I pulled the chair up to the roll top then I sat down and clicked into the internet browser in order to access my webmail.
I heard the Cherokee depart as I typed in the web address then my username and password. I heard silence when I clicked on “compose” and more silence as I typed in Niles’s e-mail address.
Then I spent the next two hours writing to my fiancé explaining, in detail, what a timeout meant; what it meant that he didn’t know how I took my coffee; what it meant that he didn’t understand how much it hurt when he asked me to sell Charlie’s house; how lonely I was, even when I was with him; how it felt, him not making love to me, being affectionate, making me feel desired or desirable; how much it bothered me that, even though I’d talked to him about all of this, even wrote him other e-mails, it didn’t ever seem to penetrate; and lastly, the part that took the most time, how it wasn’t going to work out between us. Then I told him I’d call him in a few days and we would talk. Then I read it, edited it, read it again, added more, read it again, changed a few things, then I hit send.
It disappeared and I stared at the screen showing a list of my e-mails.
Well done, sweetheart, Charlie whispered in my ear.
He sounded sad but proud.
I started crying.
Chapter Five
Charlie
I opened my eyes, blinked at the bright sunlight and smelled bacon cooking.
I was alone in Max’s bed. Max, evidently, was downstairs cooking breakfast.
I rolled to my back and stared at the point in the A-Frame ceiling.
After sending my e-mail to Niles and crying my eyes out – so much, I had to move to the chair by the couch, curl in it holding a toss pillow to my chest in order to give myself a comfortable cocoon while letting go a part of my life that was once important to me, in fact I thought it was going to be my entire future but I’d figured out wasn’t so important anymore – I cleaned up my face. Then I threw another log on the fire. Then I stared at the log burning, trying to sort out my head. Then I failed at sorting out my head. Then when it got late, I made dinner for one and ate cookies for dessert. Then I read until it got later. Then when it got really late, I changed into my nightgown, put in a movie, slid into bed and, again, obviously, fell asleep while watching it.
Now, clearly, it was morning and Max was home.
And he said when he came home, we would finish.
And as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I decided I was going to have to figure out a way to tell him I wasn’t ready for us to finish in whatever way that would come. I wasn’t ready for what was happening in his A-Frame on my Colorado adventure. I wasn’t ready to explore what was going on between him and me.
I wanted to, honest to goodness, I wanted it so badly it felt like an ache.
But I was coming to terms with my life changing in one way. In fact, I had realized the day before as I stared at Max’s fire, I knew before I even took this timeout that Niles and I were never going to work and I realized that I’d known that for a long time. I’d either fallen out of love with him or he’d bored the love out of me. But before I even left I had understood somewhere in head that I simply needed distance to come to that conclusion and that distance would give me the courage to carry it through.
Therefore, I couldn’t process, nor did I want to, the colossal shift back to Nina of Old. Nina who opened her heart, let loose, took adventures and even more risks. Nina who did that and got her heart trampled and her head messed with for her troubles.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to play it safe and be smart, sane and rational every second with every nuance of my life.
I was sure I’d learned my lessons way back when and I wasn’t going back to that.
I couldn’t live the life that I was living with Niles, I’d come to terms with that.
And I couldn’t go back to who I used to be. Heartbreak lay down that road, heck, it was paved with it.
And Holden Maxwell had heartbreak written all over him.
I pulled myself out of bed, went to the bathroom, did my routine and then, deciding on propriety in the face of our impending conversation, I walked to my suitcase and dug around until I found my wool robe. It was like a big, long, button-less, cardigan sweater that went down to my calves. It was creamy green and had a hood. It cost a fortune and it was lush.
I shrugged it on, belted it up and headed downstairs to face Max. I hit the bottom, saw him in the kitchen and stopped dead.
His back was to me and he was wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. His shoulders, the muscles of his back, the wide expanse of smooth, tan skin, was all exposed to the naked eye and I was blinded by the beauty of it. So much, it was a wonder I didn’t throw out my hand and go reeling.
At that thought, he turned and gave me a view of his chest.
At this view, arguably better than his back, I sucked in breath then whispered to myself, “Oh my God.”
“Hey baby,” he called, apparently (and luckily) not hearing me and headed my way.