Rules of Contact
Page 77
“I have to talk to you.”
She blinked away the tears and turned to him. “About what? About how you accused me of using you to become a famous chef?”
He looked pained. Good. She hoped he developed an ulcer over it.
“Yes. I was wrong.”
“No shit.” She went and sat on one of the cushioned love seats out there. It was cool outside, so she grabbed a blanket and laid it over her legs.
Flynn grabbed one of the folding chairs and placed it across from her, then straddled it so he faced her. “I freaked out when I overheard you talking to Paul and Blaine. When they offered you the job, I expected you to turn them down.”
“I did turn them down.”
“No, you asked them into Ken’s office for privacy.”
“Yes, so I could turn them down while still being professional and polite. I was doing that for you. For the restaurant.”
“At the time I didn’t know that. All I saw was you looking excited and smiling at them and . . . it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was totally off base and I should have known you better.”
She nodded. “Exactly. You should know me. You should have trusted me. God, Flynn, the things you said to me really hurt. All those women I watched you with before we got together. I knew what they were about. They were about using you to advance themselves. And you thought I’d do the same thing to you? It’s like you never knew me at all.”
He looked down at his feet, then back up at her. “I know. I guess I got burned one too many times and trust has been a big issue for me.”
“So you lumped me in with them the first chance you got?”
“I did, and I’m sorry.” He reached for her but she shook her head and stood up.
“No. I’ve been through this before with a man who had no faith in me. I can’t do it again. I won’t do it again. You need to leave.”
“Amelia.”
She had turned away, refusing to look at him. Because if she did, she might weaken and fall into his arms, begging him to hold her. To love her. Because God, despite everything, she still loved him.
“Go away, Flynn. Leave me alone.”
“I’m not giving up on you. On us. I need you. I love you, Amelia.”
She couldn’t hold back the tears and they fell down her cheeks like a river.
This was the first time he’d told her he loved her. Now, when her heart was torn in two.
She swiped at the tears, needing so badly to feel the touch of his hand, to feel the strength of his arms around her. But she couldn’t trust him anymore. And without trust, they wouldn’t work.
“Please just leave.” She could barely get the words out.
“I’ll find a way to make this right.”
She heard him walk away and after the porch door closed, she fell onto the lounge, choking out a sob. She shoved her fist against her mouth, hating that she was crying—again. But this sense of loss went deep, so deep that even her bones ached from it.
When the porch door opened again, it was Laura who came and sat down in the love seat with her, put her arms around her and held her while she cried.
THIRTY-THREE
The first note arrived the day after Flynn had showed up at Laura’s house. Amelia had decided it was time to go home and face her life, though Laura had told her she was welcome to stay with her and Jon as long as she needed to. But she was stronger than her emotions, and she needed to move on. She needed to find a new job and learn to live in her silent, empty house with her sadness.
The envelope had Flynn’s handwriting on it and she’d picked it up with her mail.
She hesitated, then opened it.
I love the way you smile. It always hits me right in my heart, because it’s so genuine. I miss your smile, Amelia. I love you.
F
That’s all the note said. She ran her fingers over his handwriting. It was a little messy, which made her lips tick up.
No. He would not make her smile. He would not win her back. She tossed the note in the trash.
An hour later she went and pulled the note out of the trash and left it on her kitchen counter.
That evening, she received a delivery.
It was a box. Inside the box was a sizzling steak, baked potato and a salad. And another note from Flynn.
You’re probably cooking every day but not eating, and you should eat. I made this because I know you like steak. I made the salad dressing. Hope you like it. I love you, Amelia.
F
Damn him.
She wanted to toss the meal. But no good meal should be ignored, so she ate the steak while she stared at the note. The salad dressing was a creamy balsamic vinaigrette that was pretty damn good.
The next morning when she got up there was another box at her front door, along with another note.
Inside the box was a gorgeous handmade lap quilt. She ran her hands over the intricate design, then opened the note.
Thought this might keep you warm while you’re sitting on your porch. I love you.
F
With a shuddering sigh, she carried the quilt out to the porch and draped it over her lap while she had her morning coffee.
With her mail that day came another note.
I’m really bad at poetry but I’m going to give this a try: I’m imperfect, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met
We were good together, and yet
I blew it. Please give me another chance
And I know we can make this last.
I love you, Amelia.
F
As poetry went, that was awful. But her heart was melting.
He was trying. He was thinking about her every day.
Damn him.
* * * Over the next two days there were at least two notes a day. He fed her, gave her wine, a cookbook she’d been coveting that hadn’t even been released yet, and wrote another note with even worse poetry than the first one.
Laura had come over and Amelia told her about the notes.
“He loves you. He fucked up badly. He’s obviously trying to make amends. What are you going to do?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. You know how I feel about trust.”
“Yes, I do. But he’s not Frank.”
“No. He’s not.”
“I guess that leaves you with two choices. You forgive him and you find your way back to each other, or you walk away forever.”
She blinked away the tears and turned to him. “About what? About how you accused me of using you to become a famous chef?”
He looked pained. Good. She hoped he developed an ulcer over it.
“Yes. I was wrong.”
“No shit.” She went and sat on one of the cushioned love seats out there. It was cool outside, so she grabbed a blanket and laid it over her legs.
Flynn grabbed one of the folding chairs and placed it across from her, then straddled it so he faced her. “I freaked out when I overheard you talking to Paul and Blaine. When they offered you the job, I expected you to turn them down.”
“I did turn them down.”
“No, you asked them into Ken’s office for privacy.”
“Yes, so I could turn them down while still being professional and polite. I was doing that for you. For the restaurant.”
“At the time I didn’t know that. All I saw was you looking excited and smiling at them and . . . it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was totally off base and I should have known you better.”
She nodded. “Exactly. You should know me. You should have trusted me. God, Flynn, the things you said to me really hurt. All those women I watched you with before we got together. I knew what they were about. They were about using you to advance themselves. And you thought I’d do the same thing to you? It’s like you never knew me at all.”
He looked down at his feet, then back up at her. “I know. I guess I got burned one too many times and trust has been a big issue for me.”
“So you lumped me in with them the first chance you got?”
“I did, and I’m sorry.” He reached for her but she shook her head and stood up.
“No. I’ve been through this before with a man who had no faith in me. I can’t do it again. I won’t do it again. You need to leave.”
“Amelia.”
She had turned away, refusing to look at him. Because if she did, she might weaken and fall into his arms, begging him to hold her. To love her. Because God, despite everything, she still loved him.
“Go away, Flynn. Leave me alone.”
“I’m not giving up on you. On us. I need you. I love you, Amelia.”
She couldn’t hold back the tears and they fell down her cheeks like a river.
This was the first time he’d told her he loved her. Now, when her heart was torn in two.
She swiped at the tears, needing so badly to feel the touch of his hand, to feel the strength of his arms around her. But she couldn’t trust him anymore. And without trust, they wouldn’t work.
“Please just leave.” She could barely get the words out.
“I’ll find a way to make this right.”
She heard him walk away and after the porch door closed, she fell onto the lounge, choking out a sob. She shoved her fist against her mouth, hating that she was crying—again. But this sense of loss went deep, so deep that even her bones ached from it.
When the porch door opened again, it was Laura who came and sat down in the love seat with her, put her arms around her and held her while she cried.
THIRTY-THREE
The first note arrived the day after Flynn had showed up at Laura’s house. Amelia had decided it was time to go home and face her life, though Laura had told her she was welcome to stay with her and Jon as long as she needed to. But she was stronger than her emotions, and she needed to move on. She needed to find a new job and learn to live in her silent, empty house with her sadness.
The envelope had Flynn’s handwriting on it and she’d picked it up with her mail.
She hesitated, then opened it.
I love the way you smile. It always hits me right in my heart, because it’s so genuine. I miss your smile, Amelia. I love you.
F
That’s all the note said. She ran her fingers over his handwriting. It was a little messy, which made her lips tick up.
No. He would not make her smile. He would not win her back. She tossed the note in the trash.
An hour later she went and pulled the note out of the trash and left it on her kitchen counter.
That evening, she received a delivery.
It was a box. Inside the box was a sizzling steak, baked potato and a salad. And another note from Flynn.
You’re probably cooking every day but not eating, and you should eat. I made this because I know you like steak. I made the salad dressing. Hope you like it. I love you, Amelia.
F
Damn him.
She wanted to toss the meal. But no good meal should be ignored, so she ate the steak while she stared at the note. The salad dressing was a creamy balsamic vinaigrette that was pretty damn good.
The next morning when she got up there was another box at her front door, along with another note.
Inside the box was a gorgeous handmade lap quilt. She ran her hands over the intricate design, then opened the note.
Thought this might keep you warm while you’re sitting on your porch. I love you.
F
With a shuddering sigh, she carried the quilt out to the porch and draped it over her lap while she had her morning coffee.
With her mail that day came another note.
I’m really bad at poetry but I’m going to give this a try: I’m imperfect, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met
We were good together, and yet
I blew it. Please give me another chance
And I know we can make this last.
I love you, Amelia.
F
As poetry went, that was awful. But her heart was melting.
He was trying. He was thinking about her every day.
Damn him.
* * * Over the next two days there were at least two notes a day. He fed her, gave her wine, a cookbook she’d been coveting that hadn’t even been released yet, and wrote another note with even worse poetry than the first one.
Laura had come over and Amelia told her about the notes.
“He loves you. He fucked up badly. He’s obviously trying to make amends. What are you going to do?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. You know how I feel about trust.”
“Yes, I do. But he’s not Frank.”
“No. He’s not.”
“I guess that leaves you with two choices. You forgive him and you find your way back to each other, or you walk away forever.”
