fathom.
“The first class was last night,” he says.
She waits, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m saying I went.”
“You’re building the horse.”
“I am.”
“For Sylvie.”
“Yes.”
Her heart hammers so hard he can probably see it through her coat. “Jonathan, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m building the horse for Sylvie.”
Her mind whirls with what this might mean. It’s a gallant gesture to show her he’s back in? Or it’s a self-serving final kiss-off intended to assure the world he’s a perfect gentleman? “Wow. I’m shocked.”
“Anyway. I wanted to ask you what stain color you prefer. There’s a pale one called Yellow Oak, but I like American Walnut. It’s dark without being too dark.”
Her entire body could curl into a smile. “The American Walnut sounds nice.” That didn’t sound enthusiastic enough. “Sounds perfect, actually.”
“Good.” He nods. “That’s the one I thought you’d like. You’re always so smart with that kind of thing.”
A nurse pushes past with an old man on a stretcher, rolling the IV bag on a stand. In their wake a nervous silence floats between them. Eleanor fills it with “I was thinking of giving her a middle name. Once she’s here. Marion.”
“After your mom.”
“Plus …”
“Plus what?”
“I kind of need to know what you’re doing. Now. With this rocking horse. If you’re coming back, she’ll keep the name we submitted. Sylvie Sweet. But if not, I may go back to Prue. There are these personalized mobiles this artist makes for the store. I was going to have one done up for her. Even if Sylvie’s paperwork needs to be changed, she’ll use a mobile for such a short time, I want to know.”
“
That’s
why you want to know my plans? For a mobile?”
She searches all reason for what is wrong with wanting to know his intentions and comes up blank. “Yes.”
“I shaved my beard.” He rubs his jawline, which is, of course, smooth now. “First time since you’ve known me.”
He looks younger. Somehow, less married. She hates it. He was desirable enough before with his dark curls, his long legs. But the stubble hid him a bit. Kept him beneath a layer. Now he’s vulnerable, open. Now she’s going to lose him. “Yes. I mean, I saw. I noticed.”
He shakes his head sorrowfully and starts toward the elevators. “This is what I’m talking about, Eleanor. You’re gone. You’re no longer here for me.”
The memory of what was. It comes to her amid the blare of PA messages, the soft bongs of hospital machinery, the distant chatter. A low groan from behind a closed door. It started out just the two of them. The deal wasn’t baby. It was Eleanor and Jonathan, Eleanor and Jonathan. She was insane to walk away from that. Before the baby talk, they were great. They could be great with a baby. He just needs to see it.
“Jonathan, wait.”
He stops, turns around.
“You’re wrong. I am here for you.”
“Only if I’m here for her.”
She doesn’t breathe until the elevator doors slide shut.
Chapter 15
T he cab is due to arrive in thirty minutes. Eleanor bumps her yellow suitcase out the door and into the hall with a glance back at Angus, who sits behind her, his ears flattened against his skull. He doesn’t take his eyes off her bag. Once again, his enemy has reared its battered leather head. But this week is worse than last. He’s down to one human.
Eleanor clips on his leash. “It’s good you look sad. Perfect timing.”
Ginny has taken care of Angus before. She didn’t actually take him home—her youngest once had a dream Angus had two heads—but Ginny fed and walked him and let him sleep in the shop all day while she worked, so Angus was only alone at night. She didn’t do it for money or to offer a helping hand. She did it for extra time off work.
Hauling a suitcase and the dog who despises it down the narrow flight of stairs to the street is no easy task. As long as the bag is in
“The first class was last night,” he says.
She waits, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m saying I went.”
“You’re building the horse.”
“I am.”
“For Sylvie.”
“Yes.”
Her heart hammers so hard he can probably see it through her coat. “Jonathan, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m building the horse for Sylvie.”
Her mind whirls with what this might mean. It’s a gallant gesture to show her he’s back in? Or it’s a self-serving final kiss-off intended to assure the world he’s a perfect gentleman? “Wow. I’m shocked.”
“Anyway. I wanted to ask you what stain color you prefer. There’s a pale one called Yellow Oak, but I like American Walnut. It’s dark without being too dark.”
Her entire body could curl into a smile. “The American Walnut sounds nice.” That didn’t sound enthusiastic enough. “Sounds perfect, actually.”
“Good.” He nods. “That’s the one I thought you’d like. You’re always so smart with that kind of thing.”
A nurse pushes past with an old man on a stretcher, rolling the IV bag on a stand. In their wake a nervous silence floats between them. Eleanor fills it with “I was thinking of giving her a middle name. Once she’s here. Marion.”
“After your mom.”
“Plus …”
“Plus what?”
“I kind of need to know what you’re doing. Now. With this rocking horse. If you’re coming back, she’ll keep the name we submitted. Sylvie Sweet. But if not, I may go back to Prue. There are these personalized mobiles this artist makes for the store. I was going to have one done up for her. Even if Sylvie’s paperwork needs to be changed, she’ll use a mobile for such a short time, I want to know.”
“
That’s
why you want to know my plans? For a mobile?”
She searches all reason for what is wrong with wanting to know his intentions and comes up blank. “Yes.”
“I shaved my beard.” He rubs his jawline, which is, of course, smooth now. “First time since you’ve known me.”
He looks younger. Somehow, less married. She hates it. He was desirable enough before with his dark curls, his long legs. But the stubble hid him a bit. Kept him beneath a layer. Now he’s vulnerable, open. Now she’s going to lose him. “Yes. I mean, I saw. I noticed.”
He shakes his head sorrowfully and starts toward the elevators. “This is what I’m talking about, Eleanor. You’re gone. You’re no longer here for me.”
The memory of what was. It comes to her amid the blare of PA messages, the soft bongs of hospital machinery, the distant chatter. A low groan from behind a closed door. It started out just the two of them. The deal wasn’t baby. It was Eleanor and Jonathan, Eleanor and Jonathan. She was insane to walk away from that. Before the baby talk, they were great. They could be great with a baby. He just needs to see it.
“Jonathan, wait.”
He stops, turns around.
“You’re wrong. I am here for you.”
“Only if I’m here for her.”
She doesn’t breathe until the elevator doors slide shut.
Chapter 15
T he cab is due to arrive in thirty minutes. Eleanor bumps her yellow suitcase out the door and into the hall with a glance back at Angus, who sits behind her, his ears flattened against his skull. He doesn’t take his eyes off her bag. Once again, his enemy has reared its battered leather head. But this week is worse than last. He’s down to one human.
Eleanor clips on his leash. “It’s good you look sad. Perfect timing.”
Ginny has taken care of Angus before. She didn’t actually take him home—her youngest once had a dream Angus had two heads—but Ginny fed and walked him and let him sleep in the shop all day while she worked, so Angus was only alone at night. She didn’t do it for money or to offer a helping hand. She did it for extra time off work.
Hauling a suitcase and the dog who despises it down the narrow flight of stairs to the street is no easy task. As long as the bag is in
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