“I don’t know what’s got into you lately, Rorie,” Dan muttered. “Just when I think our lives are on track, you throw me for a loop.”
“I said a movie was fine.” Her tone was testier than she meant it to be, but Dan had been harping on the same subject for weeks and she was tired of it.
If he didn’t want her company, he should start dating someone else. She wasn’t going to suddenly decide she was madly in love with him, as he seemed to expect. Again and again, Dan phoned to tell her he loved her, that his love was enough for both of them. She always stopped him there, unable to imagine spending the rest of her life with him. If she couldn’t have Clay—and she couldn’t—then she wasn’t willing to settle for anyone else.
“I’m talking about a lot more than seeing a movie.” He laid the newspaper aside and seemed to carefully consider his next words.
“Really, Dan, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” Rorie said. “Just because I wanted to do something a little out of the ordinary...”
“Eating at an Armenian restaurant is a little out of the ordinary,” he said, frowning, “but horse shows... I can’t even begin to understand why you’d want to watch a bunch of animals running around in circles.”
“Well, you keep insisting I’ve changed,” she said flippantly. If she’d known Dan was going to react so strongly to her suggestion, she’d never have made it. “I guess this only goes to prove you’re right.”
“How much writing have you done in the past month?”
The question was completely unexpected. She answered him with a shrug, hoping he’d drop the subject, knowing he wouldn’t.
“None, right? I’ve seen you sitting at your computer, staring into space with that sad look on your face. I remember how you used to talk about your stories. Your eyes would light up. Enthusiasm would just spill out of you.” His hand reached for hers, tightly squeezing her fingers. “What happened to you, Rorie? Where’s the joy? Where’s the energy?”
“You’re imagining things,” she said, nearly leaping to her feet in an effort to sidestep the issues he was raising. She grabbed her purse and a light sweater, eager to escape the apartment, which suddenly felt too small. “Are you going to take me to that movie, or are you going to sit here and ask questions I have no intention of answering?”
Dan stood, smiling faintly. “I don’t know what happened while you were on vacation, and it’s not important that I know, but whatever it was hurt you badly.”
Rorie tried to deny it, but couldn’t force the lie past her tongue. She swallowed and turned her head away, eyes burning.
“You won’t be able to keep pretending forever. Put whatever it is behind you. If you want to talk about it, I’ve got a sympathetic ear and a sturdy shoulder. I’m your friend, Rorie.”
“Dan, please...”
“I know you’re not in love with me,” he said quietly. “I suspect you met someone else while you were away, but that doesn’t matter to me. Whatever happened during those two weeks is over.”
“Dan...”
He took her hand, pulling her back onto the sofa, then sitting down beside her. She couldn’t look at him.
“Given time, you’ll learn to love me,” he cajoled, holding her hand, his voice filled with kindness. “We’re already good friends, and that’s a lot more than some people have when they marry.” He raised her fingers to his mouth and kissed them lightly. “I’m not looking for passion. I had that with my first wife. I learned the hard way that desire is a poor foundation for a solid marriage.”
“We’ve talked about this before,” Rorie protested. “I can’t marry you, Dan, not when I feel the way I do about...someone else.” Her mouth trembled with the effort to suppress tears. Dan was right. As much as she hadn’t wanted to face the truth, she’d been heartbroken from the moment she’d left Nightingale.
She’d tried to forget Clay, believing that was the best thing for them both, yet she cherished the memories, knowing those few brief days were all she’d ever have of this man she loved.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Dan assured her.
“There isn’t anything to decide,” she persisted.
His fingers continued to caress hers, and when he spoke his voice was thick. “At least you’ve admitted there is someone else.”
“Was,” she corrected.
“I take it there isn’t any chance the two of you—”
“None,” she blurted, unwilling to discuss anything that had to do with Clay.
“I know it’s painful for you right now, but all I ask is that you seriously consider my proposal. My only wish is to take care of you and make you smile again. Help you forget.”