Page 59

Chapter Fifty-Nine

W hit jerked awake when he heard the sound of a car door outside. He sat up from the couch, his eyelids scraping against his eyes like sandpaper. He was surprised he’d gotten any sleep at all though he doubted it was quality.

Wiping his face with his hands, he tried to look awake for when Clover came inside.

She’d been right. Yesterday had been a complete disaster. Everything had gone wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d somehow rationalized having sex with her. He’d known it would only lead to trouble.

But then again, it was probably better to find out what was going on in her head sooner rather than later. When he’d asked her to marry him, he’d thought she was operating under a different set of assumptions. That was why he’d said he didn’t love her in the first place. Then he’d thought they were on the same page. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

If nothing else, he was glad he’d thrown cold water on their heated situation the night before. Maybe glad wasn’t the word. He could hardly be glad trying to smother the desire smoldering within him. But it was the right thing to do. He’d already been worried that getting physically intimate with her would cause problems. And if he’d gone through with it knowing she loved him and he didn’t feel the same? He’d feel even more guilty than he already did.

She’d said she needed time, and he was a patient man. But he still couldn’t help worrying about what she might say when she was finally ready to talk to him. Would she come to terms with where he was on their relationship? Would she call the whole thing off and ask for a handparting? He really had no idea because he obviously didn’t understand her as well as he’d thought. He pushed his speculations away as the thought of her leaving him hardened his stomach.

He stood from the couch when he heard the key unlock the front door. Fear gnawed at his insides. He wasn’t ready to hear what she had to say. But he sucked in a deep breath through his nose to steady himself.

Whit blinked in confusion as the morning light revealed Grandfather—his suitcase in tow—shuffling into the hall.

Grandfather noticed him before he even shut the door. He smiled. “Whit, my boy! I’m sorry I’m late. When you said you and your lovely wife would be hosting Thanksgiving, I decided to cut my trip short.” He snorted. “Unfortunately, my flight was delayed by snow in Dallas. Snow! In Texas! Can you believe it?”

Whit felt sick. He swallowed with effort and lowered himself back onto the couch.

“What’s the matter? Are you unwell?” Grandfather asked, leaving his suitcase in the hall while he entered the parlor.

Whit covered his eyes and shook his head. Where was Clover when he needed her most?

He could feel Grandfather’s analyzing gaze but dared not look at him.

“You look like shit,” Grandfather said. He stared at the blanket Whit had so hastily thrown off. “Did you sleep down here?”

Whit didn’t respond.

“Ahhh.” Grandfather chuckled and rested his hand on Whit’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve spent many a night on the couch in my time. Don’t get hung up on whose fault it is. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. Swallow your pride and apologize first. Better yet, make breakfast. She’ll appreciate it, and I’m hungry.”

Whit hung his head. “She’s not here,” he murmured.

“What was that?” Grandfather asked though Whit knew his hearing was as sharp as ever.

“She left,” he said louder.

“What do you mean ‘left?’ Where did she go?”

Whit shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

Grandfather pursed his lips, deepening his wrinkles. “What happened? Did dinner not go well?”

Whit shook his head. “It went horribly, but that’s not why she left.”

Grandfather shuffled around Whit’s legs and sat beside him on the couch. “We’ll put a pin in that for later. What did she say when she left? Anything?”

“The last thing she said was that she needed time alone, which I gave her. Then she left the house without telling me.”

Grandfather frowned but reached out and patted Whit’s hand. “Don’t worry too much. It’s difficult to get used to living with someone. I can’t tell you the number of fights your grandmother and I got into in our youth.” He chuckled. “That woman had a glare that could freeze the piss in your bladder. Give Clover some time to cool off. She’ll talk when she’s ready. You know how winter witches and sorcerers are. We need time to work things out on our own.”

In that moment, Whit was glad Clover wasn’t there. This would be easier to say with her out of the house. She didn’t need to deal with another Aunt Cheri-type situation.

Whit turned his head toward his grandfather. “But Clover isn’t like that.”

Grandfather tilted his head. “She isn’t? Well, then perhaps she went to talk it out with a friend.”

Whit shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, Clover isn’t a winter witch. She’s a summer witch.”

The only reaction Grandfather showed was a line between his brows. He hummed softly to himself. “Is she now?”

Whit couldn’t tell what he was thinking by his expression. “She is.”

Grandfather grunted. With difficulty, he pushed himself off the couch.

Whit wasn’t sure whether to be worried or relieved that he wasn’t making a fuss. “Do you…have an opinion about that?” he asked, unable to handle not knowing.

“Could you bring my suitcase up before you go to work, please? I haven’t showered or slept well in a few days. I’m going to head upstairs.”

Whit watched his grandfather’s every shuffling step out of the room. He sighed heavily into the lonely parlor.

His gaze caught on Clover’s paper chain, which had grown in the last few weeks. Whit tilted to one side and flopped onto the couch, the air rushing out of him in a muffled groan.