He exhales. “It was more in the delivery than the actual message.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve known Hudson my entire life, and when I told him about how I didn’t want to be a father and how I wanted you to get rid of it, I’d never seen him so angry. He told me to do the right thing,” he says. “And there was this fire in his eyes like I’ve never seen. He said I only had one chance to do the right thing. Those words really resonated with me after that. This baby’s coming into the world, and it’s only going to be born once. If I miss that or birthdays or anything else, there’s no going back.”
“When did he say this to you?”
He turns to me. “A few hours after you left Sea La Vie.”
I rise, taken aback.
So this man was furious with me for hiding the pregnancy … but he still had it in him to make damn sure Alec knew he should do the right thing?
“Hudson loves you, Mari,” Alec says, nodding. “I’ve never seen him care that much about anyone. Not even my sister.” He starts his engine. “Anyway, I hope you guys can work things out. It’d be a shame if you couldn’t. You guys seemed really happy back in Montauk. Like, genuinely happy.”
Stepping away from the car, I give him a wave and watch as he pulls out of the drive.
Heading back in, I slip on my sneakers and tell my parents I’m taking a walk. It’s dusk now, the sun just dipping under the horizon, and in the distance, the lights are on at the Frank Lloyd Wright house.
I don’t know what I’m going to say when I get there, but something is compelling me, pulling me in that direction.
Seeing Hudson so jealous at the coffee shop earlier and hearing how he defended me when he didn’t have to … it changes things.
I wanted to be done with him.
I wanted to cut my losses and move on.
But I don’t think I could if I tried. And god have I tried.
Five minutes later, I’m a couple of houses down from his, my heart racing a thousand beats per second.
There’s a white Mercedes in his driveway, and upon closer inspection, I spot two shadows in the front window by the door. They’re standing close together, nodding and probably chatting. It’s a woman, her hourglass curves exceedingly obvious by the shadow her body makes against the glass.
She reaches for his shoulder, then his face. Touching him. Standing closer, closer still.
A moment later, the door opens and a gorgeous platinum blonde bombshell steps out, giving him a tiny wave with her fingertips before her cherry lips spread into a sex kitten smirk. I watch as she brushes her hair from her face, wearing the smile of a woman who’s stumbled across a man who makes her feel alive again.
I know that smile.
I know that feeling.
Hudson stands in the doorway, watching her leave, and she struts down the concrete steps and paved sidewalk to her waiting car, her hips swinging with each step. Once she’s gone, he disappears inside.
Hours ago he was flying into a jealous rage at the sight of me having coffee with Alec, but it seems as though he wasted no time finding a pretty little thing to ease his pain.
The vision of him watching her walk away is what kills me.
And here I thought Hudson had changed.
This was a bad idea, and for that reason, I’m going home.
Forty-Two
Hudson
* * *
Alexa Lowell’s headlights flick on, lighting up the living room of the house as I shut the front door. A stack of listings rest on a nearby saw horse. She stopped by tonight because she found a whole bevy of Orchard Hill homes all in desperate need or renovating.
When I told her I wasn’t interested, that the FLW home was a one-and-done type of venture for me, she seemed discouraged but not dissuaded.
I walked her to the door, but she lingered, telling me all about Orchard Hill and how there’s this little restaurant made out of an old train depot south of the square that she’d love to take me to sometime.
Her treat.
She then proceeded to brush lint off my shoulder—any excuse she could find to touch me.
This woman had no finesse. She may have been beautiful, but she was as clear as cellophane.
And most importantly, she’s not Mari.
When Alexa finally left, I stood on the front steps, watching her navigate the jagged, broken concrete in those sky high fuck-me heels she wore to my construction zone. I know an opportunist when I see one, and the last thing I need is some small-town real estate agent breaking her neck on my sidewalk. A woman like that would waste no time calling her attorney on speed dial and ensuring the lawsuit is filed the very next day.
Locking the front door, I exhale. This place is coming along nicely. Electricians and plumbers will be working around the clock the next few days and the dry wall crew and roofers should be here early next week. After that, I’ll focus on the interior finishes, keeping everything in line with the original FLW design elements, and with any luck, this thing will be restored to her original glory and I’ll be on my way.
I thought about keeping this house, but that would be pointless.
I have no business being here in Orchard Hill.
Mari made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want to be with me.
She’s moving on.
And I should do the same.
Forty-Three
Mari
* * *
There’s something soothing about the feel of cool dirt between my fingers. Before plucking a small white petunia from its container, I dig a small hole with my hand trowel. Mom sprained her wrist last night at bowling but Dad had already purchased a hundred dollars’ worth of petunias, impatiens, hostas, and marigolds, so I told her I’d handle it.
It’s win-win anyway.
There’s only so much Wheel of Fortune watching and coffee shop shifts I can distract myself with before my mind circles back to the inevitable.
Him.
“Mari.”
Dusting the dirt from my hands, I turn toward the familiar voice, quelling the simultaneous swell of butterflies and swirl of tension in my stomach.
“Hudson,” I say, pushing myself up from the grassy patch of yard beneath the old maple tree I used to climb as a child.
He’s dressed for a jog and judging by the thin sheen of sweat gracing his muscled upper body, I’m not the first stop on his route.
“Just came by to tell you my accountant is making a deposit on Monday,” he says, hands hooked on his hips. My eyes fall to the muscled V pointing toward his shorts before meeting his gaze.
“For what?”
“It’s a pro-rated amount,” he says. “I’m paying you for the month of work you did.”
“I thought the contract said if I didn’t finish the agreement in full, I wouldn’t be paid at all?”
“It does say that,” he says. “But I didn’t feel it was a fair deal for you, Mari. I just want to do the right thing.”
“It’s not necessary.” I stand up straight. “I don’t need a handout.”
“I employed you,” he says, his voice holding that chilled quality I once knew so well. Only Hudson could be so cold and so generous at the same time. “You should be compensated.”