to tell him everything.
"Tell me." He wanted to know, to understand her.
Clea let go of her straw. "I want to make a living from my photography. I'm so close, Nick. I told you about the internship I've won. Winning the internship guarantees me a show in the Mitchell Art Museum. Doors will open for me. I'll be on my way to getting everything I want."
"Everything?" The knot in his gut tightened. He didn't want her to leave, not when he couldn't follow, not when things were unresolved between them.
"Everything. It will be a fresh start for me and for John."
"What about Boomer?" Nick asked. A terrible hollowness burned in his chest at the thought of losing Clea and his son. "Where does he fit in?"
She shook her head. "What do you mean? You know where he fits in."
"Is he part of your dream?"
"Of course he is," Clea replied, her tone defensive. "He's going with us. He's got a good job waiting for him with a prestigious law firm in New York. He's going to help take care of John while I do my internship."
Nick sat up straighter. Suddenly everything seemed clearer. A tiny ray of hope shone on his despair. "Is Boomer your babysitter, Clea? Is that why you're marrying him?"
"No!" Her cheeks reddened. "I can't believe you would suggest such a thing. No, wait. I can believe it. You haven't changed at all, Nick." She waded up her napkin and tossed it on the table.
"That's why you didn't say yes to him before," Nick said, ignoring her words, needing to dull the ache inside him. He didn't want to lose her, but had no idea how to keep her. Anger drove him, and he wanted to strike back. "You didn't need him like you do now. I'm right."
"You're crazy!" Clea pulled some money from her pocket. "I have to go."
"Keep your money. It's my treat." He'd upset her. He needed more time with her, time to find answers.
"No." She held the money out to him. "I don't want to take anything from you, Nick."
Her words cut him to the core, making him remember the returned envelopes of money. Refusing to take her cash, he picked up the check, went to the counter and paid.
Clea joined him. The anger had left her eyes, leaving behind a sadness he didn't want to acknowledge. "I didn't want to fight with you, Nick." She passed him, heading for the door.
"Wait a second." He didn't want to fight either. "I'll walk you home."
"No, thank you," she said coolly. "Believe it or not, Nick, I can make my own way home. I've been doing it for years. I'm good at being alone."
She brushed past him, leaving him to stare at her back.
Bullshit . No one was good at being alone. He'd been alone for ten years. He'd hated the isolation, the wanting, the needing that went unfulfilled. He'd bet his freedom that Clea hated being alone as much as he did, and he intended to prove it.
* * *
A cold blast of air hit Clea in the face when she stepped outside. The smell of frozen seaweed mixed with the fresh scent of snow. She welcomed the sting of the snow against her cheeks, hoping the flakes would help cool her temper. Inside her body glowed red-hot with anger at Nick and she didn't think any amount of frosty air could cool her down.
"Clea, wait," Nick called from behind her.
She walked faster. Under the snow a layer of ice had formed, making the sidewalk slippery. Clea lost her footing, but Nick's hand closed around her elbow, keeping her upright.
She tried to yank her arm free, but he held fast. "Let me go, Nick."
He didn't. "I never should have said those things."
She pressed her lips together. She didn't reply; she couldn't, because deep down she knew there might be a grain of truth in what he'd said. A part of her was afraid of being alone, on her own, with John. She'd always had support both financially and emotionally from her family. Had that swayed her decision to marry Robert? Until Nick had spoken the words tonight, she'd never considered the possibility. She loved Robert. He'd asked her to marry him many times, but she'd never said yes until
"Tell me." He wanted to know, to understand her.
Clea let go of her straw. "I want to make a living from my photography. I'm so close, Nick. I told you about the internship I've won. Winning the internship guarantees me a show in the Mitchell Art Museum. Doors will open for me. I'll be on my way to getting everything I want."
"Everything?" The knot in his gut tightened. He didn't want her to leave, not when he couldn't follow, not when things were unresolved between them.
"Everything. It will be a fresh start for me and for John."
"What about Boomer?" Nick asked. A terrible hollowness burned in his chest at the thought of losing Clea and his son. "Where does he fit in?"
She shook her head. "What do you mean? You know where he fits in."
"Is he part of your dream?"
"Of course he is," Clea replied, her tone defensive. "He's going with us. He's got a good job waiting for him with a prestigious law firm in New York. He's going to help take care of John while I do my internship."
Nick sat up straighter. Suddenly everything seemed clearer. A tiny ray of hope shone on his despair. "Is Boomer your babysitter, Clea? Is that why you're marrying him?"
"No!" Her cheeks reddened. "I can't believe you would suggest such a thing. No, wait. I can believe it. You haven't changed at all, Nick." She waded up her napkin and tossed it on the table.
"That's why you didn't say yes to him before," Nick said, ignoring her words, needing to dull the ache inside him. He didn't want to lose her, but had no idea how to keep her. Anger drove him, and he wanted to strike back. "You didn't need him like you do now. I'm right."
"You're crazy!" Clea pulled some money from her pocket. "I have to go."
"Keep your money. It's my treat." He'd upset her. He needed more time with her, time to find answers.
"No." She held the money out to him. "I don't want to take anything from you, Nick."
Her words cut him to the core, making him remember the returned envelopes of money. Refusing to take her cash, he picked up the check, went to the counter and paid.
Clea joined him. The anger had left her eyes, leaving behind a sadness he didn't want to acknowledge. "I didn't want to fight with you, Nick." She passed him, heading for the door.
"Wait a second." He didn't want to fight either. "I'll walk you home."
"No, thank you," she said coolly. "Believe it or not, Nick, I can make my own way home. I've been doing it for years. I'm good at being alone."
She brushed past him, leaving him to stare at her back.
Bullshit . No one was good at being alone. He'd been alone for ten years. He'd hated the isolation, the wanting, the needing that went unfulfilled. He'd bet his freedom that Clea hated being alone as much as he did, and he intended to prove it.
* * *
A cold blast of air hit Clea in the face when she stepped outside. The smell of frozen seaweed mixed with the fresh scent of snow. She welcomed the sting of the snow against her cheeks, hoping the flakes would help cool her temper. Inside her body glowed red-hot with anger at Nick and she didn't think any amount of frosty air could cool her down.
"Clea, wait," Nick called from behind her.
She walked faster. Under the snow a layer of ice had formed, making the sidewalk slippery. Clea lost her footing, but Nick's hand closed around her elbow, keeping her upright.
She tried to yank her arm free, but he held fast. "Let me go, Nick."
He didn't. "I never should have said those things."
She pressed her lips together. She didn't reply; she couldn't, because deep down she knew there might be a grain of truth in what he'd said. A part of her was afraid of being alone, on her own, with John. She'd always had support both financially and emotionally from her family. Had that swayed her decision to marry Robert? Until Nick had spoken the words tonight, she'd never considered the possibility. She loved Robert. He'd asked her to marry him many times, but she'd never said yes until
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