“We heard you, darling. No more matchmaking,” his mother promised as she walked him to the door. “Though you can never make us promise not to hope you’ll one day find her. Or that maybe you already have.”
“Mum—”
“You’ve said your piece. My turn. You always were such a stubborn boy. Once you put your mind to something—whether it was building the best linen fort ever seen, or looking after all of us after Nathan died—that was it. Your father was stubborn too, you know. But his stubbornness was inclusive. And even though he died too young, he died happy. Nurtured. Inspired. Deeply touched by love. I’d hate to see you regret any choices you might have made in powering that stubborn streak with fear, not love.”
She gave him a kiss, then near shoved him out through the door—likely so his womenfolk could dismantle every word he’d said. Either way, he had said his piece.
Crazy that the hardest part had been admitting that he and Saskia had been faking it. Maybe because amidst the hard truths that was a big fat lie.
He waited for dread to set in at the very thought, but instead felt...nothing. As if the tide of emotion that had swelled earlier had abated, leaving him bereft. Empty. Missing her. Her warmth, laughter and charm. The way she kissed, the way she melted against him, her feelings for him gleaming from her honest brown eyes.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and took a deep breath of fresh air—and reminded himself of the likelihood he’d never see her again.
Now she was gone. Gone from his life. His days. His nights. His everything.
And like that the dread was there. Engulfing him like a wave of fury that he could have been so stupid.
His mother was right. And Hope. And even Faith.
He did use his obstinacy as a shield. He did need help. And Saskia was way too cool for him.
And yet he was in love with Saskia Bloom. He loved the woman with a conviction and certainty he could no longer deny. And he’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, tasted it in her tears—she’d been right there with him in every possible way.
Afraid to love, afraid not to.
“Hell,” he said, this time out loud, and he kicked the porch so hard he limped out to the car.
* * *
Saturday morning Saskia headed to Dating By Numbers, her infographic in tow.
She could have emailed—it would have taken five seconds flat—but she wanted to see Marlee. The woman might be part shark, but she was smart, she had knowledge, and she’d seen through Saskia in a red-hot second. If anyone could smack her out of this funk it would be the wizard behind the pink curtain.
“Saskia,” Marlee said, with honest pleasure in her eyes before she hid it behind a cool smile.
“I wanted to give you this.” Saskia had framed it. It was a work of art—quite simply the cutest thing Lissy had ever whipped up.
Marlee’s eyes roved over the hopeful colour, the joyful curlicues, the straight stats and romantic hooks, a smile lighting her eyes as she saw “follow your heart” scrawled across the bottom.
“Thank you. It’s darling.”
“So glad. Take a day to look it over, in case you want any changes, then I’ll send it to the digital marketing team and get it moving.”
Marlee looked over at Saskia, her eyes narrowing as she took the whole of her in. It seemed jaunty knee-high boots, skinny jeans, winsome floral top and fabulous faux fur jacket had been pipped by blurry eyes and a permanent crease above the nose.
“Coffee?”
“Sure.” Why not? She had nowhere else to be.
Saskia followed Marlee into her office. Bit her lip. Held her breath. Then spat out the question that had been hovering on her lips since the moment she’d decided to come calling. “Can I ask you one last thing?”
“What’s that?”
“How many find The One?”
“You want numbers?” Marlee asked, a red talon flicking towards the screen of her computer.
“I want...hope.”
Marlee turned, coffee forgotten. “Then the numbers don’t matter. The odds against only exist because of the odds for. In the end all that matters is you. And your guy. The rest is gravy.”
“Gravy.”
Taking Saskia by the hands, Marlee led her to a big squishy white couch in the corner. “I wasn’t going to say, but last time you were here I would have bet my fortune you’d been struck by cupid’s arrow. Now you look like you’ve been hit by a truck, which then backed up and ran over you again. What happened?”
What happened? Even she wasn’t sure. She’d thought over that last conversation so many times, yet couldn’t get a grasp on what had gone wrong. What she’d missed. She just felt right deep down in her gut that there had been a moment when she could have had it all, and instead she’d let it slip through her fingers.