But that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? All I know is, whatever our meeting was, it wasn’t innocent.
I spend the next few hours unpacking and filling Joanna’s china cabinet with my own dishes. When Samara makes her way downstairs, she insists I leave the empty boxes near the back door for her to pack away in the garage, since I shouldn’t be carrying heavy loads. For some reason, unpacking my things makes me feel better. Like I’ve finally made my imprint on this place, no matter how faint. Rachael’s comments spin through my head: I’m glad you’re with Michael now. Because I’m not a threat to this neighborhood. I’m far from glamorous and at times uncomfortable in my skin, and won’t make Rachael feel intimidated. How’d you do it? As if landing Michael was a trick, because he couldn’t possibly like me for the woman I am, not after the perfection of Joanna.
If I want to be in Michael’s life for the long haul, I need to become the kind of woman deserving of his love and attention. I’m going to have to make Ravenwood my home, so I don’t feel like an invader, squatting here in Joanna’s space.
Rachael may be gone, but her words are lingering, ringing in my heart.
I don’t think they’ll be leaving anytime soon.
MICHAEL
By the time I wind my way up the drive and pull into the garage, it’s six-fifteen and I’m burned out. Meetings all morning. Development paperwork all afternoon. Conference calls on the way home. I haven’t heard from Colleen since the morning and I want nothing more than to see her. Judging from the way she crashed this morning, she’s probably spent the day recuperating.
If I know Colleen, no matter how tired she is, she’ll greet me at the door with a kiss and a smile. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she has a talent for making the madness of my day melt away. She hates the fact that she’s not more of a Betty Homemaker type—she’s mentioned her lack of housekeeping skills a time or two—but with Samara on staff, she won’t have to worry about that anymore. She’ll be able to relax and enjoy her days. I don’t mind that she can’t cook anything edible, either; it’s the reason I kept Dean on staff after Joanna left. What woman wouldn’t enjoy having a personal chef who does the grocery shopping and cooking?
For the first time since Joanna ended our marriage via text message, I think I’m finally ready to file for divorce. My past with her will stay buried. With Colleen there is a new start. I turn up my collar to brace against a frigid blast of wind and eagerly jog up the steps. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to walk through the front door.
“Hey, Coll, I’m home!” Pushing inside, I hang up my jacket, set down my briefcase, and stop in my tracks. “What the hell?”
The house is eerily quiet, cold, and dark, as if the life has been sucked right out of it. A few dim overhead fixtures trickle light, but shadows claim every corner. The boxes I’d stepped over this morning are gone. The couch is now covered in fuzzy blankets and throw pillows. Framed pictures of us have been hung on the walls.
Colleen’s been busy today, but where is she?
“Colleen?” I pad through the living room. “Sweetheart?”
In the study, the air is stagnant and chilly—the fire hasn’t been lit—and the curtains are closed tight. At first glance, it doesn’t seem as if Colleen has been in the room at all. Then, I catch sight of something on the bookshelf across from my desk. A romance novel. Next to it, a thriller.
Those definitely aren’t mine.
On closer inspection, an entire row of my financial books has been replaced with genre fiction. Mysteries, romances, thrillers, and sci-fi.
“You’ve made yourself at home,” I whisper, and then shut the door behind me. “As long as you haven’t…” I glance at the ceiling, beyond the headers and beams, and imagine the second story over our heads. “Colleen? Baby, where are