As soon as I leave the hotel restaurant, I know I’ve made a mistake. I only get as far as the elevators before I decide to turn back. I can’t let Rori walk away like this. I have to stay and fight for her. Even if she doesn’t want to see me. Even if she never wants to see me again.

I have to try.

But when I get to the restaurant, she’s gone. There’s no sign of Celia, either. Jace is still there, punching his info into a credit card machine. He looks up as I come in, and his expression darkens.

“I think the girls want to be alone right now.”

I run my hands through my hair. He isn’t quite posturing, but he’s got that protective-husband thing going on, and I can’t say I blame him. I’d be doing the same thing if I was in his shoes.

“I have to talk to her. I have to make this right.”

Jace’s face softens, just a fraction.

“Look, man, I get it. Believe me. Celia and I had our bumps in the beginning too. I don’t know what you did, but I know sometimes they need their space. Maybe you should do what she said and go back to the city. Talk to her again when you’ve both had some time to calm down a little.”

Surprisingly, what Jace says seems to make sense. Maybe we can’t fix this right now. Maybe I should give Rori a bit of time to process everything. After all, that’s what she said she wanted — I should respect her wishes. Plus, it’ll buy me a little time to come up with the right thing to say, the magic words that’ll win her over and convince her I’m not a lying bastard.

I just hope those words exist. Right now, I’m not so sure they do.

* * *

An hour later, I’m packed up and checked out. Because it’s a Sunday morning and everyone and their first cousin is driving back into the city after their weekends away, the traffic is slower than usual. Which unfortunately gives me plenty of time to think.

And what do I think about? Rori, of course.

How the fuck did we go from a perfect night to the complete and utter fuck-up that was this morning?

Every time I blink, I see flashes of last night and our fight this morning.

Blink. Rori slipping off that purple dress.

Blink. Rori’s face as she put two and two together and realized what I was doing with the Elmwood Gables community land.

Blink. My lips against her throat, making her moan.

Blink. Her shaking shoulders as she threw herself, sobbing, into Celia’s arms.

Blink. Sliding inside of her, coming together with her in a moment of perfect harmony.

Blink. The blank expression on her face when I told her I was in love with her.

How the fuck did we fall so far?

Then again, I could just as easily ask how the fuck this happened to begin with.

Nothing was ever supposed to happen with Rori. It was supposed to be strictly business. And she seemed fine with that. She even made me sign that stupid fucking agreement on the back of that stupid fucking napkin. Yet one by one, we’d been breaking the rules our own deal.

And here we are now. Back in the same place things had ended the first time. With Rori feeling broken-hearted and me being the one to have broken it. I hurt her back then, and now I’ve gone and done it again. My ribs feel like they’re too tight for my chest and my hands grip the steering wheel and for a second I think about driving on straight past New York, maybe all the way up into Canada where I can buy a little cabin in the woods and live the life of solitude I’m obviously meant for. I’m sure I’d look good in plaid.

But I don’t know how to stay away from Rori. I thought the contract would be enough to keep us in check, but apparently I’d underestimated the magnetic force that exists between us. Even now, knowing she probably hates my guts — and deservedly so — I can’t let her go.

I try to focus on keeping the car on the road. My foot falls heavier and heavier on the gas pedal though, and soon I’m flooring it. I swerve between lanes, avoiding the traffic but barely. It’s not until I have to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending an SUV with a boatload of kids in it that I realize I’m being an irresponsible asshole. I creep back over into the far right lane, and wait for the next exit.

It comes up a minute or two later, and I pull off the highway. I need to find a gas station, somewhere I can splash some cold water on my face. I find a spot right away, a diner not far off the exit ramp, with a long row of gas pumps out front and a parking lot big enough for a dozen eighteen-wheelers. I pull up and hop out of the car.

The bathroom is inside the diner area so I head straight for it. I avoid looking in the mirror once I’m in there, but I run the water as cold as I can and scrub some of the anxiety out of my face. The water helps but what I really need is coffee. I’m still feeling the effects of last night’s champagne on top of everything else.

I head back out into the diner and grab a seat at the counter. I try to push away the memories of the last time I’d been in a diner — the time with Rori, when we’d written up our contract, and when I’d come later, on my own, lost in those memories of my mother.

It’s a man working behind the counter here. He’s grey-haired and a little stooped, with lines in his face as deep as the cracks in the vinyl floor. He looks like maybe he’s worked here since before I was even born.

“Just a coffee,” I say, when he waves a menu in my direction. He returns moments later with an empty mug and a fresh-brewed pot.

“Can I interest you in a slice of pie?” As he pours my coffee, he gestures at the glass case behind him, the one that seems to be a staple of diners everywhere. I scan the selection, and immediately spot the bright yellow of the lemon meringue pie. I swallow. I can already taste the crisp tart sweetness of it, can feel the floaty texture of the meringue on my tongue. Taking it feels wrong though. Or not wrong exactly — I struggle to put my finger on just why I don’t want to have any.

“Best coconut cream pie in the state,” he says. “Or so I tell my wife, who makes it.” He winks at me and I force myself to smile.

“Just the coffee is fine,” I say. I chug back another bitter mouthful, and realize what it is I’m feeling.

It’s that I don’t deserve that pie. Whatever I felt the other day, when I had sat at the diner eating pie and wondering if my mother would have been proud of me — I didn’t deserve that again. She wouldn’t be proud of me, not if she knew what kind of person I’d become. We didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, but she was the kind of person who’d give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. She was a giver. It’s the same quality I’d always loved in Rori too.

I was the opposite. A taker. And now I’d hurt the most important person in my life for the second time. So no, I don’t deserve to bask in the memory of my mother for another precious minute. Not until I can fix this with Rori. And if I can’t, well …

I finish my coffee, drop a couple of dollars on the counter and head back out into the parking lot. I sit in the SUV for a minute, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. Then I flip my sunglasses on and pull out of the lot and back onto the highway.

I’m not going to even consider what happens if I can’t fix this with Rori. Because that thought, right now, is the most unbearable one of all.