Page 25

Eden

P aul shuts the door to Grace’s house behind him, descends the steps, and approaches us.

Rhys steps closer to me, crowding me with the strength and warmth of his body, and all I want is to lean into it.

He bends and murmurs, “I’ll take the quilts and go find a cheapish bag I can check them in for the flight back. There was a box store back a couple of miles. Text me if you need me.”

Don’t go, I want to say. Stay.

But I don’t. I don’t have any right to ask more of him than he’s already given, and the truth is I have some things to say to Paul.

Instead I tell Rhys “Thank you” and try to let him know with my eyes how much it means to me. That he brought me here and that he’s going to help me get the quilts back to Rush Creek. That he still, after all this, has my back.

Then he’s gone, taking the warmth of his body with him, leaving me standing on a sidewalk in a strange town, facing my ex-fiancé. The rental car starts and pulls away, and inside, I’m still calling out to Rhys in my mind, Don’t leave.

Paul has paused on the path, his eyes on the departing car. “What—what was he doing here?”

Such a good question, and I don’t think I know the answer anymore.

I give Paul my blankest expression. “He wanted to help me get my quilts back.”

He blows out a sigh of relief. “Of course. I thought…”

But he doesn’t say what he thought.

“Eden.” This time my name sounds like a plea. And when I look up at his face, it’s all guilt and apology.

“You stole my quilts.”

“God, Eden, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You knew you had them and you didn’t turn back. I asked you to, and you blocked me.”

“I needed time to think,” he pleads.

“Well,” I say. “You got it.”

I remember my realization when Rhys and I were shopping for clothes.

That there might be a reason I wasn’t more heartbroken about what Paul had done.

That it was possible that I’d never loved him.

I survey him carefully—his sandy hair, his blue eyes, his trust-fund-baby bone structure.

He’s a good-looking guy. He treated me well—until he didn’t—and I could imagine a life in which we were partners—great partners, even—but standing here, I realize that I’ve been hoping this was over.

That I could take my quilts and go, that there would be nothing to talk about.

I had it backward, what I said earlier to Rhys. I don’t hope I’m wrong about Paul and Grace.

I hope I’m right.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Paul’s voice is watery but sincere. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared. I was terrified. I got cold feet, and I did a terrible, terrible thing. Can you ever forgive me? Can you—will you—let me try again?”

I stare at him.

“We can elope this time. Just you and me. We can go somewhere beautiful, tropical, maybe bring a few friends, and we can?—”

“Are you—are you asking if I’ll still marry you?”

And suddenly it’s absurd, him standing there, still wearing his dress shirt, now unbuttoned so his plain white T-shirt shows, his hair disheveled, having stepped out of his ex-girlfriend’s house, asking me to marry him .

“Eden.” He gets down on one knee as I watch, astounded. “You came all this way—I know you must still care.”

I’m shaking my head. “Get up. You can’t do that.

We’re outside your ex-girlfriend’s house.

The ex-girlfriend you drove fifteen hundred miles to see.

” The reality strikes me with full, lightning-strength force.

“She said no, didn’t she? You asked her to get back together, and she said no .

That’s why you still want to marry me. Because she said no, and I’m your— fallback plan .

” I shake my head, astounded by his gall. “Get. Up.”

To his credit, he does.

“You jilted me more or less at the altar,” I remind him.

“You canceled a five-figure wedding at the last possible minute. You made all our friends and family travel to Rush Creek and then home again, for nothing. You humiliated me. You treated me like a consolation prize. And you think I’m going to marry you? ”

“Please,” he says. “Please tell me I haven’t ruined everything.”

I stare at him, at the wrecked expression on his blandly handsome face, at his tall, well-built frame. At the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.

It would be so, so easy to let him talk me into going back.

Into marching forward with the life I planned.

Two-point-five kids and a picket fence, winter vacations to San Diego, summer vacations in the San Juan Islands.

Pretty good sex, a shared love of Marvel movies, the ability to plan a whole wedding without getting on each other’s nerves.

And what’s the alternative?

The unknown.

Which might be a lot like getting into a car with a near stranger, someone I thought I hated, emerging two days later different . Stronger. More sure of, at least, what I don’t want. And maybe, just maybe, more sure of what I do .

“You haven’t ruined everything,” I say.

His chest inflates, like he’s taking a full breath for the first time in our conversation. “Thank God,” he says. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t ruined anything for me,” I say. “If anything, you’ve made me see the truth a lot more clearly. I’m the one who should be thanking you. For saving me from making a huge mistake.”

I open my purse, unzip the inner pocket, and pull out the ring, extending it to him.

Paul hesitates a moment.

“Take it,” I say.

His jaw works. I think he’s weighing the value of the ring against whether he can make one more attempt to win me back.

In the end, he takes the ring without meeting my eyes.

I’m not surprised.

I pull out my phone and text Rhys.

Could use a pickup.