“Oh Ted, I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with that.” I take a step toward him, to give him a hug, but he holds up a palm, as though to tell me to wait, he hasn’t finished.
“I’ve got to sort out a divorce, I need to sell this house quickly to pay for Dad’s care . . .” He exhales a long, slow breath and closes his eyes. “I can’t be saddled with the expectation of being someone’s romantic hero too. I met you three days ago, what promises can I possibly make you?”
The words hit me like a punch to my chest.
“Of course not.” I feel my cheeks burn. “It was just a kiss, Ted, I don’t expect anything from you.”
I make to walk up the grass to the waiting cab, not wanting my face to betray my disappointment. As I pass him, Ted reaches for my hand and pulls me around to face him.
“It wasn’t just a kiss to me,” he says firmly, his voice low. Searching his eyes, I see something I never want to let go of. Then his gaze drops to my arm, and he notices the bracelet I’m wearing.
“What’s this?” he asks, gently lifting my arm toward him so he can see.
“I made it last night, from the jewelry you gave me.”
“You put the sea glass into it.”
I nod. He turns the bracelet around on my wrist and, where his thumb touches my skin, I burn with a need for him to touch me again.
“You did all this wiring yourself?” he asks, running a finger around the silver wire.
I nod again.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, but he’s not looking at the bracelet anymore; he’s looking at me.
“What do you want me to do, Ted?” I ask quietly, my heart pounding against my chest. There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but then it vanishes.
“Do you want me to ask you not to go, to give up your great suitcase story?” he says, his voice hoarse. “I can’t offer you anything concrete, Laura. All I know is that I like spending time with you. I’d like to get to know you better. You’re the first person who I’ve wanted to kiss in ages, and that’s a big deal for me.” Ted slides his hand down my arm to hold my hand again. “I guess with me you get a different type of baggage—and it won’t look so great on the cover of a magazine.”
I close my eyes, my fingers weave between his. The feel of his skin, like a warm sea that I want to cover every part of me.
“My boss is in Jersey, Ted. It’s all set up. I can’t let them all down at the last minute.”
He drops my hand, and my skin goes cold.
“You’re right. It isn’t worth losing your job over.”
His words sting.
“If I hadn’t met you, Jasper and I would work,” I say, almost angrily. “We have everything in common, he’s my age, he’s single—he’s . . .” I groan in frustration, not sure what I’m saying, or why I feel angry.
“I get it. You don’t need to explain. I shouldn’t have made things more complicated for you.”
The cabdriver beeps his horn.
“Look, Ted”—I close my eyes, trying to think—“just let me get this shoot out the way. It’s not like I’m marrying the guy—it’s a few photos. There’s nothing to stop you and I getting to know each other better after that. We could meet up in London when you’re back.”
“You’d be telling the world that this is the man you’ve fallen for,” says Ted. “You really want to do that, if it’s not true?”
Before I can reply, he brushes a hand through his hair and glances back up the hill to my waiting cab. Then he kicks the grass, turns, and walks toward the house. I’m left watching his broad back retreat from my reach. The judgment implicit in his words fuels my anger.
“Maybe some girls need more than a ‘hey, let’s hang out,’ Ted!” I call after him in frustration. “I can’t risk my whole future on a ‘maybe.’？”
Ted turns at the top of the garden, his jaw clenched. “You want me to turn up here in a horse-drawn carriage with a dozen roses? Maybe some fireworks in the sky spelling out how I feel? Laura, I like you and I think you like me. I’d hoped that would be enough for now.”
He turns to go into the house, not even waiting for me to respond. I clench my fists and run to the waiting cab. Of course I don’t need fireworks and roses, what an arsehole thing to say. But he’s expecting me to let everyone down, stand up poor Jasper—who’s been nothing but kind to me—all for a “I kind of like you,” like we’re seven years old or something? Plus, Ted’s life is a complete mess. I bite my lip so hard it hurts. I do feel terrible for him about his work situation, the stress he must be under, and I wish I could just go back and give him a hug—make sure he’s OK.