‘I couldn’t not try.’ He felt his heart catching. ‘I wanted to show you I was ready to talk about it, explain...’
She gave a soft nod. ‘So, what happened, Will?’
And now here it was, all the hurt surfacing in her eyes, all the pain and confusion he’d caused. His heart clenched. She deserved a five-star explanation, toffee sauce, sprinkles and a flake, but now that the moment was here, what could he say?
That he’d caught himself liking her, more than liking her, and it had thrown him for a loop—triggered some hateful gremlin inside, whispering to him, reminding him that she was the enemy, the one who’d come between him and Dad, stirring him up so much that he’d derailed them on purpose; that once he’d done that he couldn’t find a way back, so he’d shut down, even though it hurt to do it—and hurt her as well?
He ran his eyes over her face. Even if she took it on the chin that she’d been the secret object of his animosity for over a decade she would want to know why, and then what would he say? Because the answer was a twisted vine with deep tangled roots, roots that reached into the darkness, and if he couldn’t even make himself go there, how could he go there with her? But he had to say something, something true that also tied in with the meteorological metaphors.
He drew in a breath. ‘I had a bit of a meltdown.’
Her lips pursed. ‘Yes.’
Good going, Will!
Telling her something she knew already. He felt his pores prickling. Maybe moving would help.
He motioned to the street end. ‘Can we walk and talk, find some shade?’
She hesitated then nodded. ‘Okay.’ And then she was diving into her bag, coming up with sunglasses. ‘Do you mind if I wear these?’
‘Why would I mind?’
She made a sombre shuttering motion with her hand. ‘Hides the eyes. Windows to the soul and all that.’
He turned to walk, feeling an unexpected smile rising. ‘Listen, I don’t need to see your eyes to know your soul is good. It’s mine we should worry about.’
‘We’ll see.’ He felt her shoulder nudging his arm, a little playful, but then her tone was downshifting, serious again. ‘So, about this meltdown?’
His stomach roiled. No way round it. The only option was to come clean, put his heart on the block, at least partially, because how could he explain it otherwise? Just a layer or two, peeled back carefully, and then maybe, somehow, the rest would come to him...
He glanced over. ‘I think it happened because I didn’t expect to like Lisbon so much.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Or you, Quinn.’
‘What?’ She stopped dead, pushing up her sunglasses, the windows of her soul displaying an array of indecipherable comings and goings. ‘What did you say?’
Was she really making him repeat it? Hard enough saying it the first time. But he was in the thick of it now. No choice.
He inhaled. ‘I said that I didn’t expect to like it so much here or...’
‘Yes...?’
His heart pulsed. This was the part she most wanted to hear—that he liked her! He felt his eyes staring into hers, his breath trying to leave. How could it mean anything when, aside from that one time, he had never given her the time of day, never done anything worthy of her attention or favour? Yet here she was, waiting for him to say it, anticipation burning in her gaze as if it mattered, as if he mattered, counted somehow, to her.
Beyond feeling!
He felt the air softening, a smile coming. ‘Or...to like you, Quinn. But I do like you. Very much.’
Her gaze stilled, then it was filling with a glow, lighting up with a smile that caught him in the throat. ‘I like you too.’ But then in the next moment the glow was fading, and she was frowning, puzzling. ‘But you didn’t expect to like me?’ She looked down for second, blinking, then her eyes came back, wide, wounded. ‘Why? Can you unpack that, and the whole meltdown thing as well, because I don’t understand...’
His heart seized. Of course she didn’t because, aside from that slip at Dad’s funeral, he’d always tried to keep his feelings hidden. Must have done a better job of it than he’d thought too, because she seemed not to have the slightest inkling. A good thing for her sake, but a problem for him, because being honest, which he wanted to be, without potentially hurting her all over again, which he definitely didn’t want to do, didn’t leave him much rope. And yes, thinking about all of this beforehand would have been a good plan, but he hadn’t wanted to sound rehearsed, like he was trying to save his own skin, instead of whatever this was sounding like.
Think, Will!
And then suddenly it was opening up. A path through the tangle. Somewhat treacherous, but a path at least.
He drew in a breath, nodded into her gaze. ‘Yes, I can. I mean, I’ll try to.’ Anything to fix this, to bring her smile back. He swallowed to buy a moment, then looked into her eyes. ‘You know how Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on this project?’
Small nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, maybe you also know...’ Because who knew what Dad had told her? ‘Or maybe you don’t, but that’s a ball with a very long chain.’
Curiosity flared in her eyes, but he wasn’t going to elaborate, dig down into that particular crypt. This was only about context.
‘Where I’m going with this is that I might have let the project become a bit of a totem for all that stuff with Dad, used it as a legit way to harangue him—I say legit because the hotel is, without a shadow of a doubt, a terrible investment.’ He felt his chest tightening, his voice tightening with it. ‘You probably got that I couldn’t fricking well believe the will! Red mist central! Forcing me to take it on, knowing I was dead against it. Way to rub—no—grind my nose right in it!’
Breathe, Will.
‘My total bad, of course, for going in there expecting a smooth ride: something for Mum, a chunk to charity, the rest to me. I was going to put the place straight back on the market, but instead—’
‘You were lumbered.’
‘Understatement alert!’
Her eyes flickered, registering the reference, and then her gaze cleared. ‘So you set your face against it.’
‘It was already set. The will just set it harder.’
‘And, by association, I was included?’
