“Whether it’s watching television from my couch, getting golf instructions at the crack of dawn, or watching my brothers beat the crap out of you…I enjoy my time with you. You make me laugh, sometimes at myself, sometimes at you. Then last Sunday, when we kissed on the garden bench, I—I lied when I agreed with you about it being a mistake. Kissing you was one of the truest moments in my life. Because sometime in the past few weeks, I went and fell in love with you. Not with Luke, with you,” she said, her voice trembling at the end as she continued to gaze at him, her blue eyes bright and hopeful. “And I think that you feel the same way.”
Whatever Henry had expected her to say to him tonight, he hadn’t expected this and he struggled to comprehend.
She loves me?
This crazy, complicated, and beautiful woman thought she loved him. The unexpected joy and exhilaration he felt was immediate and surprising. But it didn’t last long, as the shadow of doubt followed just as swiftly.
Benny only thought she loved him. But she’d also thought she loved Luke up until this moment.
Love was fleeting. It didn’t last.
Especially where it concerned him. He just wasn’t a lovable guy. Nor did he think he was capable of loving someone, especially someone like Benny, with the devotion they deserved.
But the last thing he’d wanted in all of this was to hurt her. To have to pretend that hearing her say she loved him hadn’t been about the best thing in the world to hear.
He flexed his jaw, trying to think of what to say, what words he could utter that wouldn’t completely crush the spirit of the woman before him.
“Benny. I…I’ve really enjoyed our time together as well. More than you could know. In the short amount of time we’ve known each other, you’ve become the best friend I’ve ever had. And that friendship is so important to me that I would hate more than anything to lose it. To lose you.” His voice cracked at the end and he cleared his throat, trying again. “And it’s for that reason, I can’t return those words. Those feelings.”
It ripped his heart out to say that, especially when her face, so bright and hopeful before, seemed to fall, her eyes pooling with tears that clung to her lashes.
“Henry. Don’t do this,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t push me away because you’re afraid. I need you to look at what’s in front of you. At what we can have. Yes, it’s scary to let yourself feel those things, to love someone, to give yourself over to that feeling of not knowing what can happen, but loving each other can also be a miracle. It can be the most amazing thing we could share. You just need to let yourself fall.”
“I—” he stopped, not trusting himself to say anything more, nor did he think he could, as his throat seemed to be closing, shutting off air.
She studied him for one long, painful minute. Then, he saw it. The moment she gave up. When she knew.
He fought the urge to go to her, to hold her, to tell her what she needed to hear. But something stopped him, some kernel of doubt that told him that whatever pain he felt now would be nothing compared to the pain of losing her love later.
Instead, he watched as she lifted her chin almost defiantly, nodding slightly, and walked out the door, letting it close softly b
ehind her.
No slamming, no yelling, just quiet acceptance.
Henry didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the door. Hoping that she’d come back and tell him that being friends would be enough. But, of course, the door remained closed. The place eerily silent.
A dark cloud seemed to be hovering over him. A dredging sense of sadness that he just couldn’t shake. When he’d entered this bargain, he’d thought only to get Benny off his back and ensure he didn’t do anything to risk getting that account at work. He hadn’t expected to have these feelings for her.
He’d meant what he said. He’d never cared as much for any woman in his entire life. And somehow he’d managed to mess that up.
He glanced over at the monstrous black piano in the corner of the room. Benny had asked him once if he played, and he’d answered vaguely. There actually had been a time when he was a kid when he enjoyed playing the piano, losing himself in the music, the melody. He’d expressed his emotions through the songs he played. It was funny, because for so long he’d balked at the lessons his mother made him take, lessons he was certain had only been a way for her to get him out of her hair.
Which was why when she’d passed last fall, it had been surprising to find that of all the things that had been donated and passed through the estate, the piano was the one thing she’d directed in her will to go to him. He’d nearly sent it to the landfill. Even thought about taking a sledgehammer to it in epic fashion. But he’d kept it. For what reason, what purpose, he didn’t know.
But right now, it seemed his fingers were itching to finally touch the keys. To express his warring emotions with music.
He pulled out the bench and slid behind the instrument. He didn’t make any movement to touch the keys at first, simply staring at them. He knew the surface would be clean and polished thanks to the efforts of his maid.
Taking a deep breath, Henry settled his fingers over the keys, positioning them as the instinct to play started to kick in. Would it be like riding a bicycle? Would he feel what came next without having to think too much about it?
He pressed a few keys, the sound strange but welcoming. It took him only a few more strikes before he relaxed his shoulders and let his fingers move across the keys on their own. He closed his eyes.
Why had he waited so long?
Because he hadn’t wanted to be reminded of those feelings from long ago. Those feelings of abandonment. Of feeling unloved. Unwanted.
Maybe, just like him, his mother hadn’t been capable of loving someone. Not entirely. And maybe this piano had been, in her way, a peace offering to him. An apology of sorts.