Page 95 of Beach Cottage Kisses

And he knew.

What he was missing. And what she was, too.

He had to give Iris the chance to have what she most wanted and needed. The only thing she’d ever wanted or needed.

A family of her own.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“We need to talk.”

Anxiety darted through Iris as Scott’s words hit her the second they started back down the beach after a lovely and lively shrimp dinner. Her relaxed mood fled, leaving her instantly on alert. “Okay, talk,” she said, keeping step with him.

Had she done something that bothered him back there?

Had Gray said something?

Did his sister and her husband know about the two of them?

Was he ready to move on?

God, please don’t let him be ready to move on.Anything else she’d handle.Just don’t make it be that. Not yet.

He wasn’t talking. Her cottage was just ahead.

“Scott?”

His hands in his pockets, his gaze was pointed at the girls by the water as they walked. In the dark, with the moonlight their only way to see any small life that the ocean was bringing in, both dogs watched pretty carefully at night.

“I need you to hear me out,” he said.

He was scaring her. The balmy night somehow sent a chill through her. She wrapped her arms around her middle, hiding her hands beneath them. “I’m listening.”

“You told me a while back that me seeing my marriage as only my failure was a biased view on my part. You pointed out facts that lead naturally to a conclusion that while the cause of the divorce was partially on me, it was not solely my fault. And not caused by the single-focused man I am, but by a choice I made. And the choices she made, too.”

This was about him? He was about to tell her she’d been right? Relief flooded her. “That’s right,” she said, fully believing, then and currently, in the deduction.

“You saw what I couldn’t see myself.”

“Yeah.” It was hard to take sometimes, having others see your business better than you did. Because you were blinded by a psyche that had opted to protect you. A concept that would be especially hard to swallow for a man like Scott.

And yet, once she’d seen…she’d been free. Strengthened. Largely because he’d been there, a constant, steady, nonthreatening friend, wanting nothing from her, but that she be around when she could.

Her heart swelled at the thought that she could be the same for him. Give him the same freedom from imprisonment that she’d gained because he’d provided her a safe space to set herself free. She’d always love him for…

Iris’s thoughts froze midstream. Her entire emotional and intellectual system shut down, even while she continued to be mobile. Walking in step with the body beside her.

Noticing the dogs in front of them.

Her cottage. The thought came through. Provided insulation from anything that might try to penetrate.

She glanced over, ready to click her fingers for Angel to follow, but her cottage wasn’t there. They’d passed it by.

On the way to Scott’s.

She didn’t love him. Couldn’t love him.

The word had been a stand in. Part of a trite, horribly overused phrase people used to express liking. Iris loved the boiled shrimp. Gray had loved the fried.