The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

His disapproving expression made Emma feel very self-conscious. “It’s the only one I have. I know it’s the right one.”


Cooper said nothing. It was that look, always that look, that suggested he could see right through her, could look right into the strange lands that inhabited her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking a little.

Cooper’s jaw clenched. “Unfortunately, sorry won’t do. You can’t sorry your way out of this one. We had a great time. No, fuck that—we had more than a great time, we had meaningful sex. Real sex, Emma. We connected. In other words, we made love. Unless I was on some mind-bending trip and went there by myself. Was that it? Was I the only one feeling it?”

Emma shook her head and swallowed down a nauseating lump of regret.

“And then you did that?” he said, wincing, gesturing at the charm. “After that extraordinary moment between us, you could turn around and toss me into a basket with all the other meaningless men you’ve used? How could you do that? How could you equate what we had with all those . . . others?” he asked her, sounding disgusted.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I didn’t. I know it seems like I did that, but it was different, and I honestly, sincerely, don’t know why I did it. It’s like a weird compulsion. But Cooper, you have to believe me, that’s not why I wanted to be with you. I swear it.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to say more, but Emma didn’t know what more to say. It wasn’t what she’d wanted. What she’d wanted, what she still wanted was . . .

The waitress appeared with a slab of cheesecake, two coffees, and two forks.

“I thought we were better than that,” Cooper said bitterly when the waitress had left. “I thought what you wanted was for there to be something real between us.”

“I did,” Emma assured him. “I do.”

“Tell me,” he said, gesturing impatiently for her to speak. “Explain to me what was between us.”

“What you said.”

Cooper grunted, clearly dissatisfied with her answer. He picked up a fork and took a big bite of cheesecake. And then another before putting the fork down.

“I’m sorry, Cooper—”

“Goddammit, stop telling me you’re sorry.”

“I don’t mean I’m sorry for taking the St. Christopher,” she said earnestly. “I mean I am sorry for that, but I’m so sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

He glanced up at her, interested.

“You’re not alone in your confusion and frustration,” she said. “I actually have a family I’ve been disappointing for a long time. There’s just something in me that won’t work right,” she said, and fidgeted with the end of her braid.

Cooper watched her closely, waiting. He wasn’t going to help her explain herself. He wasn’t going to tell her it was all right.

“I am not trying to hide anything or be purposefully vague,” she said. “It’s just something I can’t really explain, you know? All my life, from the time I was a little girl, I wanted to be was the girl everyone wanted,” she said, flicking her wrist to the vast universe of everyone. “I wanted to be the girl my dad wanted to be a father to. I wanted my mother to think that I was . . .” She paused here, uncertain. “I wanted her to think I was as good as my stepsister, Laura.”

He looked down when she said Laura’s name.

“But instead, I was the kid who never said the right thing. I wasn’t cute and friendly like Laura. I wasn’t fun to be around. I wanted to be, but I couldn’t figure out how to be.”

Cooper lifted his gaze again. He was listening. Intently.

“I was—I am—really awkward. I always say the wrong thing, even when I’m trying to say the right thing. And God, please, don’t ask me if I have Asperger’s syndrome. I’m just socially awkward.”

“You’re not,” he said low.

“I am. I can say it, Cooper. I know it’s true, and I can live with it. But I wish, I wish,” she said, pressing her hands to her chest, “that I was different. Unfortunately, wishing doesn’t make it so.”

“I understand,” he said.