Chapter 44
Charles felt a deep smile etch his cheeks as he peered around the cottage. Everything sparkled. He turned and spotted the vase on the writing desk. Walking over, he rearranged the flowers––white gardenias––that he’d placed in it earlier.
From the research he’d been doing for the novel he was working on, he knew the hidden meaning of gardenias was “secret love.” When he’d been out in the garden that morning and seen them, he hadn’t been able to resist. This way he could tell Sarah how he felt without telling her anything. At least, not until he was certain she’d reciprocate.
Satisfied with the flowers, he picked up the surprise he’d been working on for Sarah. It wasn’t quite finished. A layer of clear varnish would do it. Then he could give it to her. The thought of her smile when he presented it to her expanded his heart.
***
Sarah’s stomach felt like she was trying to digest steel. It sent a harsh metallic taste upwards. Keeping her attention on the road ahead, she reached for the bottle of water in the car’s cup holder. With a long gulp, the taste subsided. Thoughts swirled. What was the truth? How could two people have such different experiences? Sarah knew Charles and Joan. This wasn’t right. Linda was spreading lies.
As soon as the thought came, another one overlapped it. The metallic taste came back. Sarah didn’t really know the mother and son. She’d never carried out an internet search on Charles and the trio had never discussed their pasts.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the familiar wrought-iron gate in front of her. How had she gotten here? She wound down her window and pressed 1234 into the pad on the intercom. The gate creaked open on an inner world that was hidden from view. Much like the owner’s.
***
“Hello?”
No response. Sarah stepped inside the cottage and peered around. It was as lifeless as a cemetery. She exhaled in relief and plopped her overnight bag on the double bed. That’s when she noticed it. The cottage had been cleaned. There was a noticeable difference. Somebody, probably Charles, had gone to some effort to make sure she’d be comfortable. She sighed then slumped beside her bag.
That’s when she spotted the flowers. She couldn’t help the smile that came as she stood and walked toward them. She inhaled their strong scent and touched the petals with her fingertips. Gardenias, if she was correct. Were they Charles’s favorite? This was a nice, decent gesture from a nice, decent man. Wasn’t it?
She sighed.
I have a lot to think about.
She turned. A clock on the nightstand showed her it was almost 3:00 p.m. Charles would expect her call soon. She couldn’t put off calling him for too long.
With a resigned sigh, she stood and walked toward the phone. A piece of paper had been tucked in under the phone. The words, make yourself at home, Charles had been scribbled on it.
Another lovely gesture.
Sarah reached for the phone. The sight of the computer made her stop. She could use it to do a search on Charles. She hesitated, then lowered her hand and stepped toward the computer. It would take five minutes, ten at the most. He had told her to make herself at home . . .
As she typed, she bit her bottom lip. The search loaded and the results flicked onto the screen. She scrolled through and picked the one that looked like a biography.
A quick scan told her two things: first, Charles was thirty-seven, making him twelve years older than she was––just as Amy had said. Second, his books had sold hundreds of thousands of copies around the world.
She went back to the search engine and typed in Linda Scott-Jackson and Charles Morgan.
The headlines that popped back in the results told her everything she didn’t want to know: Charles Morgan and Linda Scott-Jackson spotted dining together, Scott-Jackson attends festival alone, Linda confirms rumors of split with Morgan, Queen of Romance’s son is a Love Rat, says Scott-Jackson.
With each new headline, Sarah felt her chest compress. She’d read enough. Sarah cleared the search history then shut down the computer. A few minutes passed as she sat nursing her confused heart. It was pathetic to be pining over this man. He was unworthy of her, just as her first impression had dictated. This time, she would listen to her head.
Charles Morgan might have stolen her heart, but she had the ultimate control over whether he stole her life too. No. She’d already let one man do that to her. She glanced at the ring on her hand––never again, Sarah.