The Winner Takes It All. Alison Roberts

you want me to butter yours?”

      “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Sarah placed a muffin on a plate. She awkwardly sliced the top then added a pat of butter. “These smell so good.”

      Cullen took one. “Leanne’s got a thing for muffins and chocolate.”

      Sarah rested her plate on her lap. “She’s nice. I like her.”

      “I thought you might,” he said. “Leanne reminds me of you.”

      “I’m nothing like her.”

      “You both work in male-dominated environments. You’re competent and intelligent. You ski and climb.”

      “Okay, I see the commonality.” Sarah bit into the muffin. “But I wish I cooked as well as she does.”

      “Yeah, that would be nice.”

      She swatted his arm. “I’m not that bad.”

      “I’m joking. You’re a good cook.” He noticed the bridal magazine on her lap. “I’m curious how you know so much about wedding planning, when we eloped.”

      She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I told you I was engaged.”

      “I assumed it was a short engagement.”

      “Two and a half years.”

      He drew back. “That’s a long time.”

      “Longer when you add in the years we dated.”

      “When was this?”

      “Four years before I met you.”

      He did a quick calculation. “You must have been really young when you met him.”

      “Too young. And stupid,” she admitted. “But I thought I knew better.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

      “You and I got married two days after we met. I figured it didn’t matter.”

      He set his half-eaten muffin on his plate. “What happened?”

      She stared at the magazine. “Dylan entered my life at a time I felt very alone. I thought I was so lucky he wanted to be with me. There were some red flags, but I charged ahead with wedding plans. That morning…”

      Cullen leaned toward her, feeling as if a cornice of snow had collapsed on top of him. “The morning of your wedding day?”

      She nodded. “I was in a small room at the back of the church. I’d worked two jobs to buy my wedding gown and pay for the reception. I was fixing my veil when Dylan entered. He said he’d been up all night thinking about things, about us, and had come to a conclusion. He couldn’t marry me. The wedding was off.”

      Anger surged at how badly Sarah must have been hurt. Cullen balled his hands. “What a loser.”

      She shrugged. “He said I wasn’t anything special. I would have held him back. I don’t blame him for not wanting to marry me.”

      “Don’t say that. The guy had some serious issues if he thought any of those things about you.”

      “Yeah, issues with me.” If Sarah was trying to sound lighthearted, she hadn’t succeeded and that bothered Cullen even more. “But I got over him. Moved on. Met you.”

      The conversation they’d had outside the wedding chapel in Las Vegas rushed back.

      Why don’t we go inside and make things official? If we elope, you won’t forget about me when we get back to Seattle or leave me standing at the altar after we’ve dated for years and I’ve planned a spectacular wedding for us.

      Cullen remembered his reply.

      I would never leave you like that.

      Guilt lodged in his throat. He had left her. The minute she mentioned divorce he’d hightailed it out of the apartment. Had mentioning divorce been a test? To see how committed he was? Part of him wanted to be angry if she’d been testing without his knowing it, yet…even if she hadn’t been doing that, he’d failed. He’d run the second he had a chance. No wonder she’d freaked out on him whenever he tried to contact her about the divorce. “I’m sorry.”

      “No apologies needed. Getting jilted happened way before you.”

      “I know, but I left you, too. If I’d known…”

      “Would it have changed anything?” she asked.

      He thought long and hard. Things hadn’t been going well between them. She’d been pulling away from him. He hadn’t like how out of control he felt around her. “Probably not.”

      Sarah’s lip quivered. “I appreciate your honesty.”

      “I appreciate your telling me about this.”

      A marble statue had a warmer smile than hers. “Better late than never.”

      Except it was too late to do anything about it now. Or was it?

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       WOULD IT HAVE changed anything?

      Probably not.

      Cullen’s two words reaffirmed Sarah’s actions of a year ago. He’d even apologized. Something she’d never expected him to do. She should feel relieved she’d been spot-on about their relationship. Marriage had never tied them to each other as a couple, as husband and wife. Instead of relief, a heavy sadness bore down on her. She leaned back on the couch, looking at the wood-beamed ceiling.

      “Need a refill?” Cullen asked from the kitchen.

      “No, thanks.” She flexed her left hand to stop it from shaking. “My cup is full.”

      She’d known things were over between them. She was used to the heartache and resentment over her failed marriage, so she wasn’t sure why what Cullen had said bothered her so much.

      Face it. Some people weren’t cut out for marriage. Like her. Her parents. Must be something in the DNA.

      She glanced at the cover of the bridal magazine. The beautiful model dressed in a couture gown with perfectly applied makeup and coiffed hair glowed with a radiance Sarah envied. The woman wasn’t a bride, but more thought had gone into the carefully executed photo shoot than into their eloping.

      Her appetite disappeared.

      Cullen returned to the living room with a steaming cup of coffee. “You look better today.”

      “I’m getting there.” Physically, at least. Emotionally was another story. She rubbed her thumb against her fingertips. “You must be tired after working all night. Go to bed. I’ll be fine while you sleep.”

      He raised his cup of coffee. “I got my second wind.”

      Maybe she should take a nap and give them a break from each other. She nearly laughed. Running off was Cullen’s typical avoidance tactic, not hers.

      “What’s so funny?” he asked.

      He’d been honest before. It was her turn. She met his gaze. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

      He sipped his coffee. “Where would I go?”

      “Anywhere I’m not.”

      “That’s—”

      “What you used to do,” she interrupted. “Whenever things were really good between us or when we’d disagree, you always disappeared to the hospital, some mountain-rescue thing, wherever else you could go.”

      He tugged at his polo-shirt collar. “I only did what I needed to do.”

      “Exactly.”