poked him in the chest and rolled my eyes. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re early and ruining my surprise.”
“I’m not ruining your surprise,” Nick said. “You’re ruining mine.”
