Neither was necessary, but they kept him busy and tired him out. The latter was required if he wanted to have a prayer of sleeping at night. No, not sleeping. Sleeping without dreaming of Robyn.
There were no words to describe how much he missed her. He’d loved and lost before, but not like this. It was as if she’d gotten into every cell of his body, and he couldn’t breathe without thinking of her. Her ghost still haunted every room, every time of day. She was around every corner. He’d yet to find a single space she didn’t occupy. And if that wasn’t bad enough, her son was a constant reminder of her.
Austin had returned after spending nearly a week in Florida. Like Mason, he’d quickly settled into a routine of his own. On the days he didn’t have an early-morning charter, he went running with Mason before heading to the gym to lift weights. His afternoons were spent studying naval history and navigation and brushing up on his math skills. He worked as a busboy most nights. He was a good roommate, quiet, clean, and he took care of his own meals.
On his nights off, he and Mason frequently went out to dinner. Mason talked about military life, and Austin told him which of the latest movies his friends liked. Neither of them ever mentioned Robyn. Sometimes Austin told him how Harlow was doing, but that was as close as they got to the delicate subject of Austin’s mother.
Mason rinsed out his breakfast dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Salvia was only working a couple of days a week. He’d taken over most of the feline duty. He’d created a spreadsheet so he could make sure he inspected each of the cats every week. He fed them twice a day, and precisely at four in the afternoon, he emptied all eight litter boxes. While most of them took advantage of the grounds of the house, a few were too prissy to do their business outside.
He poured the last cup of the coffee before making his way to his office. He was determined to write at least three pages today. Yesterday morning he’d had a meeting with Gregory. The historical society had made a formal offer on the house. According to the paperwork, they were willing to pay fifteen million dollars. After closing costs and taxes, Gregory had said Mason would walk away with close to ten million.
He’d signed the commitment letter with the historical society, and the clock on his year in the house had started ticking. In one year, he would have to move out. He’d assumed he would find a place to rent while the house was being built, but Gregory had explained that based on the value of the land and the agreement with the historical society, Mason could get a construction loan, allowing him to start building now.
He’d researched the topic and had discovered the lawyer was correct. All Mason had to do was pick out the plot of land, get house plans approved by the city and hire a contractor. He’d gone so far as to hire someone to survey the acreage. That was happening next week. As for the rest of it, he wasn’t sure he could pick out a house design. Not yet. Not when he’d secretly been hoping he wouldn’t be living there alone.
He carried his coffee into Leo’s office and set it on the desk, but instead of sitting down, he walked to the window and stared out at the view of the ocean.
He ached for Robyn, and not just in his bed. He missed her everywhere. He wanted to talk to her, hear her laugh, watch her hug Austin. He longed to hold her, just hold her, not have sex, although he wanted that desperately. She had become the best part of him, and without her he was becoming less by the day.
He knew at some point she was going to have to come back to deal with the inventory. So he would have her back in his life, but as what? A former lover? A distant acquaintance? He wasn’t sure he had the strength to be around her and not be in her life.
Sometimes he tortured himself with the thought that she’d gone back to Jase. That when she returned, she would be engaged and that on weekends the asshole cardiologist would fly out and screw her right next door. The thought of that nearly made him lose his breakfast. Only steely self-control kept down the food.
He pushed away those thoughts and all the other ones of her, which left his mind blank. After seating himself at his desk, he forced himself to describe the use of mules to transport mountain howitzers in the mid-1800s. While mules didn’t deal with the rigors of battle well at all, they were strong and could handle uneven and steep terrain.
Four hours later, he had written and deleted at least twenty pages, leaving him with a scant two that were passably readable, if not scintillating. He carried his now cold coffee into the kitchen and told himself he should eat something for lunch.
Before he could work up any enthusiasm, he heard a car driving around to the garage. Probably one of the workmen who appeared to take care of something going on with the house, he thought as he stepped out back, grateful for the distraction.
But instead of a work truck, he saw an unfamiliar SUV with Florida plates. His heart jumped into hyperspeed, thudding against his ribs so hard, he was pretty sure something was going to snap. Hope tried to spring to life, but he squashed it, knowing Robyn showing up wasn’t necessarily good news. After all, she had a lot of work to get done. He’d always known she would come back—what he didn’t know was if completing the inventory was the only reason she’d shown up.
The driver’s door opened, and she stepped out. Wanting, love and a sinking sensation battled for dominance within him as she saw him and came to a stop.
She looked good. No, better than good. Her long blond hair fluttered in the breeze, and her mouth was exactly as he remembered. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He thought she was a bit thinner, as if she hadn’t been eating enough. He would prefer her to put on a few pounds, but knew the most important thing was that she was here.
Sunglasses hid her eyes, so he had no idea what she was thinking. There was tension in her body, which didn’t bode well for him. A sense of dread killed the last whisper of hope as he realized he had his answer. She wasn’t here for him.
“Welcome back,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral with a hint of casual welcome. “How was the drive?”
“Long.”
She pulled off her sunglasses, allowing him to see her stunning blue eyes. Emotions chased through them, but they were moving too fast for him to know what she was thinking. At least there wasn’t a ring on her finger, so that was something.
Her mouth curved into a smile. “I’ve had three days to think about what I wanted to say when I saw you, and now that I’m here, I can’t remember any of it. Which is probably for the best. You’re the writer in the family, not me.”
What the hell did that mean? He stifled his impatience and forced himself to pretend to relax. “I’m not writing as much these days. This morning I managed two pages about nineteenth-century cannons.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Not really.”
Could this be any more awkward? he thought desperately. Before, everything had been so easy. He hadn’t worried about what to say because when he was with her, he’d been free to be himself. He’d been secure in his love for her, but now he was a mess.
“I can help you with your luggage,” he said, mostly to distract himself from how awful this was.
She tilted her head as she studied him. “Mason,” she began, then shook her head and walked toward him.