Half Moon Hill (42 page)

And still . . .
you’ve never told him how you feel.

And she wondered now if she should.

If she should just throw caution to the wind and do it.

And that way, if he still chose to move on . . . well, she’d never have a “what if?” She might end up all the more humiliated and heartbroken by making herself all the more emotionally naked in front of him, but . . . at least she’d never have to wonder if it would have made a difference in some way.

The idea of it, at a time when she already felt heartbroken and fragile and exposed, was scary as hell. It felt almost as if she’d be saying to him:
Go ahead, hurt me a little more, kick me when I’m down.
And maybe it was a terrible idea because maybe she’d end up so broken inside that she’d never be able to put herself out there with a man again.

And that was the question: Was it better to take every chance, play every last card, reach into her chest and put her heart on the table right in front of him? Or was it wiser to accept defeat, cut her losses, lick her wounds, and keep what little remained of her dignity so that she wasn’t completely destroyed?

She soaked up the sun, listened to birds sing, watched a monarch butterfly flutter lazily past, and then she asked God for some guidance. After which she got in her car and drove back to the house—arriving just in time to see Duke backing down a small ladder that leaned against the front porch. And when he turned to her, he wore a big smile that set her heart beating faster.

The very sight inspired her to smile back as she got out and walked over to where he stood. “Why are you smiling?” she asked.
Maybe he’s realized he wants to stay. Maybe he’s going to open up to me right here and tell me so. Maybe he loves me, too.

“It’s done,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The house.” He motioned toward it. “A few finishing touches to put in place, but I just nailed in the last piece of trim, Daisy. And it looks pretty damn good if I do say so myself.”

Oh Lord. Already? It was done? Completely?

She looked up at her home. And it was . . . beautiful. The soft, buttery yellow seemed as happy as the sun that shone down on it, and the peach and white trim gave it the warm, welcoming storybook feel she’d hoped. It was hard to believe this was the same old house she and Duke had started working on just a few months ago.

“It’s perfect,” she told him.

The only thing
not
perfect about it was knowing this signaled . . . the end.

T
hat night, one question burned inside her.
When are you leaving?

But she didn’t ask. Because she couldn’t bear to.

So instead, when Duke came in after dark—having said only that he was working on some last touches in the garage—she asked him something else. “Would you like to go with me to the demolition derby tomorrow night?”

He stood washing his hands at the first floor bathroom sink. And when he looked up at her, she knew the answer before he gave it. “Sorry, Daisy, but no way.”

She took a deep breath, tried again. “I’m sure Lucky would love to have you there. And . . . and I would, too.” And when he said nothing more in reply, just kept washing his hands, she added, “Don’t you think it’s time you got out in public a little?”

He turned off the faucet, dried his hands on a towel. “No.”

“Why not?”

He looked tired, irritated. “Lotta reasons.”

“Like?”

“Damn it, woman, you are still sassy as hell sometimes.” He just shook his head, as if in disbelief. “But for starters, too many people. Like your other brother, Mike—remember him?”

Anna drew in a deep breath, let it back out. And told Duke something that had hit her all the more fully today in the park. “Maybe I don’t care if he knows about us, like I told you before. And maybe you shouldn’t care, either. Maybe it’s just time to . . . come out of the dark, be real, be honest.”

They stood there staring each other down. She was challenging him and he clearly felt it. But finally he said, “I’m
being
honest—with
you
. I’m not going. For a lotta reasons, like I said.”

She let out an exasperated huff. “What other reasons?”

And that’s when he curled his hands into fists of frustration and his eyes widened. “Jesus, Daisy, think about it! It’s a bunch of cars crashing into each other. You think I want to see that? Hear those sounds? You think I want to be reminded of the last time I heard them?”

Oh God. Anna sucked in her breath. She’d never even thought . . .

And now she felt like the most insensitive person alive. She pursed her lips, lifted her eyes back to his. Her voice came out softer than intended. “I’m sorry, Duke—I forgot. That it would be anything like . . . that.”

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, then looked away, his expression dark now, eyes more vacant.

And she wasn’t sure it was okay at all. In fact, maybe this was one reason he was ready to leave. Because she was so damn pushy with him and he wasn’t a man who liked being pushed. Into going where he didn’t want to go. Or . . . feeling something he maybe just didn’t want to feel.

Part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind and tell him she loved him right here and now. She wanted to tell him that she loved him enough to take away everything that hurt him, that she loved him enough to make everything okay if he’d only let her.

But she just couldn’t. Because what if she was wrong? Because for her love to make everything okay, he’d have to love her in return. And that seemed more doubtful all the time.

A
nna spent the bulk of the next day doing things inside the house. Because it would be time to open her business soon. And as she went from room to room, making lists of any remaining items each needed, and then started to organize the first floor room she was turning into an office, she thought of Cathy and hoped she would like what Anna had done with the place.

Duke was working in the garage again, but she didn’t know on what. Mainly, she was trying not to think about him. And when that didn’t work, she was trying to accept that . . . well, nothing was going to change here. He really was going to leave, possibly any day now. For all she knew, she could come home from the demolition derby tonight to find him gone.

That’s what you get for falling in love with an unpredictable man. And one who’s been hurt from too many angles to let himself love.
And for a while she’d been so bold as to think she could change that—but she’d finally stopped deluding herself.

As the day went on, she heard hammering outside, coming from the front of the house, so she assumed he’d finished up whatever he was doing in the garage and was maybe replacing her mailbox. She’d picked up a new one—a plain, simple one of matte silver metal—a few weeks ago. And if she was right, well . . . she thought it might possibly be the very last task he had to do for her. And her heart broke a little more.

But she tried to push the emotions aside. She tried to, instead, be thankful for all he’d done to help her, and for all the unexpected joy he’d brought into her life at a time when she’d needed it. Yes, that was a far better way to view the whole thing than to concentrate on the fact that he was leaving. And that she would feel empty without him. And that she’d always wonder what could have been if he’d only . . .
Oh, stop it already.

You’re going out tonight. You’re going to have fun.
Or she would try her best anyway. She just wished she could quit hurting inside. After all, he wasn’t even gone yet. If it was this bad now, how awful would she feel once he’d actually departed?

She was almost ready to leave for Creekside Park when Duke came inside and found her in the foyer to say, “Daisy, can you come outside? I’ve got something to show you.”

She looked up from where she stood digging in her purse for her keys. “Is it the mailbox? I thought maybe I heard you hammering a new post into the ground.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, he was trying to hold in a smile. “Just come outside and see.” And he looked incredibly cute wearing that particular expression—but she tried her damnedest not to notice.

He held the front door open for her as she stepped through—and then she drew up short, stopping on the porch, as she took in what she saw next to the driveway. Indeed the new mailbox stood in place of the old one—and above it, on an extended wooden post, hung a sign:
Half Moon Bed & Breakfast.
Below the sign even hung a small placard that said
Vacancy
, with a little removable wooden
No
hanging in front of it. While the thick post was natural wood, both the mailbox and sign had been painted a dark blue color, with golden yellow words, and each was accented with an array of small yellow painted stars and a half moon. The lettering looked professional and stylized. It was like she’d imagined, but so much better.

“I hope you don’t hate the blue,” Duke said. “I know we don’t have any blue in the house, but it just made sense with the moon and stars.”

Anna stood there almost speechless, stunned and amazed by how gorgeous it was. But then she managed to find some words. “No. I—I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Really? Are you sure? Because we could change it.”

She turned to look at him on the porch. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t change anything about it. It’s amazing.”

“Then hopefully that means you’ll like this, too.”

And when he shifted his gaze back toward the door they’d just walked through, Anna did, as well—to see a smaller sign mounted next to the front door, with the same design and lettering:
Half Moon Bed & Breakfast.
And below that, in smaller print:
Anna Romo, Proprietor.

It was all she could do not to cry. Because this made it feel so real, and made her realize how far she’d come since buying the old house nearly a year ago. And how far she’d come, as well, since returning home to Destiny—a place that had felt so foreign to her then but came damn close to feeling like home now. And it also touched her more than she could measure to know Duke had done this for her. “I love it,” she said, then shifted her gaze to his. “Did you make these yourself?”

He nodded, suddenly looking surprisingly boyish, shy.

“I didn’t know you were artistic.”

He gave his head a short, self-deprecating shake. “I’m not, really. Used to draw and paint a little when I was a kid, for my mom. But this is the first time I’ve done anything like this.”

She was stunned to discover that such talents lay hidden inside him. But then, there was a lot more to Duke Dawson than met the eye, a lot more layers than he let most people see—and she felt almost honored that he’d chosen to share this one with her. “I love it,” she told him. “You have no idea how much.”

And it struck her then that she’d have hated if he’d left and she’d never known about this. And it made her begin to wonder what else she would miss out on, what about him she would never know. And something in the thought combined with how moved she was by this gift from him, and she followed the impulse to lift her hands to his face and kiss him with all the love rushing through her veins.

His arms curved around her, his strong hands warmed her back, and his tongue twined with hers, and Anna sank into it all the more deeply for knowing it might very well be the last kiss they shared. Whether because he left tonight without warning or simply because of the way she’d held back with him these last few days in an attempt at self-preservation. And she’d resume that behavior after this—because it was hard to let herself go with him, knowing it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to her—but right now, in this moment, she surrendered herself completely.

When the kissing stopped a few minutes later, she could barely breathe. Still caught in his embrace, she peered into his eyes to whisper, “Thank you. For the signs.” And then she pulled away. Before she surrendered any
more
of herself. “I . . . have to go. I don’t want to be late.”

He nodded in understanding and she rushed back into the house to grab her purse from the foyer table. She took a last look in the mirror and straightened her top. She saw that she’d apparently kissed off the lipstick she’d applied only a little while ago, but she could fix that later. She needed to go now—for more reasons than one.

When she came back outside, Duke no longer stood on the porch and was, in fact, nowhere in sight. So she paused to look at the wonderful sign he’d hung next to the door, and as she went to the driveway, she actually walked past her car to study the bigger sign by the road. It was truly perfect—the perfect final touch—and it was hard to look at it without smiling.

At the same time, though, she couldn’t help thinking it hinted at Duke’s departure in a real, solid way. And that his leaving felt so wrong, at least to her. And that maybe she’d be like Cathy and regret it forever if she didn’t do what Cathy said and take a chance.

Because what if he felt the same way she did? Even if it didn’t appear that way, or seem likely at this point, what if he did deep down inside? What if he somehow felt the same way but they never told each other and they missed out on an absolutely amazing, ecstatically happy life together?

And as she got in the Mustang and started the engine, she looked up to see Duke walk from the shady darkness of the open garage out into the sunlight just in front of her car. He lifted a hand to wave goodbye to her. Goodbye. What if it really
was
goodbye?

“Duke,” she called. And as he walked over to her car door, she had no plan, but three words rang out inside her.
Now or never.

“Have a good time, Daisy,” he said easily.

And she took a deep breath—and just started talking. “The reason I asked you to go with me tonight is because . . . I’d be proud to have all of Destiny see me on your arm. Because I’m in love with you. And I don’t want you to leave. Which I’m telling you in case that changes anything.

“Because . . . deep down, I have to believe you care about me, in some way that matters. But that you’re just afraid. To trust in it, or to trust in me.