One Winter's Sunset. Rebecca Winters

it’s all gone.”

      “Definitely too bad.” Was she talking about the pie? Or the fact that she had enjoyed Cole feeding her? Enjoyed that one-on-one attention, like a laser?

      The clock on the wall ticked by the wee hours. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted. Cole’s eyes met Emily’s. “Oh, Em, what are we doing here?”

      “Having pie.”

      “And now that the pie is gone?”

      He was talking about more than whether they were going to put the dish in the sink or grab another snack. Cole was asking her the one question she couldn’t answer. What was going to happen next? With them?

      As much as she wanted to believe they could take this moment and use it to rebuild their marriage, she was acutely aware that a new life was growing inside her. A child Cole didn’t want.

      She’d become a package deal, her and Sweet Pea. The problem was, Cole only wanted half the package.

      She drew back. “I don’t know, Cole. I really don’t.”

      “Then let’s leave it here, on this sweet, pie-flavored note.” He quirked a grin in her direction. “Always leave them wanting more, isn’t that the old saying?”

      “And do you? Want more?” Damn it all, she still wanted him, still couldn’t back away.

      He cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing over her lips, following the path her tongue had taken. “God, yes,” he said. “That’s one thing that’s never changed, Emily. I always want you. Always have. Always will.”

      That sent a little thrill through her, but she tamped it down. Desire was never their problem. She’d wanted him from the moment she’d met him, and still did. She drew in a breath, held it, then exhaled again, with a dose of clarity. “A marriage requires more than just sexual attraction.”

      He sat back on the stool. A whisper of cold air filled the space between them. “Then let’s work on the other things a good marriage requires.” She started to protest, but he held up a finger, stopping her. “We’re here together for a few days at least, right? And yes, I know we’re separated and a step away from divorced, but at the very least, let’s try to learn how to connect with each other so that going forward, everything is amicable.”

      It made sense, though she doubted his motives were that simple. Cole had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to get back together and didn’t want a divorce. At the same time, he’d made it clear he didn’t want children.

      Still, the part of her that had got up in the middle of the night, worried, scared and lonely, craved the connection they’d had in their early days. Would it be so bad to rely on him, just for a few days, especially as she got used to the idea of the changes that lay ahead for her? What could it hurt?

      Or was she just looking for a reason to be close to the man who was no longer her perfect fit?

      “Tell me,” he said, draping an elbow over the bar, “what has you up in the middle of the night besides pie?”

      “There are other reasons to get up besides sneaking the last piece of pie?” She grinned.

      “I don’t know. Pie’s a pretty compelling reason.” He leaned in closer to her, and for a second, she thought—no, hoped—he was going to kiss her. “So what’s on your mind? I know you, Emily, and I know that look on your face. The way your brow furrows right there—” he laid a gentle finger on her temple “—tells me you’re worried about something.”

      In that moment she wanted to tell Cole about the baby. Tell him how worried she was that she wouldn’t be a good mother or that she would let the baby down somehow. A long time ago, Cole had been her best friend, the one she told everything to. But as they’d drifted apart, their friendship had eroded, and that, Emily knew, was what she mourned most about the end of her marriage.

      Besides, if she told him about the baby, she knew how he’d react. He’d be angry that she had deviated from the careful plan they’d had. He didn’t want kids now—and maybe not even later. He’d made that clear several times over the years and had reiterated the point the other day.

      “I’m, uh, writing a book,” she said. “I got a little writer’s block and I was up, trying to figure out the next step in the plot.”

      He arched a brow in surprise. “You’re writing a book?”

      “I used to do that back in college, you know. I just put it aside for a while.”

      “I remember. Why?”

      “What do you mean, why?”

      “Why did you ever stop writing? You used to love doing it.”

      “Well, when we first got married, we were both working a crazy amount of hours while you got the business off the ground. Then once you were successful, my days got sucked up with things to support that.” She fiddled with the fork, tapping it against the empty plate. “That’s an excuse, really. I had the time, if I’d really wanted to find it. I just didn’t.”

      “Why not?”

      She raised a shoulder, dropped it. “I guess I was afraid. Once I finish a book, I have to send it out, and that...”

      “Means you could get rejected.”

      She exhaled. “Yeah.”

      “But you’ve started now.” Cole’s hand covered hers. “That’s all that matters. And if no publisher wants your book, I’ll buy a printing press and—”

      Emily jerked to her feet. Damn it. Why did he always return to the same answer? “Cole, I don’t want you to solve my problems with money. I wasn’t even asking you to solve it. I just wanted to talk, like you did with me, and have you listen, and most of all, let me find my own solution. If I get rejected, I get rejected. Maybe I’m not meant to be a writer. But you have to let me find that out instead of trying to fix everything with money.”

      “I don’t do that.”

      “Yes, you do. When I was upset because my mother was moving to Florida, you bought her a house near ours. When I struggled to learn golf, you hired the best PGA coach in the business and flew him out to show me how to improve my swing. When I was sick with the flu, you had a doctor move into the guest room to be sure I was taken care of.”

      “That’s what money buys, Emily. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

      “Yeah, there is,” she said. She put the dishes in the sink and propped her hands on either side. “It’s the whole reason we’re not together anymore, Cole. You talk about wanting to fix our relationship, about being a better husband, about being there for me. That was all I ever wanted, Cole, you. And what did I get instead?” She turned away from the sink. “Your checkbook.”

      “I was just trying to make things easier.”

      “Because it’s easier to throw money at a problem than to actually get your hands—and your heart—into it.” She shook her head, and wondered why she kept letting hope rise in her when they always circled back to the same disappointing end. Even if they stayed together and had the baby, she didn’t need a crystal ball to predict the future. Cole would buy toys and trips to Disney World, but never be there for the first steps and soccer games. She let out a long, sad breath. “All I ever wanted was you.”

      Then she left the room, before the tears in her eyes spilled down her cheeks and told Cole the truth. That all she wanted now, and always, was him.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      “A MAN COULD hurt himself doing that.”

      Cole turned at the familiar voice. Joe Bishop stood in the driveway of the Gingerbread Inn, grinning like a fool. Damn, it was good to see him. Cole notched the ax into the turned-over