“Sure.”
“Rachel, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you and talking. I have. But I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression about our…friendship.”
Her stomach dropped. “In what way?”
“You understand that we’re just friends, right? Nothing more?”
Oh.
“It felt like something more,” she said. “I don’t think I was imagining it.”
He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re extremely attractive. It’s not about that.”
“What, then?”
He smiled kindly at her. “Come on. We can be friends, right?” He held out his hand to shake. Rachel placed her hand in his. What else could she do? She wasn’t going to win this one. She felt sick with defeat. And as soon as her hand touched his, she felt something else—the searing, electric chemistry she’d felt that first day at the beach.
It propelled her, with a centrifugal force, right onto his lap.
Startled, his arms instinctively closed around her to keep her from toppling onto the ground. In his embrace, she seized the moment, kissing him full on the mouth. She figured what the hell—might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Surely he would push her away, let her fall to the ground after all.
But no.
He pulled her closer, kissing her back with as much fervor as she had fantasized about. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she was barely breathing but would not stop for air—would keep going forever, if he would let her.
“Rachel,” he said, almost inaudibly. He pulled back, and she noticed his chest was heaving. His bare chest that had moments ago been pressed against her breasts, which were covered only with a flimsy tank top…
“Rachel,” he said again, louder this time.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You should go.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The sight of her husband affected Blythe in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She finally understood the expression to have one’s heart in one’s throat. That’s what it felt like, and when he hugged her hello, she started crying.
She had underestimated just how very much she missed him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.
“Nothing,” she said, dabbing at the tears in her eyes with a paper napkin pulled from her handbag. “Here. Let’s sit.” She headed toward a stone bench on the outer circumference of the small park, but Kip was busy reading the monument.
“So the Pilgrims first landed here, not Plymouth?” he said.
“Apparently.”
“Hmm. Learn something new every day.”
They sat side by side on a bench with a view of the ocean and a three-mile-long stone jetty.
“Okay, what the hell is going on with Marin?” Kip finally said.
“Oh, Kip.” This was more difficult than she’d anticipated.
“I assume the father is that fellow from the law firm?” Kip said. Blythe hesitated, then nodded. She felt it would be crossing a line to confide the entire truth, the messy ambiguity of it all. Especially in light of what else she had to tell him—her own messy truth. She started to speak but he interrupted her.
“I know you’re concerned about Marin—I am too. But we can’t let that become a distraction from what’s going on between the two of us.”
Blythe couldn’t help but feel a plunging disappointment. He wanted to talk about the divorce? Now? She thought he was there for Marin, but apparently he just wanted to take care of business. Well, it hurt. But it also made it easier to admit the truth to him. She would not lose him over it. He was already lost.
“Kip. There’s something I need to tell you—”
“Please. Let me finish,” he said. “I want to apologize about Candace. It was wrong. I should have dealt with what was going on with us, with myself, in a more honest way. An affair was lazy and ultimately just made things worse.”
Wait, what?
“Are you saying you’re not with her anymore?”
“That’s what I’m saying. It was a distraction. Not from you, but from what’s been going on at work. That firm has been my whole life, you know.”
“Believe me, I know.”
He nodded, looking out at the water. “To the detriment of our family, yes. I admit it. It didn’t mean I didn’t love you and Marin. I never meant to make you feel that way. It’s just who I am. Who I was.” He turned to her. “They want to buy me out. They want me gone. The young bucks don’t need an old-timer like me anymore.”
“Oh, Kip. Can they do that?”
He shrugged, looking uncharacteristically forlorn. “They can’t force me to leave. But if I stay, I’m a lame duck. Frankly, I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted. Not valued. For a while now, I’ve tried to deny it. I think Candace was a way to say, See, I’m still vital. I’m still young and wanted.” He took her hand. “It had nothing to do with you. Not that it’s any excuse.”
“What are you saying? Do you still want the divorce?”
“I don’t know what the answer is, Blythe. Do you? I think we need to focus on getting Marin back on her feet before we make any big decisions about our marriage.”
Blythe’s mind raced. Her prayers had been answered; there was a reprieve. The marriage might be savable.
“Yes. Okay,” she breathed.
“So what did you want to tell me?” he said.
Oh my God. No, not now. This was the last thing she wanted to talk about now.
“Just…Marin,” she said. “Let’s go find her.”
Marin used both hands to squeeze the wheel cutter and slice through a piece of dark blue tile. A tiny sharp corner shot up and then fell to the floor. She had yet to master precision.
“This makes me realize how long it’s been since I actually used my hands for anything except typing on the computer and my phone. It’s kind of crazy.”
“It is,” Kelly said. She glanced up from the piece she was gluing onto the mosaic. “So, as much as I love the meditative silence in here—are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or what?”
Marin had known the question was coming. Since the morning at the pharmacy, Kelly obviously knew. It was okay; she wouldn’t judge her too harshly. The only person she truly dreaded telling was her father. All her life, she’d wanted to make him proud. Now look at her: unemployed, single, and pregnant, sitting around doing arts and crafts in the middle of a workday.
“I’m pregnant,” she said to Kelly. “As you clearly figured out.”
“Well, the test could have been negative.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t.”
“How far along are you?”
“About eight weeks.” She couldn’t believe it.
“So…is this good news? Bad news? Mixed?”
Marin shrugged. “I can barely process it, to tell you the truth.”