Return to Virgin River (Virgin River #19) - Robyn Carr Page 0,34

I wanted to see you!”

“And I told you I couldn’t break away until November.”

“So I came to you,” she said, as if that resolved the issue.

He turned and left the room. He went to the kitchen and put four ice cubes in a glass. He got down the Crown Royal from a high cupboard and poured himself a generous drink.

She came from the bedroom, tying the sash on a black satin robe. She stood on the opposite side of the counter. “Can I have one of those?” she asked.

He didn’t answer but merely got another glass, added ice and some liquor and slid it across the counter.

“Thank you,” she said. “Can we sit down?”

He pulled a bar stool around the end of the counter and sat looking at her.

“You certainly aren’t making this easy. I’ve been wanting to have a serious talk with you for a long time,” she said.

“You’ve had ten years, Laura.”

“And so have you,” she replied. “Yet here we are. So, did I interrupt something romantic between you and your friend?”

“No, she’s my tenant. We’re neighbors; we’re friendly.”

“She’s very pretty.”

“That wouldn’t intimidate you,” he said.

“Look, this is hard for me. Be kind, at least. Things are not going as I had hoped they would. I’m not getting the parts I want or need anymore. I’m being cast more often as the mother of the bride than the bride. Or the disgruntled sister or the other woman.”

“You’ve had some good parts. Some good films.” And he knew this because he’d paid attention. When she was in a TV series or feature film, he made it a point to see it.

“The truth is that at my status the work is very hard and doesn’t pay well enough. I’ve aged out at thirty-five. I’m getting character roles and TV commercials. Ads. I’m burned out and ready to try something else. I’m thinking of giving up acting.”

“Really?” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “After all this time and dedication? There are plenty of good acting jobs for women over thirty-five.”

“Not plenty,” she said. “There are some, but they’re hard to get. I have to be honest with myself. It’s not going to take me where I always wanted to go.”

He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. “I have to admit, that surprises me. I thought you had the stamina for the long haul.”

“But not the enthusiasm,” she said. She took a sip of her drink. “I want us to try again.”

His head jerked up in surprise. “Try what again?” he asked.

“Marriage. Our marriage. That year we had together was the happiest year of my life.”

“And yet you left it,” he said. “You chose acting. We fought it out and you chose acting and career over marriage. For a while there you wouldn’t even admit you were married.”

“That was just PR bullshit to make me seem more desirable, more available, to convince people I wouldn’t flutter off the job and leave them all hanging. That didn’t last long. We’ve had a long-distance marriage, but—”

“We’ve had no marriage,” he said. “We haven’t slept together in almost a decade!”

“Well, that was your choice,” she said.

“Yes, it was,” he said. “When I realized I’d seen you for less than twelve days in a year, it was very clear that you had no investment in our marriage. I didn’t want to be a booty call. That might’ve been enough for you, but it wasn’t enough for me.”

“And yet we never divorced,” she reminded him.

“There didn’t seem to be any pressing need,” he said. “I had no interest in marrying again. I figured you’d file for divorce.”

“But I didn’t want a divorce! I wanted to be married!”

“To a man you saw for less than a month out of every year?”

“I loved you,” she said. “I always loved you! And you loved me. We were good friends.”

“We were friends,” he said. “I don’t know if we were even really that. We got along. We talked on the phone regularly but it was more like talking to a cousin or sister, not a wife. Take a trip down memory lane, Laura. After two years of your chasing stardom we had a blowout. I drew a line in the sand—we had to either find a way to live together or call it quits. You argued that there was no way to live together, that your work was either in Hollywood or on location, that it was your dream, that you worked hard for it and couldn’t give it