It had.
Seven years ago with Nia, and then again with her this morning, when she’d thrown that curve ball at him.
Her changing her mind had been enough to make him push her away. Even though he wanted exactly what she wanted.
He shuddered as the memory of his reply pushed its way into his head and, jerking his gaze away from the window, he ran his hand over his face.
There were a thousand ways he could have responded, and he’d had to pick that one.
Across the room, his neatly made bed mocked him.
He couldn’t just sit here brooding and, standing up, he walked swiftly to the door. Maybe if he moved fast enough he might be able to put some distance between himself and all thoughts of Nia.
As he walked through the house he could hear Tom and Diane, talking to Molly in the kitchen. Of all the beaut
iful rooms at Lamington, he knew it was their favourite. It was warm, and bright, and they found something comforting in the hum of the refrigerator and the smell of baking bread.
He lingered in the hall, drawn to the laughter and the domesticity. But he wouldn’t be much company, and the effort of pretending he felt fine was beyond him right now.
Spinning round, he made his way down to the garage.
The muscular contours of the supercar had drawn him there, but instead he found himself standing in front of Nia’s old Land Rover.
He scowled.
Great, he’d managed not to think about her for roughly five minutes.
His gaze rested on the Land Rover. It looked like an old seaside donkey stabled next to a thoroughbred racehorse.
Why hadn’t she replaced it before?
Then everything would have been fine.
Picturing her pale, unguarded face, he swore softly.
From somewhere nearby he heard the sharp, insistent trill of a mobile phone and, peering into the Land Rover, he saw Nia’s phone juddering across the seat.
As he yanked open the door it rang out.
For a moment he stared at it in silence, remembering her words.
Nine nights.
It had caught him off guard—Nia saying out loud what he had been thinking and pretending not to think.
Only why pretend? One night wasn’t enough. They both knew it.
But only Nia had been brave enough to say it.
Admitting it now served no purpose. It was too little, too late.
His chest tightened.
That was what his grandfather had used to say to him when he had forgotten to do a chore and then tried to make amends by offering to help the next time. It was too little, too late.
Gazing blankly out of the kitchen window, Nia felt numb. It was over three hours since Farlan had driven off and she had stumbled into the cottage, her skin hot and tight with the shame of his rejection.
She had spent almost every one of those one hundred and eighty minutes replaying their conversation and trying to work out what had possessed her to act like that.