Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,87

And jumped into a life far too serious. If she should have let them be free. Given them wings instead of clipped them.

For all she hadn’t meant to, it seemed that she had.

Her birds were still in the nest. And didn’t that mean she hadn’t given them the strength to fly away?

She was ruined inside. And that made her want to embrace this even more.

She wanted to enjoy that a man was looking at her. In all honesty, she had thought that moment had passed. That she had let it go sometime back in her twenties, with lines and gravity and everything else stealing the chance of it ever happening again.

But he seemed to think she was beautiful.

And she thought he was pretty beautiful himself.

There was no one left to protect, and the ones who had counted on her hadn’t been protected by her, anyway. And she knew exactly how the world worked. No smooth-talking cowboy type was going to change that.

She wasn’t an eighteen-year-old working in an office, not anymore. She was a grown woman, a businesswoman, a mother. Someone who had built a life for herself. She didn’t need to be protected or supported. And it was that lack of need that made her feel so confident and easy right now. Like there was no reason to hold him at bay.

“Yes. The innkeeper would love to join you for a beer.”

“And since I’m the only guest, I feel like I should do the work of acquiring it. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Well, I’ll take you up on that.”

He went toward the kitchen, and she could hear him moving around. She went into the sitting room, and sat in one of the antique chairs that was positioned in front of the window. The lace curtains were pulled back, and the weather stormed outside of them, the ocean a ferocious gray.

He returned with two beers, and a bowl that contained pretzels.

“I have a confession to make,” he said. “I brought the pretzels.”

“Well, that was forward-thinking of you.”

“I’m not much for wine and cheese.”

“I am,” Wendy said. “But this is nice, too.”

“If you want to have wine and cheese, don’t let me stop you. There is no problem with us each enjoying something different.”

“This is different for me,” she said, taking the bottle from his hand and raising it slightly. “A nice departure.”

“Well, then. Far be it for me to stop you.”

He sat down in the chair across from her. There was ample space between them, and it shouldn’t have felt charged at all. But it did. They were alone together in the house, and that didn’t make Wendy feel scared or insecure. No.

It was exciting.

What a way to run from your problems.

But she wasn’t in the mood to be chastised. Not even by herself. Perhaps most especially not by herself.

“What brings you back here?”

He shook his head. “I can’t seem to stay away. Loss makes you think a lot about your life.”

“Yes,” Wendy said. “That is true. My—my son-in-law passed. A couple of months ago. It’s been... It’s been a difficult time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. My father was an old man. It still makes you think, but it’s at least the order of things. It’s terrible when someone that young passes.”

“It is. I agree.”

“My wife died far too young,” he said. “It was... It was hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy said sincerely.

“It was a long time ago now. You don’t get over it, but it fades. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just that everything around you is fresher. More real. Requires more energy. She’s with me still. She always will be. My first love, the mother of my children. That doesn’t fade.”

“No, of course not.”

“I couldn’t go on a journey when she passed. I had children to finish raising. I did that. They’re all in their forties now, with children of their own. Living all over the country. Which I suppose is evidence that I did something right.” He paused for a long moment. “I’m a rancher by trade. I don’t have much of anything to do with the sea. It fascinates me that my ancestors did.”

So she’d been right. He was a rancher. “I’m sorry to hear about that. Your wife. The family fallout...”

“I don’t even know what it was about. I’ve been collecting bits and pieces of information ever since my father died. It’s a hell of a thing, to realize that you left some things too late. Everyone that I could have asked is gone. And