“Izzy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”
“No! No more!” She whirled away from him. “I don't want to hear anything else. Do you think I should be impressed that you always loved me more than your wife?”
“She's my ex-wife now.”
“Of course she is.” She sneered. “Don't you get it that a real man would have accepted the mess he'd made for himself and made the most of it? Don't you see that a real man would have given every ounce of himself to his wife and kids and made damn sure that he forgot all about some girl he left behind?”
Her words were a hundred-mile-an-hour pitch straight to his gut. He'd tried to be that man, to give himself to his wife and kids, but every year it got harder until one day he just couldn't do it anymore.
“How about you and I leave our impromptu little reunion at this: You were a cheating bastard. You screwed up. We moved on with our lives. So if it'll make you feel better, and get you the hell out my life, then I'll say what you so desperately need to hear. I forgive you. In fact, I simply don't care about you at all, about whatever midlife crisis you're having. I've got a great life here in Blue Mountain. A life that I've built entirely by myself, and I don't need you coming to town trying to get in the middle of it all.”
She paused, took a couple of shaky breaths, then clasped her hands together in front of her.
“Now if we're completely done here, I'd very much appreciate if you left.”
“I'll go,” he said softly, despite the raging drumbeat of his heart at the knowledge of how much she still hated him. “I'll leave you alone. But first I need to say one more thing.”
Her eyes were stone cold as he said, “I really am sorry for what I did. If I could change the past, I would. But you're right, I never got over you. And even though I know you think it makes me less of a man, I've spent thirty years missing you, Isabel. Thirty years loving you. And regardless of how you feel about me, I'm going to spend the next thirty feeling exactly the same way.”
He walked away, his eyes watering now, a perfect picture of a broken, middle-aged man, as he made his way down the stairs. Ginger came in through Isabel's front door, exclaiming in surprise when she saw him.
“Oh, I didn't expect you to be here. I just came to check on-”
She stopped and he knew she must have read everything he was feeling on his face. Must have seen the embarrassing wetness around the edges of his eyes.
She put her hand on his arm. “Is this the first time you've seen Isabel since-?”
Jesus, even Connor's girlfriend knew what a prick his father was.
“She's upstairs,” was all he could say. “Take care of her. For me.”
“What just happened?”
Isabel looked up from where she was still standing, frozen, as Ginger rushed through the doorway.
“Why was Andrew here?” Ginger asked. “Why was he on the verge of tears?”
“He was about to cry?”
“Yes.”
Isabel was shocked by how close rage was to sorrow. It would be so much easier if she could hold on to to her fury, wrap herself in it like armor.Time was supposed to heal everything.
Not make it worse.
Chapter Seventeen
AFTER TUCKING Isabel into bed with a couple of migraine pills, Ginger walked back to Poplar Cove, incredibly shaken by what she'd just seen.
Andrew and Isabel had obviously loved each other deeply, once upon a time. And then someone had made a mistake, big enough to tear them apart. Before today, Ginger would have assumed thirty years was enough to get over lost love. Now she knew just how wrong she was.
Ginger's thoughts swung back around to Connor, to loving him. To not knowing where that love would go, if he could ever accept it. If he could ever love her back. And how she'd feel in thirty years if he couldn't.
Would she be broken like Isabel and Andrew?
Connor was inside the cabin sanding down the logs by hand when she walked in. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him work for a few quiet moments, the ch-ch-ch of the gritty paper grinding down the old to uncover the new, fresh life hiding beneath.
She made a beeline toward him, pulled him away from the logs to draw his mouth down to hers, kissed him like it had been weeks instead of hours since she'd seen him. Every moment with him was so precious. She wouldn't take a single second for granted. Not when she'd just seen proof of how quickly it could disappear.
That it could all be gone in an instant.
She should let go of him now, let him get back to work, but she couldn't. Not yet. She ran one hand through his hair, down the side of his forehead.
“Can you take a break for a few minutes?”
He didn't smile then, just slid his hand into hers, let her lead him up the stairs to her bedroom. She'd decorated the room unabashedly girly and colorful, and yet he fit so perfectly in the middle of it all. The missing piece to make everything come together, the intensely male balance she hadn't seen that it needed.
She slipped her hands under his T-shirt, running her hands over the wall of his chest, pulling up the hem to press kisses everywhere her hands roamed.
“Ginger,” he said, her name a raw, rough sound on his lips, “do you have any idea what you do to me? How much I needed you right when you walked in?”
Pulling the shirt up over his head, she leaned her cheek against his chest, listened to the beat of his heart.
“If it's anything like the way I needed you,” she said softly against his skin, “then yeah, I do.”
His hands threaded through her hair, tilted her mouth back up to his as she moved her hands to his jeans, popping the button off, unzipping them and pushing them off his hips so that they dropped to the floor. With her hands, she felt his erection straining the front of his boxer shorts. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she palmed him through the thin fabric, wrapping her hand around his thick length as her tongue met his.
But then he was peeling her fingers off with his own.
“Not like that.” He yanked off her pants, her panties, before pulling her down to the rug. “Like this.”
And then, he was pushing into her, his hips cradled between her thighs, until he was throbbing against her core.
His eyes were dark and hot as he held himself there above her, perfectly still.
“Sweet Ginger,” he whispered before kissing her softly. Tenderly. “I-”