to espouse, helping those around them without pause.
But if he was being truly honest with himself, that was the easy cover. The fact was, he did feel the need to earn his place. To buy people’s love with good deeds, instead of being himself and trusting that his siblings would love him anyway.
It sat uncomfortably in his chest, as though she’d revealed a part of him he’d wanted to ignore.
“You’re not supposed to care about me,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know,” he said. “But I do.”
…
It was like a bad dream and the best dream she’d ever had rolled into one. Cora couldn’t think straight, because her head was so stuffed full of battling emotions that there wasn’t space for logic. For reason.
Trent cared about her.
And the hard truth of it was, she cared about him, too. A heck of a lot.
More than she’d ever cared about Alex, she realized on reflection. Because Alex had never known her the way Trent did, he’d never encouraged her the way Trent had. He’d never seen her tiptoeing around her dreams and shoved her in the right direction no matter how terrifying and thrilling it was.
But she couldn’t stay here. Because that would mean sacrificing her other dream—the one she’d had since she was a girl, staring at her bedroom door and willing one of her parents to come and save her battered little heart. If she left her life in Manhattan behind to move to Australia, then her father would forget about her. He barely made time for her now, despite them working in the same office and living a block from each other. If she left the country…
Well, he might forget that she existed altogether.
“You’re killing me, Trent.” She swung her gaze over the beautiful picnic he’d put together—from the ripe, sweetly scented strawberries to the bottle of wine and the little paper bag from the bakery she’d grown to love during her time here. “Why can’t we appreciate this for what it was and walk away with some good memories?”
“Because a good memory of you isn’t enough. I don’t want to remember you, like it was some happy blip in my life.” He was so sincere, it radiated out of his face, his goodness gripping her heart and squeezing. “I want us to keep making memories.”
This wasn’t how her trip was supposed to end. “I never came here looking for forever. It was supposed to be a distraction from my real life.”
“And this wasn’t real?”
“This was a vacation fantasy, where I was going to lick my wounds in a beautiful place and get my head back on straight so I could go home and fix everything.”
“Fix everything?” His nostrils flared, and something dark and sharp cut across his face. “You’re planning to go back to your ex?”
Had she wanted that reconciliation? Maybe for a moment as she’d packed her bags back in Manhattan. Maybe a bit during the flight over when tears burned her eyes. But after that? Not once.
Alex wasn’t the guy for her.
Trent had shown her that. The way she’d felt in his arms, waking up next to him, walking around his block of land and listening to his plans… She’d felt true passion for the first time ever. Alex was a good person, but he hadn’t made Cora’s heart soar the way Trent did. He hadn’t believed in her the way Trent did.
“No, I’m not. It’s over, completely.” She sucked in a breath, her chest protesting the movement as though her heart was physically bruised. “But my life is still in New York.”
“What life?” He threw up his hands. “That’s the part I’m having trouble understanding. Everything you’ve said about that place has painted an ugly picture, and yet it seems to have this hold on you.”
Maybe it did. Maybe it was because it felt like leaving Manhattan for good would mean admitting failure, whereas if she kept trying…
But for how long?
Cora’s heart felt weighed down. Heavy. She’d failed at everything she’d ever tried to achieve—her music performance career was a bust, she’d never been able to hold down a relationship, she wasn’t speaking to her mother, her manuscript was a disaster, her father didn’t think she had potential to succeed as an author…
You can keep trying.
Being the caterpillar meant working hard for change, and she still had such a long way to go. Her fingertip drifted over the top of her thigh, to where her tattoo was hidden behind the length of her cotton dress.