About the Authors

New York Times bestselling author SHIRLEY JUMP didn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com.

REBECCA WINTERS whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

CARA COLTER lives in British Columbia with her partner, Rob, and eleven horses. She has three grown children and a grandson. She is a recent recipient of an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award in the ‘Love and Laughter’ category. Cara loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her or learn more about her through her website: www.cara-colter.com.

One Winter’s Sunset

The Christmas Baby Surprise

Shirley Jump

Marry Me under the Mistletoe

Rebecca Winters

Snowflakes and Silver Linings

Cara Colter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08533-5

ONE WINTER’S SUNSET

The Christmas Baby Surprise © 2013 Shirley Kawa-Jump, LLC Marry Me under the Mistletoe © 2013 Rebecca Winters Snowflakes and Silver Linings © 2013 Cara Colter

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

The Christmas Baby Surprise

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Marry Me under the Mistletoe

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Snowflakes and Silver Linings

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

The Christmas Baby Surprise

Shirley Jump

The secret to mend their marriage

With an aching heart, Emily Watson knows her marriage is in trouble. She wants it to work more than anything in the world, so walking away from Cole is the hardest thing she’ll ever do. But one last night together is set to change her life and her marriage forever.…

Needing time to think, Emily returns to the one place that always feels like home: the Gingerbread Inn. It is the perfect setting to work out what to do with her little secret.

And when Cole finds her, and her growing bump, he realizes that this Christmas, some things are worth fighting for.…

To my husband, who makes everything better

with his smile.

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN EMILY WATSON ran away from her life, she did it in style. A pair of dark brown skinny jeans, four-inch heels, a shimmery cream shell, all topped with an oversize green cardigan belted at the waist. The clothes were designer, the shoes custom-made, but Emily didn’t care. The labels had never mattered to her, and a part of her missed the days when she bought jeans at the Goodwill and topped them with a ratty T that had been washed until the cotton became soft as silk.

She threw a couple suitcases into the trunk of the Volvo she’d bought, even though Cole had hated the big boxy car, then drove away from the house that no longer felt like home. Four hours later, she wound through the hilly roads of Brownsville, Massachusetts, then past glimmering Barrow Lake, until the big leafy trees parted, exposing the long gravel road that led up to the Gingerbread Inn. A small hand-painted sign with a wooden arrow pointing up the hill announced the inn, the familiar marker faded by time.

She rolled down the window and took in a deep breath of fresh, sweet fall air, along with the sense of being home. At peace. Finally.

The tires of Emily’s Volvo crunched over the gravel, sending pebbles scattering to the side. Anticipation filled her as she made her way up the road. Finally, she was back here. In the one place where life made sense, the one place where she had found peace, and most of all, the one place where she hoped to find herself again.

She put a hand over her belly. Too soon to feel anything more than an almost-imperceptible curve beneath her pants but Emily had taken to talking to Sweet Pea, as she’d dubbed the baby inside her. “Almost there, Sweet Pea.”

And there, Emily vowed, she would start a new life. She’d left almost all remnants of her old life behind, to come here and get some time to think, plan, strategize her next move. Because no matter what, Emily Watson refused to return to the status quo. Or return to Cole, the man she had once loved. The man she had married—and now was ready to divorce.

Once upon a time was a long, long time ago. The years spent in a lonely, unfulfilling marriage had taught Emily that fairy tales should be reserved for the foolish.

The two-story Georgian-style inn came into view. Shaded at first by the late-fall sun above, it looked sad, lonely, dark. As she drew closer, Emily slowed the car. The anticipation built, then as her eyes adjusted and she saw the full view of the inn, her anticipation imploded into disappointment. What had happened?

The once white gingerbread trim had faded to a dingy gray. Paint peeled off the wooden clapboards, and the wraparound front porch sagged in the center, as if the inn was frowning. Weeds sprang up among the stones of the walkway, and the landscaping that had once been so beautiful it had been featured in a local gardening magazine had become overgrown and tired.

But that wasn’t what hit Emily the hardest. It was the red-and-white For Sale sign tacked to the building, hanging a little askew, as if even the Realtor had lost hope.

She parked, got out, but didn’t take a step. What was she supposed to do now? She’d counted on staying at the Gingerbread Inn, not just for an escape, but as a way to find closure and connection. A long time ago, she had formed her best memories here, with Andrea and Casey and Melissa—

Oh, Melissa.

Just the thought of her late friend made Emily’s heart ache. But Melissa had made it clear she wouldn’t want that. Get on with your life and your dreams, she’d written in her final letter. Don’t let anything hold you back.

Don’t let anything—even a For Sale sign?

Emily’s hand went to her belly again. She had to do this. Not just for herself, but for Pea, too. Sure, she could afford to stay at a hotel, even jet to Italy and spend a week in a villa, but that wasn’t where Emily’s heart lay. It wasn’t the place she needed so desperately to be right now.

Emily glanced down at her hand, at the ornate diamond ring in its platinum setting. She slid it off and tucked it in her pocket. It was time to accept that she was moving on.

Away from Cole.

The front door of the inn opened, and a petite gray-haired woman came out onto the porch. She had on a deep orange apron with yellow edging, a pale pink T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts and sneakers that had seen better days. Emily’s face broke into a grin, and she crossed the drive in fast strides. “Carol!”

The inn owner’s face lit with recognition and she came hurrying down the steps. “Emily Watson? Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you!”

The two women embraced, a long hearty hug, the kind that came from years of friendship. Emily had spent so much time at the inn in the summers of her childhood that Carol seemed more like an aunt or an extra grandmother than the owner. She still carried the scent of home-baked bread, as if everything good about the world surrounded Carol Parsons.

A wet nose nudged at Emily’s jeans. She grinned and looked down at a golden shaggy dog that had a little Golden in her, a little something else. “Is this Wesley’s daughter?”

Carol nodded. “Meet Harper. She’s a bit of a mutt, but she’s lovable and goofy and all the things you want in a dog.”

Emily bent down and ruffled Harper’s ears. “You’ve got a heck of a reputation to live up to, missy.”

The dog wagged her tail, lolled her tongue and looked about as unworried as a retriever mix could look. Then she turned and bounded off into the woods, barking an invitation to play at a squirrel.

Emily rose. “I’m so glad you’re still here, Carol. When I saw the For Sale sign, I was afraid...”

“Don’t you worry. I’m still here. Hanging on by a thread, but here. Anyway, that’s a sad story for another day.” Carol gestured toward the inn. “Do you want to come in? Stay a while?”

“Actually...” Emily pointed toward the bag in the back of her car. “I was hoping to stay a long while.”

Carol’s green eyes searched Emily’s, and then her face filled with compassion, understanding. “You stay as long as you want, dear. There’s always a room for you here.”

That was what Emily loved about Carol. She’d never asked questions, never pried. Merely offered a helping hand and a shoulder to cry on, whenever one was needed. Emily hadn’t had that kind of bond with her own mother, or heck, any of the female relatives in her family. But she had with Carol, and had looked forward to her summers here as much as she looked forward to sunshine after a cloudy day. She’d spent more time in the kitchen of the inn, helping Carol knead bread and peel potatoes, than probably anywhere else in the world.

The two of them headed inside the inn. The porch creaked a warning as Emily crossed the rotting floorboards. The swing needed a coat of paint, and several of the balustrades had fallen to the ground below. The front door still had the large beveled glass panel that defined its elegance, but inside, everything else looked old, tired, worn. The hardwood floor of the foyer had darkened with age, and one of the parlor’s windows rattled against the breeze trying to make its way under the sill. A water stain on the ceiling spoke of plumbing trouble above, while the steam radiators hissed and sputtered a weak wave of heat to break fall’s chill.

Emily stowed her bag by the door, then followed Carol into the kitchen. This room, too, had been hit hard by time. The once-bright and happy sunflower wallpaper was peeling, and the white vinyl floor was scuffed and torn in some places. The same long maple table dominated the center of the kitchen, flanked by eight chairs, enough for the help to have dinner, or a few up-too-late teenage girls to grab a midnight snack.

Carol crossed to the coffeepot. “Do you want a cup? I’ve also got some bread that just came out of the oven. It’s warm, if you want a slice.”

“No coffee, but I’d love some bread. Who can turn down that bit of heaven? Do you have honey for it?”

“I do indeed. If there’s one thing that’s still producing here, it’s the bees.” Carol grinned, but Emily could see the pain behind the facade. Carol retrieved two mugs of coffee, a plate of bread slices and some honey before returning to the table. She held her cup between her hands and let out a long sigh. “I bet you’re wondering why this place looks like this and why I have it up for sale.”

“Yeah, but I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” Emily had plenty going wrong in her own life that she wasn’t keen to discuss, either.

“It’s okay. It’s been hardest for me to tell the regular guests. Those people are like my family, and to think that the Gingerbread Inn will one day no longer exist...it just breaks my heart. But there’s only so much I can do.” Carol dropped her gaze to her coffee. “After my husband died, this place got to be too much for one person. Revenue dropped off when the economy struggled, and I just couldn’t afford to hire people to keep up with the maintenance. I love it here, I really do, but it’s got to the point now where the whole thing is too much. I don’t even know where to begin to repair and rebuild. So I put it on the market. Maybe I’ll get enough money to pay for a little cottage near the beach.”

Harper wriggled through the dog door in the kitchen, took one look at the two women and ducked under the kitchen table, her tail beating a comforting patter against the tile floor. Carol gave the dog a loving pat.

“I hate to see you sell it. I like knowing the inn is here, if...” Emily sighed. “If I ever need it.”

Carol’s green eyes met Emily’s, and her face filled with concern. She reached out, covered one of Emily’s hands with her own. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Just a lot going on in my life right now,” Emily said. An understatement if there ever was one.

This morning, she’d walked out on her ten-year marriage. They’d already been separated for six months, but separated was a loose term when it came to Cole. He’d stopped by at least once a week, for everything from his favorite golf club to checking to make sure the lawn mower had enough gas for when the landscapers came by.

It was as if he didn’t want to accept it was over. Okay, she hadn’t made that message any clearer by sleeping with him again. One crazy night, fueled by nostalgia and memories, and she’d forgotten all the reasons they were wrong for each other. The reasons she had asked for a separation. The reasons why she couldn’t live with a man who broke her heart almost every day.

Emily finally realized that if she wanted space, she’d have to get it for herself. And with the new life inside her, she needed to have a clear head to make one big decision.

File for divorce or try one more time.

“Well, you take whatever time you need,” Carol said. “If there’s one thing this place is perfect for, it’s thinking.”

“I’m counting on that,” Emily said, then got to her feet for a second slice of bread. It didn’t help her think, but it sure helped her feel like she’d come to the right place. Something about being back at the Gingerbread Inn filled her soul, and right now, Emily Watson needed that more than anything.

* * *

Cole Watson bounded up the stairs of his house—okay, technically it wasn’t his right now, even if he was still making the mortgage payments—with a bottle of wine in one hand and a dozen roses in the other. He reached for the front door handle, then paused.

This was Emily’s house now. That meant no barging in, something she’d made clear more than once. He lived in a condo across town. A space of his own that was as empty as a cavern, and still echoed loneliness when he walked in at the end of the day. That was his home, like it or not, and this place no longer was, which meant he had to stop acting like he could barge in, grab the remote and prop his feet on the coffee table. He rang the bell, even though it felt weirder than hell to ring the bell of a house he still wrote a check for every month. Waited. No answer. Rang it again.

Nothing.

He fished out his key—she’d never changed the locks, something he had taken as a good sign—unlocked the door and went inside, pausing in the vast two-story foyer. Even fully furnished, professionally decorated, the massive house felt empty, sad. Seven thousand square feet of gleaming marble and granite, and it seemed...

Forlorn.

The same copper bowl he remembered them buying on a trip to Mexico sat on the foyer table, waiting for his keys. A neat stack of mail addressed to Cole sat beside the bowl under the Tiffany lamp he had bought for their first anniversary. In the parlor to the right, the same white love seat and armchairs that Emily had hated and he had bought anyway sat, facing the east garden. And down the hall, he could see the wrought-iron kitchen table and chairs, a gift from his mother years ago.

The house was the same, but...different. Off, somehow.

Then Cole spied the slip of paper atop the mail and realized why. He laid the wine and roses on the foyer table and picked up the note.

Went out of town. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t call me. I need some time to think. To figure out my next step.

Emily

The cold, stark words hit him hard. They were separated. Did he think she was going to leave him some gushy love note? Still, the reality stung, and reminded him that the marriage he thought he had and the one he did have were two very different things.

Went out of town. Where? Why? With someone?

That thought pained him the most, and drove home the other fact that Cole had yet to face. If he and Emily couldn’t repair their marriage, then at some point she would move on, find someone else. Another man would see her smile, make her laugh, hold her in the dark of night.

And rightly so, because they were over and had been for a long time. Didn’t matter if Cole was having trouble accepting the fact.

Against his hip, his cell phone buzzed. He flipped it out and answered the call. “Cole here.”

“We’ve got a wrinkle in the product launch,” said Doug, his project manager. “There was a bad storm in Japan, and the plant that’s supposed to make the screens for us was damaged pretty heavily. They aren’t sure when they’ll be back online.”

“Call someone else.”

“I did. There’s a backlog on the materials. Seems we wiped out the inventory. It’ll be two weeks before they can produce more—”

“I’ll take care of it. Get me on the first flight to...” Cole fingered the note in his hands. I need some time to think. To figure out my next step.

The next step. There were only two options—get back together or get divorced. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which way Emily was leaning.

Don’t call me.

She didn’t want him to contact her. The bridge he’d hoped might still be there between them, the connection he’d been counting on when he’d shown up with wine and roses, was gone. She’d underlined the words. Made it clear she didn’t want him coming close.

His marriage was over.

“Cole? Did you want a flight to the plant in Japan? Or to the manufacturer in Poland?”

Cole Watson, who had never had an indecisive moment in his life, stood in the empty foyer of the house he no longer lived in and wavered. “Uh...”

He glanced at the note again. Figure out the next step.

Then he glanced at his left hand. At the gold band that still sat there, and had for the past ten years. He imagined it gone, imagined this house gone, sold. Neither of those thoughts gave him more than a flicker of loss.

But then he glanced at the five letters at the bottom of the note. Emily.

Gone.

That thought ripped a seam in his heart. He crumpled the note in his fist and dropped it into the copper bowl. It circled the bowl, then landed with a soft plunk in the center. “The screens can wait,” he said to Doug. “I have another matter to take care of first.”

“But, but—”

“Don’t worry, Doug. I’ll handle it.” Cole could hear the panic rising in Doug’s voice. The man had a tendency to panic first, think second. “By the time I’m through, we’ll look back at this moment as a blip on the radar. A momentary setback.”

But as Cole hung up the phone and tried to figure out where in the world his wife might have gone and how he was going to deal with whatever next step was coming his way, he realized he wasn’t talking about the screens at all. He was talking about his marriage.

CHAPTER TWO

IN THE SMALL but cozy bedroom where she’d spent many a childhood summer, a blank computer screen and blinking cursor stared back at Emily, waiting for her to fill it with words. Something it had been doing for the past twenty minutes. She’d type a word, backspace, delete. Type another. Backspace, delete. What had happened to her? In college, she had been able to write short stories like a chicken producing eggs. Now when she finally had time and space to write, she couldn’t manage to get a word onto the page. This was her dream, and all she could do was stare at it.

Her focus had deserted her. Heck, it had left town months ago. She needed to get her priorities in line again. Somehow.

A light fall breeze whispered through the couple inches of open window, dancing with the white lace curtains and casting sparkles of sunshine on the white-and-blue space. The low sounds of a radio playing downstairs, probably while Carol worked, made for a harmony with the chatter of the birds outside. It was a serene, perfect setting, the kind of place any writer would love to have. Well, any writer without writer’s block, that was.

Emily crossed to her bag, and tugged out the envelope she’d tucked into the front pocket. Melissa’s last note, mailed to her, and she presumed, also to the other girls.

Dear Gingerbread Girls,

I’m laughing as I write that little nickname for us. Remember those crazy summers we had at the Gingerbread Inn? All those adventures in town and late at night? It’s no wonder someone dubbed us the Gingerbread Girls. Heck, we were always together, thick as thieves, Carol used to say.

I miss that. I know we’ve all got older and have gone on with our lives, but oh how I miss those summers, those connections. That’s the one big regret I have now. That we couldn’t figure out a time for a reunion and now it’s too late. I won’t get to see you all one last time.

Promise me you’ll get together. Promise me you’ll keep the Gingerbread Girls alive. Promise me you’ll all follow your dreams, the ones we talked about that day by the lake. I still have my rock. Sometimes I hold it and think back to that day.

You are all the best friends I could ever hope for and I will be forever grateful for the summers we spent together.

Melissa

Tears blurred the letter in Emily’s eyes. She drew in a shaky breath, then propped the letter beside the computer, holding it in place with a small oval stone that she had kept with her for the past fifteen years. Somewhere out there, two other matching stones sat in drawers or on desks, or somewhere. Did Andrea and Casey see the stones the same way? Did they remember that day?

The women had fallen out of touch over the years, separated by busy lives and families. Maybe it was time to get the Gingerbread Girls back together. Before Emily could think twice, she shot off a quick email to both Andrea and Casey, including her cell phone number and an invitation to come to the inn. She left off the news about the For Sale sign, because she hoped to find a way to talk Carol out of that choice.

And in the process, she would write this book, damn it. She would follow her dreams. Emily needed this do over. Needed it...a lot.

A knock sounded on the door. Emily got to her feet and opened the bedroom door to Carol. “Good timing,” Emily said with a laugh. “I’ve got writer’s block on the first word.”

“I’ve got some coffee and cookies that should help with that,” Carol said. “But first, there’s someone here to see you.”

“Someone here to see me?” How could that be? She’d told no one where she was going, and had only sent the email to the other girls a couple minutes ago. Unless they were in the driveway when they got it, there was no way either Andrea or Casey could show up that fast. No one else would be able to track her down so quickly. No one but—

“Cole.”

Carol grinned. “How’d you guess? Yes, he’s here. Waiting in the parlor to talk to you.” Then her good friend’s face fell. “Are you okay, honey? Do you want me to tell him to come back later?”

“No.” Emily knew Cole and knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The qualities that had made him a successful businessman had made him a terrible husband. Win at all costs. That pretty much summed up Cole. When they’d been dating, she’d seen that attitude as one that meant he wanted her and their life together more than anything in the world. But she’d been wrong. What Cole wanted, more than anything or anyone, was success, regardless of the cost to attain it. Then as the years went on, he’d employed that approach to arguments, major decisions, everything. She’d had enough and walked away.

But Cole refused to get the message.

“I’ll talk to him,” Emily said. “Just give me a minute.”

“Sure, hon. Take whatever time you need. I’ll talk his ear off. Might as well make him suffer.” Carol let out a little laugh, then put an understanding hand on Emily’s arm. “If it helps, he looks miserable.”

Emily thanked Carol, then shut the door. She faced her reflection in the oval mirror that hung over the antique dresser. She was still clad in a pair of pale blue flannel pajamas, her hair in a messy topknot on her head, and her face bare of makeup. She looked a million miles away from Cole Watson’s wife.

Perfect.

Without doing so much as tucking a wayward strand of hair back into place, Emily spun on her sock-clad feet and headed out of the room and down to the parlor. She no longer cared what she looked like when she saw Cole. She was no longer going to be the woman who stressed about every crease, every spot, who worried about her public image as the CEO’s wife. She was going to be who she was—before.

Cole stood by the window, his back to her. He wore a tailored dark blue suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, tapered waist, the hours he spent in the gym. His dark hair was getting a little long and now brushed against the back of his collar. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, just as it always had. That was one thing that had never changed—her attraction to him. Her hormones had never listened to her brain.

He turned as she approached, even though she’d made almost no sound entering the room. “What are you doing here?” he said, or rather, barked.

So much for some kind of tender moment. What had she expected, really? They were no longer together, and maybe someday her heart would get the message. “How did you find me?”

“There is only one place in the world that you have talked about missing, and it’s this place. I took a chance that’s where you’d go, and I was right.”

Well, he’d listened to her talk about the inn. Too bad he hadn’t listened to any of the other problems between them. “Where I am and what I’m doing is no longer your concern, Cole,” she said.

“You’re my wife, Emily.”

“We’ve been separated for six months. I’m not your anything anymore.”

His face took on a pained look, but it disappeared a split second later. “Be that as it may, I should at least know where you are, in case something happens.”

“Well, now you know.” She turned on her heel and headed out of the room.

He caught up to her, his hand reaching for her, but not connecting, as if he’d just remembered they were no longer together. She noticed the glint of gold, the ring he still wore. Because he hadn’t thought to take it off? Or because he hadn’t given up yet?

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t go. I want to talk to you.”

She wheeled around. When she met his blue eyes, a little hitch caught in her throat. A hitch she cursed. “We’re done talking, Cole. Nothing’s changed in ten years—nothing’s changing now. Just—” she let out a long sigh “—let me go. Please.”

And this time, he did just as she asked. Emily walked out of the room, and Cole didn’t follow. She paused at the top of the stairs, waiting until she heard the click of the door. Then she returned to her room, put a hand on her belly and told herself she’d done the right thing.

* * *

Cole stood on the ramshackle porch for a long time. How had it got to this point? What had he missed?

There had been a time when he could smile at Emily, or take her out for a night on the town, and whatever was wrong between them would disappear for a while. But this time, he’d sensed a distance, a wall that had never been there before. Or maybe he’d just never noticed it until now.

Until his wife had crossed two states to get away from him. To this place, this...inn.

He glanced at the run-down house behind him. The overgrown grounds. The peeling paint. Why had Emily come here, of all the places in the world? With what they had in their joint bank account, she could have afforded a five-star hotel in the south of France. Instead, she came to this...

Mess.

Frustration built inside him, but there was nowhere to go with that feeling. Nowhere but back home to New York, and to work. He took a step off the porch, and as he did, a crunch sounded beneath his foot and the top step crumpled beneath his weight, sending his leg crashing through a hole and down onto the soft earth below. He let out a curse, then yanked his leg out.

The door opened. Cole’s hopes rose, then sank, when he saw the inn’s owner, Carol, not Emily, come onto the porch. “Are you okay? I thought I heard a crash,” Carol said.

“The step broke.” Cole put up a hand of caution. “That porch isn’t safe. You might want to block it off or hire someone to fix it.”

“Okay.” One word, spoken on a sigh, topped by a frown.

Cole had been in business long enough to read the signs of a beleaguered owner, one who had more bills than cash. “I could call someone for you. Considering I broke the step, I should be the one to fix it.” Sympathy filled him. He still remembered those early, cash-strapped days when he’d been building his business, watching every dime and trying to do everything himself. Sacrifice had been at the top of his to-do list for many years.

Carol shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly ask you—”

“Consider it done,” Cole said. He had his phone halfway to his ear before he reconsidered.

Fixing that board would only take a minute or two. Calling someone to fix that board would take a lot longer. At least an hour, even if he paid a rush fee, to get someone out here, just to nail a board in place. Judging by the looks of the place, the inn’s owner had enough problems on her plate without adding in a wait on a contractor.

“If you have some nails and a piece of wood, I could put in a temporary fix,” Cole said. Where the heck had that come from? He hadn’t done contractor work for years. His hands were so soft from working at a desk they might as well be mittens.

“I have lots of supplies,” Carol said, pointing to a building a few yards away. “Help yourself.”

“Will do.” Maybe it would feel good to work with his hands again. And maybe he was just trying to delay leaving, hoping for a miracle with Emily.

Carol went back inside, so Cole headed for the garage. It took him a little while, but he found a tape measure, some plywood and a hammer and nails. He measured the space, ripped the board on a dusty table saw, then hammered the wood onto the risers. The actions came naturally to him, as if he had never walked away from construction.

The sun beat down on him, brought sweat to his brow and a warmth to his back. He had hung his suit jacket over the porch rail, taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves. By the time he finished, all four stairs had new treads. And yes, it had probably taken as long as it would have taken had he called someone, but he had the bonus of feeling like he’d done something productive. Something he could look at and see, an almost-instant result, the opposite of how things happened when he made decisions at his desk.

Emily came out onto the porch. Surprise lit her features when she saw him. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing the board I broke. Then I noticed the other steps were about ready to break, so I replaced those, too.”

She moved closer and peered over the railing at his work. “You still remember how to do all that?”

“Like riding a bike.” Cole leaned against the handrail, which he’d made more secure with a few nails earlier. “It was just like the old days.”

Did she remember those days? That tiny apartment they’d lived in, how they’d rushed home at the end of the day, exhausted but excited to see each other? She’d bandaged his cuts, he’d bring her a glass of cheap wine, and they would sit on the fire escape and watch the city go by. The world would be perfect for a little while.

“I guess you don’t forget some things,” she said.

“No, you don’t.” But he wasn’t talking about hammers or measurements or anything related to construction. “Do you remember those days, Em?”

“Of course.” Her voice was soft, her green eyes tender, then she cleared her throat and drew herself up. “We’ve moved a long way away from those days, though. In more ways than one.”

He pushed off from the rail and stood beneath her. “What if we could get them back? What if we could be the people we used to be? Would we have a chance then?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “Fixing some steps doesn’t bring us back there, Cole. You’ve changed...I’ve changed. What we want has changed. You can’t turn back the clock.” She gave the railing a tap. “Have a safe trip back.”

Then she went inside and shut the door, closing the door on him, as well. Cole stood there a long, long time, then picked up the tools, returned them to the garage, got in his car and drove away. He’d done all he could here, he realized. And the sooner he accepted that fact, the better.

But as he left the Gingerbread Inn, and the run-down building got smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror, Cole wondered...if he could turn back the clock with the inn, maybe it would be enough to turn back the clock with his wife, too.

CHAPTER THREE

BY BREAKFAST THE next day, Emily had ten pages written and a swelling sense of satisfaction. They might not be good pages, heck, they might not even be publishable pages, but they were closer than she’d got to her dream of publishing a novel in years. All those years in high school and college when she’d written short stories, and made fits and starts at different novels, but never finished any of them. Now with hours of uninterrupted time, her creativity exploded, with pages springing to life as fast as she could write them. She got to her feet, stretching after the long hours in the hard wooden desk chair.

Nausea rolled through her in a wave. She gripped the back of the chair, drew in a deep breath and waited for it to pass. It didn’t.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said to her belly, “I thought this was supposed to end with the first trimester.”

The baby, of course, didn’t answer, and the nausea kept on pitching and rolling her stomach, neither caring that the calendar said Emily was just past three months pregnant. Her clothes still fit, if a little snugly, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before she would start to show.

And that would mean telling people about the baby. People like Cole.

Emily sighed. She loved her husband—she really did—but she had stopped being in love with him a long time ago. She’d tried, Lord knew she’d tried, to make it work, thinking maybe if she kept acting like a wife, she’d feel like one. But the relationship they had had when they’d first got married had drained away, like a hose with a pinhole. The loss had come so gradually that one day she’d woken up and realized it was over, in her heart, in her head, and continuing the facade would only hurt both of them. Six months ago, she’d asked Cole to move out, and he’d gone, without a fight.

Then Cole had come to her one night, telling her he’d do anything to have his wife back. He’d been so sincere, so racked with sorrow, she’d believed him, and found the old passion ignited. One crazy night, a night where she’d believed yes, he finally got it, and maybe they could make it work—

And in the morning he was gone, off on yet another business trip. She was left alone again. She’d had a good cry, called a lawyer and filed for a formal separation.

Two weeks later, she’d realized her period was late and that one night had resulted in the only thing Emily had ever wanted—and Cole never had.

A child.

She’d kept the pregnancy a secret, and kept her distance from Cole, resolving to do this on her own. Now she had a baby on the way into her life and a husband on his way out. Either way, Emily was determined to make her new existence work.

She pulled on some sweatpants and an old T-shirt, then headed out of her room and downstairs toward the kitchen. A little dry toast should take the edge off this nausea, and then she could go back to work on the book.

Emily was just reaching for the loaf of bread on the counter when she heard a tap-tap-tapping coming from outside the window. She leaned over the sink, and peeked out into the bright late-fall day.

Cole stood on a ladder, perched against the side of the building, hammering in a new piece of siding. He’d switched from dress clothes to a crisp new pair of jeans and a dark blue T-shirt that hugged the planes of his chest. Sunglasses obscured his blue eyes, and a leather tool belt hung at a sexy angle from his hips. For a second, her heart melted.

“He was here when I woke up this morning,” Carol said as she entered the kitchen.

Emily turned around and put her back to the window. What did Cole think he was doing? Did he think that fixing the inn’s porch would fix them, too? “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m just glad for the help. Anything he can fix helps me in selling this place.”

Emily sighed. “It’s going to be so weird not to have this place here anymore. The Gingerbread Inn is such a big part of my childhood.”

Carol paused by the coffeepot. “Do you want a cup?”

“Uh, no. I’ll have tea instead.” Emily grabbed the kettle off the stove, filled it with water, then set it over the flame. Outside, Cole had stopped hammering. Emily resisted the urge to look outside and see what he was doing now. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d leave. Either way, he rarely stayed away from the office for more than a few hours, so whatever “fixing” he was doing would be done soon and Cole would go back to being his usual Type A, nose-to-the-grindstone self. She’d be on her own, just her and the baby, which was exactly what she wanted, she told herself. Her hand strayed to her stomach, a protective barrier.

Emily looked up and noticed Carol watching her. “What?”

“Tea, huh?”

Emily fished an herbal tea bag out of the glass mason jar next to the stove and held it up. “Yup.”

“Decaf, too. In the morning.” Carol cupped her hands around her mug of coffee and assessed Emily. “Anything you want to share?”

“Nope, nope.” She’d said that too fast, Emily realized. But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about the baby yet. She thumbed toward her room. “I should get back to writing. I’m on a roll.”

If she stayed in this kitchen one more minute, she was sure Carol would read the truth in her face. The kettle whistled and Emily turned to pour the water. She heard a sound behind her and pivoted back.

Cole stood in the kitchen, watching her. In jeans and a T-shirt, he looked so much like the man she’d fallen in love with that Emily’s heart stuttered, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Cole still had the same lean physique as he’d had in college, and her mind flashed images of every muscle, every plane. Her hormones kept overriding her common sense.

Carol murmured some excuse about needing to start laundry and headed out of the room. Emily shifted her gaze away from Cole and down to her teacup. She dipped the bag up and down, up and down, avoiding Cole’s blue eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“Helping Carol out.”

“I can see that.” She let out a frustrated gust. “Why?”

“She’s obviously in a tight spot right now and—”

“Cole, stop making up excuses for being here. I’ve been married to you for ten years, and you have never so much as hung a picture in all that time. So don’t tell me you got this sudden urge to become Homer Handyman.”

“Homer Handyman?” She could hear the smile in his voice, as he crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I’m not making up excuses, Emily. I saw Carol needed help, and I wanted to do what I could. I haven’t worked with my hands since college, and I have to admit, it feels good.”

“Then go home and build a box or something. Don’t stay here.”

Cole paused in front of her and waited until she lifted her gaze to his. “Home isn’t home for me anymore.”

She refused to feel bad about that. Refused to let the echoes in his voice affect her. Their marriage had disintegrated, and Cole knew that as well as she did. “Why are you really here, Cole?”

His blue eyes softened, and for a moment, she saw the Cole she used to know. The Cole she had fallen in love with on a bright spring day on the NYU campus. “Because this place means a lot to you,” he said quietly.

The cold wall between her heart and his began to defrost, and Emily found herself starting to reach for Cole, for the man she used to know, used to love. Then his cell phone rang, the familiar trill that signaled a call from the company’s CFO, and Cole stepped back, unclipping the phone with one hand and putting up a finger asking her to wait a minute with the other.

Emily shook her head, then grabbed her tea and walked out of the kitchen before she was once again foolish enough to believe that anything had changed.

* * *

Chaos had descended on the offices of Watson Technology Development, if the number of calls, texts and emails Cole had received in the past hour were any indication. He’d been gone less than forty-eight hours and people were in a panic.

Rightly so, he supposed, considering he spent more hours at WTD than anywhere else in the world. Ever since the day he’d started it, Cole had dedicated most of his waking hours to the company that bore his name. In the beginning, the hours had been a necessity, as he worked his way up from a one-man office to a global company with offices in three U.S. cities and two foreign locations, building computers, cell phones and custom technology solutions for his customers.

It took him a good hour to calm down his assistant, and to wade through all the crises that needed his attention. The urge to run back to the office and handle everything himself ran strong in Cole, but every time he glanced at the pile of wood and tools, he remembered that he was here for another reason.

Not to fix the Gingerbread Inn—though that was the reason he’d given Emily—but to fix his marriage. Deep in his heart, Cole knew he had run out of chances, and if he let Emily go this time, what they had between them would die like a plant stuck in a dark corner for too long. That was partly his fault, he knew, and the only way to fix it was to stay here. Put in the time, handle the project of his marriage like he did any project at work—lots of man-hours.

When he hung up with the office, he flipped out his phone and made a quick list of everything that the Gingerbread Inn needed done to make it sellable. By the time he got to number fifty, he knew he needed two things—a couple of professionals, because some of the jobs were out of his realm—and a second set of hands.

Another half hour on the phone and he had a plumber, electrician and a roofer lined up to come out and give him estimates. The last call he made was to the one man he knew who would drop everything at a moment’s notice and travel anywhere in the world, just because a friend asked him to.

“Joe,” Cole said when the call connected. “How would you like to vacation in Massachusetts for the holidays?”

Joe laughed. “Did I just hear the great and busy Oz say the word vacation?”

“It won’t be a long one, but yes, I’m taking some time off. I’m working on a project here and could use an extra set of hands.” Cole explained about the inn and its owner’s financial struggles. “Plus, Em’s here.”

“She is? How’s that going?”

“Not so well. I’m just trying—” he sighed, pressed a finger to his temple “—to give us one more chance. I’m hoping that she sees my being here as being committed to her, to us.”

“I always thought you two were going to live a long and happy life together,” Joe said.

“Yeah, me too.” Cole sighed again.

His friend thought for a second. “Give me a couple days to tie up the loose ends I have here, and then I’ll join you. It’ll be good to catch up. How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Cole said. “Far too long.”

He hung up with Joe, then put his phone away and surveyed the work ahead of him. There was plenty to do, for sure. His gaze wandered to the second-floor bedroom where Emily was staying. The room was only twenty feet or so away, but it might as well have been on the moon.

Earlier, in the kitchen, there’d been a moment, a split second, really, where he’d thought maybe he could see a bridge back to them. Somehow, he needed to build more of those moments. One on top of another, and the bridge would connect them again. He hoped.

He headed back into the house and found Emily in the kitchen, opening a package of saltines. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and a fitted T-shirt. The clothes outlined her hourglass shape, the narrow valley of her waist, the tight curve of her rear end, and sent a roar of desire through him. Damn, he’d missed her. In a hundred different ways.

“Hey, Emily,” he said.

She turned around, a saltine in her hand. “Cole.”

There was no emotion in that syllable, nothing that he could read and pinpoint as a clue to how she felt about him. He cleared his throat, took a step closer.

“I was thinking of taking a break for lunch,” he said. “Would you like to go into town with me? I need to get some supplies, too.”

“Sorry, no. I’m, uh, working on something.”

“Working on something? What?”

“Something personal,” she said, and turned toward the cabinet to get a glass.

The door had shut between them, and she had no intentions of opening it—that much was clear. Cole should cut his losses, go back to New York and bury himself in work. Accept the divorce and move on, like she had.

Then why did he stay in the kitchen like a lovelorn teenager? He grabbed a glass of water that he didn’t want, hoping Emily would talk to him. Instead, she gathered her crackers and her drink and headed for the hall. “Em?”

She turned back. “Yeah?”

“Is there any chance?”

The question hung in the sunny kitchen for a long moment. Emily’s green eyes met his, and for a second, hope leaped in his chest. She shook her head and lowered her gaze. “No, Cole, there isn’t.”

Then she brushed by him and out of the room, leaving Cole more alone than he could ever remember feeling.

CHAPTER FOUR

TWO FRIENDLY, HAPPY emails greeted Emily when she got back to her room. Andrea and Casey, both thrilled to hear from her and chock-full of their own news. Casey, the more dramatic of the three, was full of boisterous stories about her life, while Andrea talked about working at her family shop during tough economic times. They were both surprised to hear the inn was up for sale, and both said they’d try to make it out there before the holidays. “I’d love to give the place one more goodbye,” Casey wrote, “and give you a great big hug, too. It’ll be great to see you all and maybe raise a toast to Melissa. We’ll stand out on the dock and give her a proper goodbye.”

Emily wrote back, telling them that sounded like a fabulous idea, and encouraging her friends to arrive as soon as possible. Her hands hovered over the keyboard while she debated how much to tell them. “Things are going great with me,” she said finally, lying through her fingers. “Can’t wait to see you!” She left it on a bright, cheery note, even adding a smiley face. Then she hit Send, and tried to work on her book again.

The words wouldn’t come. After eating the saltines, her nausea had passed, and her stomach rumbled, reminding her it was lunchtime. A lunch she could have enjoyed with Cole, if she’d taken him up on his offer.

Doing so would only tempt her all over again, and the last thing she needed was to be tempted by Cole. She placed a hand on her belly and splayed her fingers against the tiny life deep inside her. “We’ll be okay, Sweet Pea. I promise.”

Carol poked her head into Emily’s room. “I made a salad for lunch. Want some?” Carol noted Emily’s hesitation, and added, “Cole left. Said he had to go to town.”

“Lunch sounds good. I was just starting to get hungry.” Emily shut the laptop’s lid, then followed Carol to the kitchen. Harper lay on the small rug in front of the back door, snarfling and twitching, probably chasing a rabbit in her doggy dreams.

Carol laid two heaping plates of spinach, strawberry and feta salad on the table. Sprinkles of roasted pecans and a raspberry vinaigrette finished off the tasty lunch. “So,” Carol said when she sat across from Emily, “when are you due?”

“When...what?” Heat rushed to Emily’s cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“Honey, I may not be able to know how to save this place, but I know when a woman is expecting. The tea, the nausea, the saltines. Plus you just have that look about you.”

“What look?”

“That excited-slash-terrified look.” Carol grinned. “My sister had three kids, and she looked like that every time.”

Emily picked at the salad. “May 17.”

Carol’s face exploded in a smile, and she jerked out of the chair to gather Emily in a tight, warm hug. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, and for the first time, the joy of what was coming began to infuse her. Sharing the news made it real, somehow, and that allowed her to imagine the future with the child she had always wanted.

A child Cole hadn’t wanted.

But that didn’t matter. She and Cole were over, even if he had yet to fully get the message. She was going to have this baby alone and be just fine. She’d wanted a baby almost from the day they got married. Cole had kept telling her they should wait. For what, she wasn’t even sure now. All she knew was that he found one excuse after another not to have a child.

Finally, Emily was building the family she’d dreamed of. Granted, a family without a father, but Emily had no doubt she’d more than make up for Cole’s absence.

“Cole must be over the moon about the baby,” Carol said.

Emily shook her head. “He doesn’t know. And I’m not telling him,” she added before Carol said anything. “We’ve been separated for some time now, and after I get back to New York, I think...no, I know, I’m going to file for divorce.”

“What? But then...why is he here?”

“Because Cole is the kind of man who never loses. Even when the battle isn’t his to win.” She shrugged, and cursed the tears that rushed to her eyes. “Our marriage has been over for a long time, but he won’t accept that.”

Carol’s hand covered Emily’s. “I don’t know about over, if you have that little gift growing inside you right now.”

“That night was a mistake.” Emily shook her head. “One I won’t repeat. My marriage is over, Carol. I’m just looking ahead to the future with just me and the baby.”

The doorbell sounded a happy little trill. “We can talk later,” Carol said. “Let me get the door. You stay, finish your salad. And don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Cole.”

Emily smiled up at her old friend. “Thank you.”

A minute later, Carol was back with a tall, trim, white-haired man beside her. “I’m not quite sure what all we need done around here,” she said as she walked into the room. “My home repair skills are pretty limited.”

“Seems to me like you need a little of everything.” The man’s gaze swept the kitchen, taking in the water stains on the ceiling, the dripping faucet, the worn countertops. “The house has good bones, though, and that’s what matters. You’ve got a great place here, miss.”

A shy smile curved across Carol’s face. “Oh, I’m far from a miss these days.”

The man gave her a grin that crinkled the corners of his pale blue eyes. “I disagree.”

Carol let out a little laugh. “Well, thank you, Martin.”

They were flirting, Emily realized. Something she had never seen Carol do before. Carol tore her gaze away from the man and waved toward Emily. “This is Emily, an old friend and one of the regular visitors to the Gingerbread Inn,” she said. “Emily, this is Martin Johnson. Cole hired him to do some work around here.”

Emily stood, shook Martin’s hand. Harper sat in the corner of the kitchen, her tail wagging, while she watched the exchange between the humans with curiosity in her brown eyes.

“I’m mainly a plumber, but I know how to do just about anything. That’s what comes from buying my own fixer-upper twenty years ago.” He grinned. “I’m still working on it two decades later. The carpenter’s always the one who doesn’t get time to build his own furniture.”

“I bet that drives your wife crazy,” Carol said.

“Would if I had one,” Martin said. “But my Sarah passed away, going on ten years now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Carol said. “Listen, we were just having lunch. Could I get you something to eat, and we can talk about the repairs? I’ve got leftover meat loaf in the fridge if you want a meat loaf sandwich.”

Martin’s grin widened. “I haven’t had one of those for years and years. But I hate to put you out. I’m sure you’re busy.”

Carol giggled. Actually giggled. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. You sit, and I’ll fix the sandwich.”

Emily had finished her salad and rose to put her plate in the sink. “Nice to meet you, Martin,” she said to the handyman, then turned to Carol. “I’m going to go back to work for a little bit.”

“Okay,” Carol said. “Be sure to get out and enjoy this bright sunshine, too. It’s an absolutely gorgeous fall day.”

Emily glanced out the window. “You know, that sounds like a great idea. I think I’ll take a notebook and head down to the dock.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to spend an afternoon,” Carol said.

Martin and Carol started talking about the repairs needed at the inn. Their conversation flowed easily, with a little undercurrent of interest on both sides.

A few minutes later, Emily threw on a thick sweatshirt, then grabbed a notebook and a pen and headed outside. Cole’s rental car was nowhere to be seen. A part of her hoped he’d done what he always did—hired someone to do what needed to be done so he could go back to work. Whenever she had something on the honey-do list, Cole would pick up the phone and solve the problem. There were times when she wanted to yell at him that she didn’t want hired help. She wanted her husband to be the one to hang the pictures, move the sofa, trim the old maple tree in the backyard. Because that meant he would be home for more than a few minutes, and she’d feel like they were in this life together, not two trains running on parallel tracks that slowly diverged in opposite directions.

The lake’s water glistened under the bright sun, as if diamonds had been sprinkled across the smooth, lightly rippled surface. The same wooden bench she remembered sat at the end of the dock, weathered and gray. She sat down, drew her feet up to her chest and leaned against the armrest. The sun warmed her face and shoulders, and soon Emily was immersed in her ideas. She scribbled all over the notepad, plot twists and character details flowing as fast as her pen could put the words on the page.

It was as if a waterfall had been held back too long, she realized. Maybe that’s what it was—all those years of trying to be Cole’s wife, putting everything she wanted to do to the side so that she could keep the perfect house and the perfect life, then be the perfect wife at banquets and dinners and parties. Her self had disappeared somewhere among the gossip-filled brunches with the other wives, the afternoons spent playing another round of golf while Cole networked. She’d forgotten the ambitions she’d had when she graduated, the dreams she was going to pursue. But now here, finally, she was doing it. Taking Melissa’s advice and living her life before it was too late.

“Enjoying the day?”

Cole’s voice jerked her to attention. Her pen skittered across the page. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. You were so lost in what you were doing there, I guess you didn’t hear me clomping down the dock.”

“You never clomp, Cole.” She chuckled. “You’re a little too refined for that.”

“Oh, are you saying I’ve gotten soft in my days behind a desk?”

The word soft made her glance over at his trim body, still muscular and strong, thanks to frequent gym workouts. He’d put a thick black leather jacket over the T-shirt and jeans, giving him an almost...dangerous air. The day she’d met him, he’d been wearing a leather jacket much like this one. In an instant, she was back in time, standing on a sidewalk and apologizing for running into Cole because she’d had her nose buried in a book, reading while she’d walked to class. He’d told her she should never apologize for a good story, and as he helped her pick up her schoolbooks, they’d started talking, and it felt like they hadn’t stopped talking for a solid month. By the holiday break, she was in love with him and by the end of the school year, Cole had proposed. All because she’d seen the leather jacket and thought he was sexy, and she’d been intrigued by a man who looked like a biker but talked like a scholar.

What was she doing? Getting distracted by the man she no longer wanted?

“Mind if I share the seat?” he asked. “Grab a little break?”

“Sure.” She turned, put her feet on the dock and moved to make room on the bench for him. As soon as she did, she regretted the decision. The bench was small, and Cole was so close, it would only take a breath of movement for her thigh to be touching his.

“I got you something when I was in town,” he said, and handed her a small brown bag.

“What’s this?”

He waved at the bag. “Open it and see.”

She peeked inside the bag. A shiny wrapper with a familiar logo winked back at her. “You got me my favorite snack cakes?”

“Thought you might be craving them.”

For a second, she thought he knew she was pregnant, and she panicked. Then Cole chuckled. “If I remember right, you were always craving those things. I think we cleaned out the campus cafeteria on a weekly basis. What’d you use to say?” He leaned back, thinking. “There’s always a reason—”

“To celebrate with cake.” She took the package out of the bag. “Of course, that’s what I said when I had the metabolism of a twenty-year-old.”

Cole reached up, as if he was going to brush away the bangs on her forehead, but withdrew without touching her. She swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment. “You’re still as beautiful now as the day I met you, Emily.”

She got to her feet. “Cole—”

He reached for her hand. When Cole touched her, electricity sizzled in Emily’s veins, and her heart caught. “I’m not saying anything other than that you’re beautiful, Emily. No reason to run.”

It did look ridiculous to hurry off the dock just because Cole had complimented her. She retook her seat. “Let’s just keep this friendly, okay?”

“Sure.” If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He propped his feet on the railing in front of him, leaned back on the bench and tilted his face to the sun, eyes closed.

It was as if all the years of stress and long hours melted away. Cole looked younger, happier, more peaceful than she had seen him in a long time. Maybe working on the inn was doing him some good. For years, she’d worried about him having a heart attack at work because he worked too much, ate at odd hours and had more stress on his shoulders than anyone she knew.

“I met Martin,” she said, unwrapping the snack cake and taking a bite. It was heaven on her palate. “Did you hire him to do all the work around here?”

“Nope. Just to help on the things I’m not good at. I figure I’ll stay a few more days.” He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. “If that’s okay with you.”

How could she say no? He was helping Carol, and Carol desperately needed help if she was going to keep the inn running. Plus, Cole looked so relaxed, so happy, something Emily had rarely seen in him.

When the baby was born, she and Cole would have to be civil. Attend family gatherings together sometimes, or maybe just meet to talk about their child. With the baby, Emily knew Cole would never be totally out of her life. Someday, maybe she’d stop reacting when he smiled at her or touched her. Maybe.

“It’s fine, Cole. I’m just surprised you want to do it.”

“Working with my hands has made me feel...useful.” He chuckled. “I know, I know, they need me at work and that should do the same, but this is different. When I fixed those steps, I saw an immediate response to a problem. One minute they were a hazard, the next they were ready for visitors. It’s like every corner of this place is crying out for attention.”

She wanted to say that she had done that for years, and he’d never noticed. Or listened. “Maybe we should have bought a fixer-upper instead of built a house. Then you could have had projects all the time.”

“You still have that honey-do list, don’t you?”

She shook her head. “I gave it to Bob. The contractor you hired to do the renovations on the kitchen? He’s taking care of all those things while I’m gone.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He sounded disappointed.

A part of her wanted to believe that if she went back to New York right now, Cole would take up that honey-do list and insist on being home more often, being there, being with her. But the sensible part of her knew this time at the inn was a temporary reprieve. The problems in their marriage ran deeper than a remodeling project. Instead, it would be better, and smarter, to use this time together as a way to forge their future together. Their real future, not a fantasy one.

“Cole...” She paused, laying her hands in her lap, her appetite for the snack cake gone. “I think we should sell the house. I don’t need one that big, and you aren’t living there anymore and...”

“Let’s wait,” he said. “Give it some time—”

“We’ve been separated six months, and really, a divorce is just a formality at this point. The sooner we get these things settled, the faster we can move on.”

“What if I don’t want to move on?”

The pain in his voice hurt her. She had no doubt he still cared, but she knew how this would end. She’d read this same story a hundred times over the course of their marriage. “Cole, we’ve tried this. The big fight, the talk of ending it. You come back, try for a few days, then before you know it, you’re back at work and I’m in a marriage of one person. Let’s just make it official, okay? Instead of pretending that we’re ever going to be a family.”

She gathered her things and got to her feet. She started to pass by him, when Cole reached out. “Emily.”

His voice was harsh, jagged, filled with need and regret. Feelings she knew well because she’d felt them herself. She hesitated, standing on the dock under the bright November sun while the water lapped gently at the pilings, and looked down at the man she had pledged to love forever.

“I’m sorry, Cole. I really am,” she said softly, then placed a kiss on his cheek.

At the last second, Cole turned, and his mouth met hers. Heat exploded in that kiss, and Cole jerked to his feet, hauled her to his chest and tangled his hands in her hair. Her mind went blank, and her body turned on, and everything inside her melted. All the perfect little arguments she had against being with Cole disappeared and for a moment, Emily Watson was swept back into the very fairy tale she had thought stopped existing.

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR ONE LONG sweet moment, Cole’s life was perfect. Then Emily broke away from him, and stumbled back a step. “We...we can’t do that. We’re getting divorced, Cole.”

He scowled. “I know what’s going on between us.”

“Then let’s stop getting wrapped up in something that’s never going to work. We made that mistake a few months ago, and—”

“And what?”

She shook her head and backed up another step. “And it was a mistake.”

“So you’re giving up, just like that?”

Her gaze softened, and though Cole wished he read love in that look, what he really saw was sympathy. “No, Cole, I never gave up. You did that for both of us a long time ago. And now you’re doing what you always do. Fighting to win, because Cole Watson never loses at anything. Too bad you never realized that you lost me a long, long time ago.”

He stood on the dock for a long time, listening to the soft patter of her feet as she headed up the dock and toward the inn. The water winked back in the sunlight, bright and cheery. For the hundredth time, Cole wondered what the hell he was doing here and why he was trying so hard to save his marriage when his wife didn’t want him to.

The lake blurred in front of him, and his mind drifted back over a decade into the past. To a beach in Florida, a run-down motel and the happiest five days of his life. Things had been simpler then, he realized, before the company and the money and the big house, and all the things he thought would improve their life. Instead, it had cost him all he held dear.

Somehow, he needed to get back to that simple life, to the world that had once seemed to consist of just him and Emily. Then his phone started buzzing against his hip, and he knew doing that was going to be harder than he’d thought.

* * *

Emily buried herself in words for two hours that afternoon. She cracked the window, letting some of the crisp, fresh air filter past the lacy curtains and into the room. The sounds of chirping birds and the occasional whine of the table saw broke the quiet of the day. The pages flew by, as she took her characters and had them battle past the challenges in their lives, striving for success, even against impossible odds. The book was going very, very well and each new chapter she started gave Emily a little burst of energy and satisfaction. She was doing it. Finally.

She sat back in the chair and stretched. If only solving her own life problems was as easy as solving those of her fictional characters.

It didn’t help that she had complicated things herself by kissing Cole. It was as if there were two parts to her heart—the part that remembered the distance, the fights, the cold war of the past few years, and the part that remembered only the heady beginning of their relationship. The laughter, the happiness and the sex.

Okay, yes, being touched by Cole was the one part of their marriage that had never suffered. Their sex life, when they’d had one, had been phenomenal. He knew her body, knew it well, and had been a wonderful lover.

When he had been there to love her at all.

That was the real problem in their marriage. Cole’s absences, fueled by his dogged dedication to the business, meant he was never home. In the early years, she’d supported him, encouraged him to work as much as he needed, but as success began to mount and Emily thought he would finally cut back on his hours, Cole instead worked more, dedicating weekends and vacations to this new project or that customer problem. He’d poured his heart and soul into the company, leaving almost nothing of either one for their marriage.

She got to her feet, gathering her dishes from her afternoon snack and headed down to the kitchen. Carol was peeling potatoes at the table, and had a basket of fresh green beans waiting to be cleaned beside her. Emily put her dishes in the sink, then sat in the opposite chair and started twisting off the stringy ends and breaking the green beans in half, then adding them to a waiting colander. “I remember doing this when I was a little girl,” Emily said.

Carol smiled. “You always did like helping me in the kitchen. Half the time I’d have to kick you out and remind you that you were on vacation, not part of the KP crew.”

Emily shrugged. “I liked being here.”

“Instead of with your own family.”

“We weren’t much of a family to begin with,” Emily said. “My mother was always off doing her thing, my father was always working. And when they were together, they fought like cats and dogs.”

An understatement. Emily’s parents’ marriage had been mostly a marriage of convenience, two high school friends who’d married at the end of senior year, then had a child in quick succession, before realizing they were better friends than lovers. They had lived separate lives and only came together for birthdays and major holidays. The annual “family” summer vacation to the Gingerbread Inn was more of an opportunity to spend time with their friends and play shuffleboard than to bond as a family. The only time all three of them were together was Friday nights, when they all went into town for dinner at their favorite diner.

Carol picked up a fork and pricked holes in the scrubbed potatoes. “So when you grew up you did the opposite, right?”

Emily let out a little laugh and thought about how she had described her parents. She’d done the same thing, though not on purpose. For years, Emily had done her own thing and Cole had worked. The only saving grace—they hadn’t caught a child in the middle of that mess. Not until now. Emily covered her belly with her palm. When Sweet Pea arrived, she vowed to give her baby the childhood Emily had never had. “I pretty much carbon copied their life. At least I’m smart enough to get out before bringing kids into that...mess.”

“Oh, I don’t know if it’s the same thing. I saw your parents together. If they were ever in love, it wasn’t there by the time they started coming up here in the summers. You and Cole on the other hand...” Carol shrugged.

“Me and Cole what?”

“There’s still feelings there. Whether you believe it or not.” Carol put the potatoes in the oven beside a chicken roasting on the middle rack.

“That’s just because he doesn’t want to accept that it’s over.” Emily took the colander to the sink and ran cool water over the green beans.

“If you ask me, he’s not the only one who still cares.” Carol put her back to the counter and faced Emily. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Heat rushed to Emily’s face. “That’s just the hormones.” Even as she said the words, though, she knew there was more involved than a rush of hormonal input. She’d kissed him back, with as much desire and depth as he had kissed her. The familiar rush of heat had risen in her, and still simmered in her gut, even now.

She still cared about him, and always would. Love...

She’d avoid that word and combining it with the name Cole. Smarter to do that than to get wrapped up in a fantasy, instead of reality.

Carol just hmmed at that and started the dishes. Emily picked up a dish towel to help dry, but Carol shooed her away. “You’re still a guest here, missy. So go do what guests do and relax.”

Emily headed outside, forgetting until she heard the tapping of a hammer on nails that Cole was out here, working. Still. She started to turn around and head back into the inn when Cole called out to her.

“Hey, do you mind helping me for a second?” he said. “I could really use a second pair of hands.”

He was holding a long board in one hand, a hammer in the other. With the tool belt slung across his hips and sawdust peppering his jeans and work boots, he looked relaxed. Sexy.

A few minutes of helping Cole would be about being nice, not about getting close to him and admiring his body. Or the heat that still rushed through her veins whenever he was near.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“Just hold one end in place. I’m trying to get the rest of the siding repaired on this side of the building, but first I have to fit this fascia board in place.”

She stared at him. They’d built the New York house from the ground up, and though Emily had been in charge of the decisions about faucets and paint colors, Cole had handled all the construction details, because he had spent so many years working on houses and knew the lingo. “Fascia board?”

“It goes up there.” Cole pointed to the roofline ten feet above them.

She couldn’t see any way that Cole could do this job alone, not without risking a broken neck. “Okay. Just don’t ask me to hammer. You know how I am with tools.”

“Oh, I remember, Emily.” He winked at her. “My thumb remembers, too.”

“Sorry.” She grinned. “Again.”

Cole got on one of the ladders and waited for Emily to get on the other one. They stepped up in tandem, until he had the board in place under the gutter and she had aligned her edge with the roofline.

“I’m just teasing you about my thumb,” he said with a smile. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“That’s not what you said that day. All we were doing was hanging some pictures, and you made it into a major project. Tape measure, level, laying out the frame placement with masking tape. Our house wasn’t the Louvre, you know.” She grinned.

“So I’m a little anal about those kinds of things.”

“A little?” She arched a brow.

“Okay, a lot. I guess I deserved having you hit my thumb with the hammer.”

“Well, as long as we’re admitting weaknesses, I guess I was a little impatient. I just wanted the whole thing to be done.” She shrugged. “I could have gone slower, and maybe not given you a hammer whack in the process.”

“Even if I deserved it?”

She laughed. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

He fiddled with the board, aligning it better, then grabbing a nail out of the tool belt and sinking the first one into the plywood. “You know, I think that was the last time we ever worked together on something.”

“It was.” Emily shifted her weight. A wave of light-headedness hit her, but she shrugged it off. “It’s no wonder. That day didn’t go very well.” It had ended with a fight and Cole sleeping on the couch, too, but Emily didn’t mention that. They had an easy détente between them now, and she wanted to preserve that peace a while longer.

“True,” he said softly. “Let’s hope this goes better.”

“It should.” She grinned. “We’re on opposite ends of the board.”

Cole laughed, then dug in his tool belt for a few more nails, hammering them in one at a time. “All appendages accounted for?” he asked her.

“Yup.” The light-headedness hit her again, and she leaned into the ladder, shifting her grip on the board again. “You almost done?”

“A few more nails. Hold on a second. I have to move my ladder down toward you.” He climbed down, shifted the ladder a few feet forward, then climbed back up and started hammering again.

A wave of nausea and dizziness slammed into Emily. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t ease the feeling. Her face heated, she swayed again. All she wanted was to get off this ladder. Now.

“Cole, I...I need to get down.” She let go of the board, gripped the ladder and climbed down to the ground. The light-headedness persisted so she sat on the edge of the porch, under the cool shadow of the overhang.

In an instant, Cole was there, the board forgotten, his voice filled with concern. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just got a little dizzy being up so high.”

“Then you sit. Or, if you want, go inside. I can handle this. The hard part is all done.”

“I’m fine. Just give me a minute.” She waved him off, part of her wanting him to hold her close and tell her it was all okay, the other part wishing he would go away and leave her be. Heck, wasn’t that how she had felt for the past six months? Torn between wanting him close and wanting him gone.

It was as if she couldn’t quite give up on the dream. Couldn’t let go of the hope that this could all work out. Their marriage was like the Gingerbread Inn, Emily realized. In desperate need of major repairs and a lot of TLC.

The only difference? The inn wasn’t past the point of no return yet. Their marriage, on the other hand, was. If anything told her that, it was the conversation the other night about kids where Cole made it clear he wasn’t on the same page as she was. Now she was having a baby her husband didn’t want, and the sooner she accepted that, the better. Besides, any change in him this week was temporary. She knew that from experience. At the first sign of trouble at the company, Cole would be gone, for weeks on end, and she’d be on her own.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cole asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Just a little pregnant, is all.

He looked like he wanted to probe deeper. Instead, Cole cleared his throat and shifted the hammer in his hand. He glanced up at the fascia board they’d installed, then back at Emily. “I, uh, better finish up.”

She shifted to the side so he could climb up the ladder and finish hammering in the wood. By the time the last nail was in, Emily had gone inside. Because staying out there watching Cole fix the inn she loved only made her long for the impossible.

* * *

Cole’s back ached, his shoulders burned and his legs hurt more than after his thrice-weekly run. His hands had calluses and nicks, and a fine shadow of stubble covered his jaw. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a man as far from a billionaire CEO as one could get.

It felt good. Damned good.

Still, he was smart enough to know he couldn’t stay here forever. He had a business to get back to, a business that needed his attention. Every day he spent away from WTD was one that impacted the bottom line. People depended on him—families depended on him—to keep the profits coming so they could pay their mortgages and put food on their tables. Instead, he was here, working on the Gingerbread Inn, a place that meant something to Emily.

Because he’d thought they stood a chance. After that kiss, hope had filled him. Hope they could find their way back as a couple if they just spent more time together. But it seemed every time they got close, she put up this wall. Or she walked away, shutting the door as effectively with her distance as she had the day she’d asked him to move out of their house.

Did she have a point? Was it all about not wanting to give up? Admit defeat? Was it about the battle, not about love?

His phone vibrated against his hip. Cole flipped it out, shifting from carpenter mode to businessman in an instant. He dropped onto the bottom step, and for the next half hour, worked out the details of a deal with a partner in China, made a decision about firing a lackluster employee and hammered out the contents of the quarterly investor report with Irene, his assistant.

“The place is going nuts without you,” Irene said. “You’d think the sun had stopped shining or something.”

Cole ran a hand through his hair. This was why he rarely took vacations and worked most weekends. “I’ll come back in the morning.”

“You will do no such thing.” Irene’s calm voice came across the line strong and sure. In her sixties, Irene had always been more than an assistant—she’d been a guiding force, a sort of mother not just to Cole but to everyone at WTD. She was plainspoken and filled with common sense, so when she talked, Cole knew he’d do well to listen.

“And why would I stay here when the company is in a panic?”

“Because it’ll do all the lemmings around here some good to take on a little leadership. And because it’ll do you even more good to do something other than wither away under the fluorescent lighting.”

He chuckled. “I am far from withered away, Irene.”

“You go entire days without seeing the sunshine. You’re here before me, stay long after those with common sense go home. You need to notice the world around you, not just the workload before you.”

Wasn’t that what Emily had said a hundred times over the years? She’d told him he worked too many hours, was home too few. He’d insisted the company needed him, but maybe it was something more, something deeper inside himself that kept him behind that desk day after day instead of with his wife, enjoying the life he had worked so hard to afford.

Irene had a point. If he took a few days off, then maybe the so-called lemmings he’d hired would step up to the plate and do what he’d hired them to do—lead in his stead. Rather than everyone looking to Cole because he was always there in the driver’s seat.

“I’m doing that now.”

“Are you? Because I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that you haven’t heard those birds chirping in the background or the soft whistle of the breeze through the trees. How about the sun? Is it shining bright, or is it dimmed by cloud cover?”

Cole raised his gaze and squinted. “Bright.” His gaze skimmed over the pale blue sky, then down the trees, almost bare now that November was edging toward December. Birds flitted from branch to branch, determined to stay as long as they could before caving to winter’s cold. The breeze danced in the last few dangling leaves, waving them like flags. Through the trees, he could see the lake, glistening and inviting while squirrels dashed to and fro, making last-minute preparations for winter. He paused a long moment, letting the day wash over him and ease the tension in his shoulders. “You’re right. I never noticed any of that.”

“And you need to, Cole. Before it’s too late.”

“It might already be.” He let out a long breath. Irene was the only one who knew about his marital problems. As his right-hand person at WTD, she had seen the end of his marriage coming long before he had. She’d noticed that there’d been fewer and fewer lunches with Emily, more long days when he didn’t leave before dark and more weekends spent at the office instead of at home. He’d also given Irene a heads-up about the projects he was working on—both the one with the inn and the one with his marriage.

“Has she kicked you out of that inn yet?” Irene asked. “Told you to leave?”

“Not yet.” Though, given her reaction to their kiss, Cole wasn’t so sure Emily wanted him around anymore. She hadn’t said that out loud yet, but he’d sensed a distance, a wall whenever he got too close. Like when she’d felt ill and he’d asked her if she was okay—Emily had suddenly gone cold and distant.

“If she hasn’t kicked you out, then it’s not too late. Now get your head out of the office and pay attention to what’s around you,” Irene said. “I’ll handle things here. We’ll all be fine.”

He chuckled. “Is that an order?”

“You bet your sweet bippy it is. Now let me go so I can get some work done around here. Not all of us can sit around in the sun, listening to the birds chirp, you know.” Her words lacked any bite and held only affection and worry.

“Thanks, Irene,” Cole said, his voice quiet and warm.

“Anytime, Cole. Anytime.” Then she was gone. Cole tucked the phone back into his pocket.

He started to get to his feet, to get back to working on the fascia and soffits. He paused. Looked up at the sky, then sat back down, leaned against the porch post, closed his eyes and drew in the scents and sounds of the world he had missed for too many years.

CHAPTER SIX

EMILY STOOD ON the porch for a good minute, sure she was seeing things. Cole sat on the top step, his back against one of the thick posts, his face upturned to the sun. Asleep. Harper lay on the weathered boards beside Cole, eyes closed, tail tapping a slow, happy rhythm.

Emily smiled. Her workaholic husband, taking a break. Something she hadn’t seen in so long, she’d been half-sure he was a robot, not a man. In sleep, he looked younger, boyish almost, with his face relaxed, his shoulders untensed.

Like the man she used to know. The man she had fallen in love with.

Her hand strayed to her abdomen, and for a second, she allowed herself to picture Cole’s face when she told him about the baby. To imagine a future where he brought them home from the hospital, and they formed a little family of three.

Then Cole’s phone started buzzing, the screen lighting with yet another call. A dose of reality inserting itself before she got wrapped up in a fantasy.

Carol came out on the porch. “He’s asleep?” she whispered.

Emily nodded. “Doesn’t happen very often.”

Carol chuckled. “I’ve known men like that. Would rather work themselves half to death than admit they need a nap. Or a helping hand. I tell you, men are some of God’s most stubborn creatures.”

Emily laughed. “I agree with that.”

The buzzing at his waist finally roused Cole. He jerked upright, disoriented for a second, reaching for the phone with an instinct well honed over the years. Just before he pressed the button to answer it, he noticed Emily and Carol, and set the phone back in the holster. “Sorry, I, uh, guess I fell asleep.”

Cole ignoring a work call? And taking a nap in the middle of the day? That made for two miracles in the space of a few minutes—and two things Emily never thought she’d see.

“You’re human...sleep happens.” Carol smiled. “Either way, I’m glad you woke up. Dinner’s in the kitchen and just waiting for some hungry people to come along.”

Cole got to his feet and brushed the sawdust off his jeans. “A home-cooked meal? Can’t remember the last time I had one of those.”

“That’s because you have to be home to have one.” The words slipped from Emily’s lips before she could stop them. Sometimes it seemed the years of resentment lay in wait behind paper walls, waiting for any small opening.

“You’re right.” Cole paused beside her on the porch. His blue eyes met hers. “But I also have to have a home to go to.”

She shook her head and looked away before the familiar argument about their separation sprang up between them on this pretty fall day. She didn’t want to fight anymore. Not one more disagreement. She’d had enough of those to last her a lifetime.

“Let’s not do this,” Cole said, as if he’d read her mind. “It’s too nice of a day to argue about anything other than whether the sky is a cerulean-blue or cornflower-blue.”

She smiled. “Cornflower. Definitely.”

“I agree,” Cole said.

Carol put a hand on each of their shoulders. “There’s a home here, and a meal, and both of you are invited to the table if you promise to mind your manners.”

Cole grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

Maybe it was the way he said ma’am, or maybe it was the way he smiled, but Emily found her anger melting in the light of both, and she paused in the doorway to shoot Cole a conspiratorial smile. “That means no food fights, you know.”

“Too bad.” He leaned in toward her, smelling of soap and sunshine. “Because sometimes cleaning up afterward can be a hell of a lot of fun.”

“I remember.” The words whispered into the small space between them, the memory charging the air. They’d come home from their quick three-day honeymoon to the tiny one-bedroom apartment that had been their first home. She’d worked half the day on a dinner for her new husband, poring over a cookbook she’d got out of the library, fixing chicken and peas and baked potatoes, then attempting a chocolate cream pie because he’d once said that was his favorite. “I really messed that meal up, didn’t I?”

He chuckled as he followed her into the inn and down the long hall toward the dining room that flanked the western side of the house and looked out over the lake. “It wasn’t that awful.”

“Your memory is faulty. The chicken was burned, the peas shriveled and dried, and the potatoes undercooked.” She shook her head. “But you ate every bite.”

“Couldn’t disappoint my new wife and tell her that she couldn’t cook.”

“I still can’t cook.” That had been the one benefit to Cole’s sizable income—the convenience of ordering already-made meals. Emily vowed to learn to cook before the baby came. She imagined herself baking cookies and whipping up macaroni and cheese, with Sweet Pea helping measure and stir. Emily would never be Betty Crocker, but if she could at least master the basics, she could create the kind of warm, cozy home she’d always wanted.

“You might not be able to cook,” Cole said. “But you can make a pie that sticks to my forehead.”

She laughed. The laughter felt good, and she realized it had been far too long since she’d had a damned good laugh. “I didn’t mean to throw it at you, but when you ate it like it was the most delicious pie you ever ate, I got so mad.”

“It was the most delicious pie I ever ate, Emily.”

They had stopped outside the dining room, lingering by the doorway while Carol put the finishing touches on the table. Harper sat in the corner, waiting and hoping for a scrap.

Emily stood within inches of Cole. Close enough to touch, to see the gold flecks in his eyes, to get wrapped up in the tempting scent of his cologne, the draw of his warm body. She moved away, headed for the table before she did any of those foolish things.

“How could you say that pie was good?” She reached for the pile of silverware on the corner and placed it beside the place settings. Avoiding the desire washing over her, the need to kiss him again, as strong as when they’d first dated. Damn. When would she stop wanting Cole? The separation and divorce would be much easier if her body got on board with her brain. “I forgot the sugar. That was the worst pie ever.”

Cole slipped in beside her, tucking the folded napkins under the knives. “It was the most delicious pie ever, Emily,” and he paused a beat until she looked up at him, “because you made it with love.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head and stepped away. Oh, how she wanted to believe in that look in his eyes, the words he spoke, but she was afraid, so afraid, that if she did, they’d end up traveling the same path as before. They’d done it countless times over the years. Now, with a baby caught in the mix, Emily couldn’t afford to hold on to a fairy tale that she knew had an unhappy ending.

“Unfortunately, you need more ingredients than love to hold a recipe together and make it work,” she said and turned away before he saw the tears brimming in her eyes.

* * *

Cole had to admire Carol, the inn’s owner. She could have brokered a Middle East peace treaty with ease. She’d sensed the tension between Cole and Emily the instant she sat down at the table, and managed to shift the conversation to subjects that kept the room feeling light and lively. As they ate, they talked about the weather, the repairs to the inn, the Patriots’ chances of making it to the Super Bowl. Fun, easy, small talk.

“Did Emily ever tell you the story about the lake’s history?” Carol asked Cole as she laid warm plates of homemade apple pie before them. Melting scoops of vanilla ice cream puddled over the flaky crust. The impressive dessert could have starred on a magazine cover.

Emily let out a little laugh. “Oh, not this one. It’s not even true.”

“It is, too,” Carol said, then grinned. “Or at least partly true.”

“Let me guess,” Cole said. Even though he was stuffed from the amazing roast chicken, potatoes and green beans, he dived into the pie with gusto. “Barrow’s Lake has its own resident Loch Ness monster?”

“No, no, though that might draw in more visitors, and that’d be good for business.” Carol put a finger on her lips. “Hmm...if only I could buy a Loch Ness monster in the pet store.”

“Two words,” Cole said. “Inflatable toy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the summer tourists.” Carol laughed. “Well, our lake story is a little more innocuous. Way back, years ago, before the invention of the car—”

“When dinosaurs roamed the earth,” Emily added.

“Well, maybe not that far back in time. But close.” Carol leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement as she told the story. “There used to be two families, one on either side of the lake, one with a daughter, one with a son, about the same age. They didn’t know each other, and in these years when this area was just beginning to get settled by people in wagons and log homes, there was no Facebook or Skype or high school to bring them together. Then John Barrow, one of the original Barrows to settle here, opened a little store smack-dab in the center of the road between the two families. You can still see the remains of its foundation, past that big pine tree.” She pointed out the window. “The shop wasn’t much, just a general sundries kind of place. The teenagers ran into each other there one summer day, and fell in love. They’d meet at the store every afternoon after they finished their chores and spend time together. But the families were at war over something no one can remember now, and the teens were forbidden from seeing each other.”

“Nevertheless, they sneaked away every afternoon,” Emily put in, “because they were deeply in love and couldn’t bear to be apart.”

“That’s right. Sometimes true love is stronger than parental rule.” Carol grinned. “And that was how it was for these two. But oh, the ruckus it raised in their families. So one stormy fall night, they made plans to run away and get married. Before they could leave, their parents found out and rushed down to the store to interrupt the rendezvous. The kids panicked, took a boat and rowed out to the middle of the lake, thinking they could make it across and leave from the other side. The storm that night was strong, and the water rough, and the boat capsized. Sadly, both kids drowned.”

“That’s terrible,” Cole said. Even though the event had happened decades ago, he could imagine the heartbreak and loss, particularly on such a small community. “How devastating for those families.”

“It was an awful tragedy, and one that haunted this area for years.” Carol gestured toward the moon-kissed lake outside the windows. “There are people who say you can still see the ghosts of the doomed lovers in the fog that rises over the lake at night.”

“And according to Carol, if you’re out in that fog, you’re destined to fall in love.” Emily grinned. “When us girls were teenagers, we’d run outside if we saw the fog, but none of us fell in love with the boys here for the summer.”

“That’s because none of them were right for you,” Carol said. “You have to be with the right one for the fog to work.”

Emily laughed and got to her feet, grabbing the empty plates as she did. “And all the stars and moon have to be aligned just right, too. It’s a legend, Carol, and not one I believe in.”

Carol wagged a finger at her. “You’ll see. Some foggy night, true love will come your way.”

Emily didn’t answer that. Instead, she brushed open the swinging door with her hip and set the plates in the sink, then filled it with soapy water. By the time she returned, Cole and Carol were talking about the repairs on the Inn, instead of silly age-old legends.

Just as well. The last thing she needed Cole to do was drag her down to the lake in the middle of the night because he believed some legend about dead teenagers would fix their marriage. No kiss on a foggy night was going to repair the damage the years of distance had created.

Maybe if they had gone to counseling when the problems first started, it would have righted the ship’s course. She’d asked Cole to go, but time and time again, Cole had put off the appointment. She’d given up after a while and stopped asking him. If their marriage was important to him, she’d reasoned, he would have made the time to save it.

Then again, she hadn’t gone on her own, either, or fought very hard to get Cole to the appointments. She’d been just as guilty about finding other things to fill her time. Maybe because deep down she was afraid to confront the issues between them—and find out they were beyond fixing.

“You know, Cole, it doesn’t make much sense for you to drive all the way into the city tonight,” Carol was saying as Emily picked up the platter of chicken, “when I have rooms right upstairs. Why don’t you stay here? It’s the least I can do to thank you.”

Cole stay here? Emily prayed he’d say no, that he would do what he always did, say he needed to leave in the morning to get back to the office. But no, he grinned and nodded instead. Damn. Having him stay here was a definite complication, especially to her hormones and her heart. She needed to stay firm in her resolve and not be swayed by a smile.

“That’d be great, Carol. I’ll have my luggage sent over in the morning.” Cole rose, stretched his back and let out a yawn. “Just the thought of driving back to the hotel makes me exhausted.”

“Well, I’m exhausted just hearing you talk about it.” Carol gave the two of them a smile. “I hate to ask this, but I’m really tired. Lots of early mornings and a little stress over this renovation/sale thing. Would you two mind clearing up the rest of the dishes? I’d like to get to bed early.”

Emily shot Carol a curious look, but the innkeeper just muffled a yawn and kept her gaze averted. Emily suspected Carol of a little matchmaking, what with telling the story of the two doomed lovers and asking Cole to stay at the inn. Maybe with Carol out of the room, Emily could make Cole see that his being here wasn’t a good idea. “No problem. See you in the morning, Carol.”

Carol thanked them, then hurried out of the room. Harper stayed behind, ever hopeful for scraps. Cole and Emily gathered the rest of the dishes and brought them into the kitchen. “You don’t have to help,” Emily said to Cole as she slipped on an apron and tied it behind her back. “I know how you hate doing dishes.”

He shrugged. “I used to hate it. Now I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”

“You’re doing your own dishes?” She shot him a glance. In his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like a guy who did his own dishes, a million miles away from the wealthy, driven CEO. “You’re not having a maid do them?”

“It’s not like I cook a gourmet meal every night,” Cole said. “I usually have one plate, one cup and a fork to wash. No need to pay the maid to do that.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She’d let the household help go, too, after their separation. She’d seen no sense in paying people to clean up after one person. Plus doing her own housework kept her busy instead of focusing on how Cole’s absence made the house echo in ways it never had before.

“Nothing drives home the fact that you’re alone like washing your dishes.” Cole took the clean dishes from the strainer, swiped them dry with a towel and put them in the cabinets. “I guess that’s when it finally hit me.”

“What did?” Emily stowed the leftovers in the fridge.

Cole put his back to the sink and crossed his arms over his chest, the pink-and-white-striped towel a strange juxtaposition in his muscular hands. “That this wasn’t a fight we’d get over in a couple days. That this separation could be permanent. I’d come home from work and look at that plate and cup and fork in the sink and think...” He let out a gust and shook his head. “I’d think how sad they looked.”

“Really?” Over the years, Cole had rarely opened up about his feelings. She’d asked him what he was thinking, but most of the time, he’d withdrawn and in the end, she’d be left feeling cold, alone. This was the most he’d shared in a long, long time.

“All those years we lived together, I don’t think I ever noticed if we had five plates or fifty,” he went on. “I couldn’t tell you what the pattern was on our silverware if you paid me. But I notice the plates now. I notice when there’s one.” He nodded toward the sink. “Or more than one.”

Her heart softened. She put the empty serving dishes in the soapy water, then picked up one of the plates and started washing it, instead of falling into that vulnerable look on Cole’s face and in his voice. “I notice now, too,” she said quietly. “It’s like the plate and cup are lonely.”

“Maybe I should buy a whole set.” Cole grinned. “Or just bring mine back home so they’d be together again. Happy. Complete.”

The thought of him returning, of the two of them being happy and complete, together again, caused her heart to race and her throat to close. Hope warred with caution. She concentrated on getting the plate clean, watching the bubbles circle and circle the rim. “We’ve tried that before, Cole. It didn’t work.”

“What’s that saying about success? That it’s about not giving up?”

She could see the saying now, one of those kitschy posters that she had hung in her college dorm, then again in their run-down first apartment because it was the only wall decor they could afford. By the time they moved to the big house, the poster had been relegated to a landfill. But the saying and the image of a determined competitor in a tough tug-of-war had stuck with Emily. “‘Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go.’ William Feather said it,” she said.

“I’m hanging on, Emily,” Cole said softly. “I really am.”

She placed the clean plate in the strainer, then picked up the next one. “Why?”

“Because we had something once. And I think we can have it again. And because I’m ready for change.”

How she wanted to believe him. Her brain reminded her heart that he had said all this before, and gone back to his workaholic ways as soon as the crisis passed. How could she know this time would be any different?

Another clean plate in the strainer. She tackled the third one. The only sound in the room was the running water and the soft clanging of dishes. “Change how?”

“Working less. More vacations. More time for you and me to get back to where we were.”

She’d heard all these words before. Dozens of times over the years, and every time, she had believed them, only to be hurt in the end. Granted, the time he had spent working on the repairs to the inn was the most time he’d ever taken off work before, and maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant he had changed. Hope kept a stubborn hold on her heart, but she refused to give it space and room.

Not until she’d asked the most important question.

She rinsed the last plate, put it in the strainer, then tackled a pan, keeping her gaze away from Cole’s. “And what about a family?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Family? Emily, we’re far from ready for kids.”

It’s what he’d said a thousand times over the years. Every time she’d brought up kids, he’d said it wasn’t the right time, or that they’d talk about it later. She pulled the plug, let the soapy water drain, and placed her hands on the rim of the sink. All that silly, foolish hope in her chest drained away, too.

“When do you think we’ll be ready? When we get a bigger house or the company reaches another sales goal or we have another million saved in retirement?” She snorted and turned away from him. “It’s never the right time, Cole.”

“We’re a few pieces of paper away from being divorced, Emily. I’d say that’s the worst possible time to have a child.”

Emily sighed. “Yeah, Cole, it is.” Then she left the kitchen and headed up to her room, where the pillow would muffle her hurt.

CHAPTER SEVEN

COLE SLEPT THROUGH his alarm. Slept through the buzzing of his phone. Slept through the sunrise. He’d slept in the best hotel rooms in the world, owned a mattress that cost more than a small car, and yet he had never slept as soundly or as well as he had in the double bed in the pale blue room on the second floor of the Gingerbread Inn.

He rolled over, blinked a bleary eye at his phone and decided whoever was calling him could wait a little longer. This...decadence filled him with a peace he had never felt before. Whatever was happening at work would be there later, while Cole just...was. Right here, right now, in a cozy bedroom across the hall from Emily, in a quaint inn in Massachusetts. He lay in the bed, watching the sun dance on the floor, while birds chirped a song above the faint sounds of a distant lawn mower.

Then he heard the soft melody of a woman’s voice, singing along with the radio. It took him a moment to realize it was Emily’s voice. He hadn’t heard her singing in...

Hell, ten years. At least.

He pulled on his jeans and padded barefoot out of his room and across the hall. Her door stood ajar, the bed made, the room neat and clean. When had Emily become a neatnik? She’d always been the messier one in their relationship, something that had driven him crazy when they were together. Then, when he was on his own, he’d missed seeing her makeup on the bathroom counter, her coat tossed over the dining room chair, her shoes kicked off on the bedroom carpet. He’d tried leaving his own things out but it wasn’t the same. He hesitated only a moment, then took a single step inside the room. “Em?”

The bedroom was empty. Light and steam spilled out of the attached bathroom. The shower was running, and Cole could see the familiar outline of his wife’s curves behind the translucent white curtain. Desire rushed through him, hardened against his jeans. How long had it been since he’d been with Emily?

Months. Three, to be exact. A long damned time.

He hesitated. He knew he should leave but couldn’t tear his gaze away from her shapely outline, the curve of her breasts, her hips. She was hidden by the curtain, yet he knew every dimple, every valley, every scar. He knew how to make her moan, how to make her smile, how to make her...

His.

Except she wasn’t his anymore, and he needed to face that. Accept it. Move on.

Since the separation, he’d told himself he should take off his ring. Date again. But he hadn’t. No woman had interested him the way his wife did. And maybe never would. He missed her, damn it, for more than just the warmth of her body against his.

The water stopped with a screech and a shudder of old pipes. Cole told himself to move. Leave. He didn’t do either.

The song ended and a commercial came on the radio. Emily’s voice trailed off as she reached up and tugged down the towel draped over the shower curtain. She jerked back the curtain and let out a shriek. “Cole! You scared me. What are you doing in here?”

Shit. He should have left. Now he looked like some overeager hormonal teenager, which was how he felt whenever he was around Emily. Even now, even after everything.

“Your, uh, door was open. And I heard you singing and...” He forced his gaze up from the hourglass shape outlined by the fluffy white towel. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you singing.”

A flush filled her cheeks and her gaze shifted to the floor. “I’m a terrible singer.”

“Didn’t sound that way to me. It was nice.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve missed your singing. You used to sing all the time when we were first married.”

She laughed. “That’s because we couldn’t even afford a TV. My singing was our only entertainment.”

“I wouldn’t say it was our only entertainment.” His gaze met hers. Heat filled the space between them. Cole had never been so acutely aware of his wife’s naked body, and the thin scrap of cotton separating them. She’d put on a few pounds in the past couple months, but they only added to her curves and made her more desirable. He ached to take her in his arms, to let the towel fall to the floor and to taste that sweet, warm, peach skin.

“Those were different days then,” she said, her voice low and soft. She fiddled with the edge of the towel. “Better days.”

Had she stopped singing because she’d stopped being happy? Started again today because she was happier without him? Or had he stopped paying attention to Emily so long ago that he didn’t notice her singing? Her happiness?

“You liked it better when we were poor?” he asked. “Living in that tiny fifth-floor walk-up, freezing in the winter and roasting in the summer?”

“Yeah, I did.”

He’d hated those days. Always struggling, feeling like he’d failed, the constant battle to get his business off the ground at night while he sweated on a construction site during the day. Working, working, working, and getting frustrated at how long it took to get from nowhere to somewhere. “Why? We had nothing, Emily.”

“Nothing except each other,” she said. She raised her gaze to his. Tears shimmered in her green eyes. “That was always enough for me, Cole. But it was never enough for you.”

He let out a gust. Why did it always come down to this? Didn’t she understand, he’d done all of this for her? For them? For their future together? The hours he’d worked, the effort he’d put in to take the business from their apartment kitchen table to a global power had been a constant source of friction between them. In the early days, Emily had supported him, but as the years wore on, that support had eroded into frustration and a cold, silent war.

“You can’t blame me for wanting more, Emily. For wanting success. Look at us now. We have everything we always wanted.”

A bittersweet smile crossed her face. “No. You have everything you ever wanted.” The smile shifted, became something he couldn’t read, as if Emily had a secret that only she knew. She nodded toward the door. “I’d appreciate it if you left now.”

He did as she asked and left the room, shutting the door behind him, and feeling more lost than he had ever felt before. Cole was a smart man who had built his company from nothing into a global player. Who had taken them from a run-down apartment to a mansion in a tony suburb outside New York City. All along, he’d thought he was on the same path that Emily wanted.

Now it turned out he’d been wrong. For a long, long time.

* * *

Sleep eluded Emily. She tossed and turned, then got up, tried to write and couldn’t get any further in the book. The whole day had been like that, her creativity stalled. Her mind was still stuck on the moment Cole had walked into the bathroom and looked at her with that hungry, admiring gaze she knew so well. One step forward, and she would have had him in her arms, in her bed, in her.

She craved that, deep down inside, in places that only Cole knew. But she’d held her ground, and after he left the room, she’d told herself she’d done the right thing. Even if it didn’t feel that way.

Her stomach rumbled. She pulled on a robe and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The inn was silent, and only a small light burned on the kitchen table. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, providing enough light for her to make her way through the rooms.

Emily pulled open the fridge, and mulled over the choices. She settled on the leftover apple pie. A second later, she was dishing a hearty slice onto a small dessert plate. After all, she was eating for two now. She could afford an extra serving of dessert once in a while. She heard a sound and looked up to find Cole standing in the kitchen.

He wore only a pair of old gray sweatpants that she knew well. He’d had them for as long as she could remember, the fleece worn and soft as butter. His chest was bare, and the desire that had been burning inside her all day roared to life again. Her hand flexed at her side, itching to touch the hard muscular planes, to draw his warmth to her.

“Great minds think alike,” Cole said, taking a step closer and gesturing toward the pie.

“Do you want a piece?” Then she looked down and realized she’d taken the last of the pie. “Sorry. Um, would you like to share?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She pulled open the drawer and handed a second fork to Cole. He leaned over one side of the kitchen island, she leaned over the other side and they each took a bite of the pie. Their heads were so close, they nearly touched. It was so much like the early days, when they’d been inseparable and in love, that Emily could almost believe she’d gone back in time. She ached to run her fingers through Cole’s dark hair, to kiss the crumbs off his lips, to giggle when his shadowy stubble tickled her chin.

“Carol’s pies are legendary,” she said instead.

“I can see why.”

Emily forked up another bite. “The other Gingerbread Girls and I would sneak down here in the middle of the night all the time and eat the leftovers. She’d yell at us in the morning, but half the time she was laughing at the same time. And sometimes she’d bake an extra pie, just so we’d have one to scavenge.”

“Those must have been some amazing summers,” Cole said.

“They were. Some of my best memories are wrapped up in this place.” She sighed. “I’m going to hate to see it sold off and turned into condos or something awful like that.”

He scooped up some ice cream. “Why don’t I buy it? Let Carol run it...keep things as they are.”

Emily let out a gust. She put her fork down and leaned away from the counter. “Not everything can be fixed with money, Cole.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

She read honesty in his face, and relaxed. He had helped over the past few days, more than he knew. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to do more. After all, finding solutions to impossible situations was Cole’s specialty. He’d built a business on designing creative answers to customer problems.

For years, he’d been the one she relied on to solve everything from a checking account error to a strange noise coming from her engine. For the past six months, she’d relied only on herself. As scary as it had been, the independence had given her a newfound confidence. It was a feeling she wanted to keep, which meant no more running to Cole to fix the things that went awry. “Listen, I appreciate all the help you’re giving Carol with the repairs, I really do.”

“But...?”

She forked up some pie, but didn’t eat it. Instead, she turned to the fridge. “Do you want some milk?”

“Yes,” he said, coming around the counter to face her, “but I also want you to tell me what you aren’t saying.”

She grabbed the gallon jug, then two glasses, and poured them each an icy glass of milk. She slipped onto one of the bar stools and wrapped her hands around the glass. She debated whether to tell him what she was thinking, then decided she’d done enough of ignoring the issues, and maybe it was time to speak up instead of letting those thoughts simmer. “You have a tendency to throw money at a problem and then leave,” she said. “At least when it comes to us.”

He dropped into the opposite bar stool. “I don’t do that.”

“When something needed fixing at the house, you called someone to do it. When I needed to buy a new car, you called a friend at a dealership and had him show me the newest models. When I wanted to go on a vacation, you called a travel agent and told her to send me anywhere I wanted to go.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s problem solving.”

Emily bit her lip, then raised her gaze to his. “The problem wasn’t the leaky faucet or the old car or the need for some time in the sun. It was that I wanted to do those things with you, Cole. I wanted you and me to install that faucet, even if it was messy and frustrating and time-consuming to do it. I wanted you to go with me to pick out a car, and go along on the test drive, and give me your opinion, then laugh when I bought what was prettiest. I wanted you to go on vacation with me and—” she exhaled “—just be. You and me for a few days.”

He reached up and brushed a tendril of hair off her head. “I never knew, Emily. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She slipped off the stool and away from his touch before she found herself in his arms again. In the darkened, silent room it was so tempting just to curve against Cole’s bare chest and to forget the separation, the problems between them, the difficult road yet to come. Instead she crossed to the window and looked out over the darkened lake beyond the trees. “I could say that I never said anything because you were never home to talk to, but really, that’s just an excuse. I never said anything because—” and now her throat swelled and tears rushed to her eyes “—I didn’t want to hear you say no.”

He was behind her in a second, wrapping her in his arms, and despite her resolve a second ago, she allowed herself to lean back into him, just this once, just for this minute. “I wouldn’t have said no, Emily.”

“Ah, but you did, Cole. A hundred times.” She stepped out of his embrace, and turned to face him. “Every time we went our separate ways, you to work, me to my charity work and golf dates and all those meaningless things that filled the hours between breakfast and bed, it added a little distance to the gulf between us. Eventually, that gulf got too wide, Cole, and crossing it was a Herculean task.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”

He took in her words, then nodded. “And to be honest, I don’t think I even realized that gulf existed until you asked for a separation. I had on these blinders that told me everything was just fine. When it was far from that.”

“That was my fault, too. I didn’t speak up.” Emily flicked a crumb off the counter and watched it skitter into the sink. “When I was growing up, my parents fought all the time. If they were getting along, it made me nervous. It was like being around a purring tiger. You never knew when it would lash out again. That made me afraid to rock the boat, so I’d let things go that I should have done something about.”

“I wish you had said something. I couldn’t read your mind, Em. Though Lord knows I tried.”

“Would you have listened?” She shifted closer to him. “You’ve been so dedicated to the company for so long that I don’t think you would have heard me if I’d said the house was on fire.”

“Well, I think I would have heard that.” He chuckled, then sobered. “You’re right. But you don’t understand, Em. A company is like a puppy. It needs constant attention or it will wither and die.”

“That’s why you hire good people. To give you a break once in a while.”

He shook his head. “You sound like Irene.”

Emily raised a shoulder, dropped it again. “If everyone is saying the same thing, maybe they have a point.”

“Or maybe none of them understand the demands on me as the owner. Being at the top is far more difficult than anyone understands.” He let out a long sigh, then ran a hand through his hair. “Just when I think everything is under control and I can step back, something goes wrong. Hell, you wouldn’t believe the number of calls and emails I’ve got just in the couple of days I’ve been here.”

Tension had knotted his shoulders, furrowed his brow. The part of Emily that still cared about Cole filled with concern. She knew that look. Knew it well. She’d seen it hundreds of times. Before he had a team of employees under him, Cole would come home to their cramped apartment, a smokestack ready to blow, and she would be his sounding board. When had Cole stopped coming to her? When had she stopped asking him to share his day? “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“You’ve got enough on your plate.”

She could see him distancing himself, doing what he always did and taking all the problems on his shoulders. Putting another brick in the wall between them. Her first instinct was to throw up her hands and walk away, but really, had doing that made anything better?

Emily reached out and put a hand on his arm, a touch of comfort, but one that sent a zing through her. “Remember when we first got married and you were working around the clock, trying to pay the bills and launch the business?”

He nodded. “We’d stay up half the night, eating junk food and talking.”

She laughed. “Kind of like we’re doing tonight.”

His gaze softened, and she let her touch drop away. “Yeah, kind of like tonight.”

“Then why don’t we sit down and talk it out? I may not know anything about technology, but I can be a good listener.” I’m still here, Cole, she wanted to say. I’ve always been here. Even if you stopped reaching out to me. “I know you, Cole. If you’re up in the middle of the night, it’s because something is troubling you.”

His features softened. “You still know me better than I know myself.”

She didn’t reply because a part of her felt like she didn’t know him at all. Maybe they’d kept too much of themselves back for too long to ever find that connection again.

“Before I came down here, I was pacing my room, jotting down ideas, trying to figure out a solution to a problem at work.” Then he waved it off. “But I don’t want to keep you up, too. Go to bed, Em. I’ll figure it out.”

Maybe he’d stopped coming to her because she’d stopped asking. Stopped being there. Could he be caught in the same feeling of disconnect as she was?

Either way, she hated seeing this stress and tension on his face. She reached out and gave his hand a light touch. “Let’s finish that pie and save the world. Or at least the world of Watson Technology Development.”

“You sure you want me to bore you with the details?”

“I don’t mind. If you want my opinion, that is.”

“Of course I do, Em. You’ve always had great ideas when it came to the business. Maybe I should have hired you to work for me as a consultant.”

She laughed. “That would have been a disaster.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no.” A tease lit his eyes. “Will you work on commission?”

She feigned deep thought. “Depends. Is there pie involved?”

“Always.” He grinned. They crossed to the bar and took their seats again. The small kitchen light washed the room in a pale gold glow, while the moonlight added touches of silver. Outside, an owl hooted, but the world was quiet and still, except for this small corner of the Gingerbread Inn.

Cole steepled his fingers, a move Emily knew signaled he was getting serious. “I’ve got a huge order for the next generation of cell phones from one of my biggest customers. The launch is in place, the customer is ready for the rollout, but the product is delayed. We’ve had them under development for over a year, and things were on track, but then the plant that is making the screens was damaged in a storm. We found a backup supplier for the screens, but their quality hasn’t been the best. So now we’re stuck without a screen supplier, and the first order is due to drop in a week.”

“All you have left to do is add the screens?”

He nodded. “If we had some to add, yes.”

“Then do what you do best, Cole. Build it yourself.” She tapped the counter before him. “Remember when you first started out, you had those prototype screens you made? You never used them because you found a supplier who could make them cheaper.”

“That’s right. They’re still in the warehouse somewhere.” He sat back, and Emily could see the wheels turning in Cole’s head. “We could substitute those, at least for the first drop order, and that’ll give the Japanese supplier time to get back online and ship the order to us.” He gave his forehead a smack. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just a matter of hearing another opinion.”

“A smart and wise opinion at that.” He leaned back on the bar stool, his gaze skimming over her features. “I’ve missed hearing your opinion, Em. I guess I stopped asking. Or I stopped getting up in the middle of the night for pie.”

If he had, would things be different? If he’d included her in the day-to-day of his company? Or asked her to do more than just attend another banquet or golf tournament? “It’s been a long time since you asked what I think,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

The moment extended between them, full of regrets and missed opportunities. Cole was the first to look away, shifting his gaze to the plate before them. “Last bite. It’s all yours. Payment for services rendered, as agreed.”

“Oh, you can have it, Cole. I don’t—”

He speared the last bit of pie, then held it before her lips. “I know you, Emily. And I know you want this.”

His voice was low and dark, and sent a wave of temptation through her. Not for the pie—he was right, she always wanted pie—but for him. Damn. She’d always wanted him, too. No matter what.

She opened her lips and took the bite from him, slow, easy, their gazes locked, and the piece of pie became about much more than just some slices of cinnamon-glazed apples and flaky crust. Heat unfurled in her gut, and for a second she wished Cole would just lean her back against that counter and take her right here, right now. That it could be like it used to be, without the muddle of the past ten years.

“Delicious,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

“Very.” She licked her lips and watched Cole watching her tongue. “Too bad it’s all gone.”

“Definitely too bad.” Was she talking about the pie? Or the fact that she had enjoyed Cole feeding her? Enjoyed that one-on-one attention, like a laser?

The clock on the wall ticked by the wee hours. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted. Cole’s eyes met Emily’s. “Oh, Em, what are we doing here?”

“Having pie.”

“And now that the pie is gone?”

He was talking about more than whether they were going to put the dish in the sink or grab another snack. Cole was asking her the one question she couldn’t answer. What was going to happen next? With them?

As much as she wanted to believe they could take this moment and use it to rebuild their marriage, she was acutely aware that a new life was growing inside her. A child Cole didn’t want.

She’d become a package deal, her and Sweet Pea. The problem was, Cole only wanted half the package.

She drew back. “I don’t know, Cole. I really don’t.”

“Then let’s leave it here, on this sweet, pie-flavored note.” He quirked a grin in her direction. “Always leave them wanting more, isn’t that the old saying?”

“And do you? Want more?” Damn it all, she still wanted him, still couldn’t back away.

He cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing over her lips, following the path her tongue had taken. “God, yes,” he said. “That’s one thing that’s never changed, Emily. I always want you. Always have. Always will.”

That sent a little thrill through her, but she tamped it down. Desire was never their problem. She’d wanted him from the moment she’d met him, and still did. She drew in a breath, held it, then exhaled again, with a dose of clarity. “A marriage requires more than just sexual attraction.”

He sat back on the stool. A whisper of cold air filled the space between them. “Then let’s work on the other things a good marriage requires.” She started to protest, but he held up a finger, stopping her. “We’re here together for a few days at least, right? And yes, I know we’re separated and a step away from divorced, but at the very least, let’s try to learn how to connect with each other so that going forward, everything is amicable.”

It made sense, though she doubted his motives were that simple. Cole had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to get back together and didn’t want a divorce. At the same time, he’d made it clear he didn’t want children.

Still, the part of her that had got up in the middle of the night, worried, scared and lonely, craved the connection they’d had in their early days. Would it be so bad to rely on him, just for a few days, especially as she got used to the idea of the changes that lay ahead for her? What could it hurt?

Or was she just looking for a reason to be close to the man who was no longer her perfect fit?

“Tell me,” he said, draping an elbow over the bar, “what has you up in the middle of the night besides pie?”

“There are other reasons to get up besides sneaking the last piece of pie?” She grinned.

“I don’t know. Pie’s a pretty compelling reason.” He leaned in closer to her, and for a second, she thought—no, hoped—he was going to kiss her. “So what’s on your mind? I know you, Emily, and I know that look on your face. The way your brow furrows right there—” he laid a gentle finger on her temple “—tells me you’re worried about something.”

In that moment she wanted to tell Cole about the baby. Tell him how worried she was that she wouldn’t be a good mother or that she would let the baby down somehow. A long time ago, Cole had been her best friend, the one she told everything to. But as they’d drifted apart, their friendship had eroded, and that, Emily knew, was what she mourned most about the end of her marriage.

Besides, if she told him about the baby, she knew how he’d react. He’d be angry that she had deviated from the careful plan they’d had. He didn’t want kids now—and maybe not even later. He’d made that clear several times over the years and had reiterated the point the other day.

“I’m, uh, writing a book,” she said. “I got a little writer’s block and I was up, trying to figure out the next step in the plot.”

He arched a brow in surprise. “You’re writing a book?”

“I used to do that back in college, you know. I just put it aside for a while.”

“I remember. Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why did you ever stop writing? You used to love doing it.”

“Well, when we first got married, we were both working a crazy amount of hours while you got the business off the ground. Then once you were successful, my days got sucked up with things to support that.” She fiddled with the fork, tapping it against the empty plate. “That’s an excuse, really. I had the time, if I’d really wanted to find it. I just didn’t.”

“Why not?”

She raised a shoulder, dropped it. “I guess I was afraid. Once I finish a book, I have to send it out, and that...”

“Means you could get rejected.”

She exhaled. “Yeah.”

“But you’ve started now.” Cole’s hand covered hers. “That’s all that matters. And if no publisher wants your book, I’ll buy a printing press and—”

Emily jerked to her feet. Damn it. Why did he always return to the same answer? “Cole, I don’t want you to solve my problems with money. I wasn’t even asking you to solve it. I just wanted to talk, like you did with me, and have you listen, and most of all, let me find my own solution. If I get rejected, I get rejected. Maybe I’m not meant to be a writer. But you have to let me find that out instead of trying to fix everything with money.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do. When I was upset because my mother was moving to Florida, you bought her a house near ours. When I struggled to learn golf, you hired the best PGA coach in the business and flew him out to show me how to improve my swing. When I was sick with the flu, you had a doctor move into the guest room to be sure I was taken care of.”

“That’s what money buys, Emily. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, there is,” she said. She put the dishes in the sink and propped her hands on either side. “It’s the whole reason we’re not together anymore, Cole. You talk about wanting to fix our relationship, about being a better husband, about being there for me. That was all I ever wanted, Cole, you. And what did I get instead?” She turned away from the sink. “Your checkbook.”

“I was just trying to make things easier.”

“Because it’s easier to throw money at a problem than to actually get your hands—and your heart—into it.” She shook her head, and wondered why she kept letting hope rise in her when they always circled back to the same disappointing end. Even if they stayed together and had the baby, she didn’t need a crystal ball to predict the future. Cole would buy toys and trips to Disney World, but never be there for the first steps and soccer games. She let out a long, sad breath. “All I ever wanted was you.”

Then she left the room, before the tears in her eyes spilled down her cheeks and told Cole the truth. That all she wanted now, and always, was him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“A MAN COULD hurt himself doing that.”

Cole turned at the familiar voice. Joe Bishop stood in the driveway of the Gingerbread Inn, grinning like a fool. Damn, it was good to see him. Cole notched the ax into the turned-over log beside him, then headed down the hill and over to his friend, one of the few people Cole had known since childhood. The two men exchanged a hearty hug while Harper barked and leaped around them, excited to see another newcomer. “I’m glad you’re here, Joe. And not to help chop wood, though if you want to grab an ax, I won’t stop you.”

Joe laughed. “Count on you to show an old buddy a good time.”

“Come on, let’s get something to drink.” Cole gestured to Joe to follow him. They circled around to the back door of the inn and went into the kitchen, where Cole pulled two icy beers out of the fridge and handed one to Joe. “We had some good times back in the day, more than one, if I remember right.”

“If you’re talking about your bachelor party,” Joe said, “my memory of that night is a little fuzzy. In a good way.”

Cole chuckled. “That was one wild night.”

“Indeed. So was your wedding.” Joe grinned. “That was, what, ten years ago? Every once in a while, I still think about that night. And the cute bartender I met.” He winked. “Remember how she did that little shake when she mixed martinis? I think I ordered five of them just to see her shimmy.”

Joe, still a ladies’ man, the one in their group least likely to settle down. He’d started a landscaping business out of high school, and though he’d been successful enough to be able to expand and conquer the greater Boston area, Joe liked to keep his business small and manageable, so he could take off at a moment’s notice for a weekend with a pretty woman.

“To unforgettable women,” Cole said, tipping his bottle to connect with Joe’s.

Joe took a long gulp. “Speaking of unforgettable women...how’s Emily?”

The beer lost its appeal for Cole. He set his bottle on the steps, then sat down. How was Emily? That was the million-dollar question. Last night, he’d thought they were making progress, getting close again. For a second, it had been like the old days when they were united by their struggles to get from nowhere to somewhere. Then somehow, the closeness derailed again.

He was missing something, some detail, but what it was, he couldn’t say. Was it just about the money?

He used to think they both wanted success, but Emily seemed to resent the very thing he’d worked so hard to achieve. Admittedly, she had a point about him hiring people instead of doing the work himself. But a man could only spread himself so thin. Didn’t she understand he’d done it to ease their lives rather than complicate them?

Cole shrugged. He had no answers last night, and he had fewer now. “She’s here. I’m here. But it’s like we’re on different planets.”

Joe sat on the step beside Cole. “Things have gotten that bad between you two?”

“There are times when I think we have a chance, then other times...” He shrugged. “Not so much. Maybe she’s right.”

“Right about what?”

“That I can’t let go because I can’t admit I lost. That this is more about winning than about love.”

Joe snorted. “That I can see. I have played racquetball with you, remember. I also recall one particularly crazy basketball game in your driveway. You are definitely a win-at-all-costs guy, Cole.”

Cole cupped the beer between his palms and watched leaves flutter to the ground. In a couple of weeks, all would be bare here, covered with white, winter making its mark on the land around him. Even the trees caved to Mother Nature’s power, giving up their leaves, their greenery, all their finery, to an enforced slumber that would last for the next three months.

“I think this time, that attitude is costing me my marriage. The problem? I honestly don’t know if I can change. That’s the very thing that’s made me successful and what drives me every day. But it could also be the thing driving my wife away.” He took a drink. “Maybe I should give her what she wants and leave.”

“What does Emily say is the problem?”

“She says I try to solve everything with money rather than with just being there.”

“And do you?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s easier that way and leaves me time to—” Cole cut off the words and let out a curse. How could he have missed the obvious answer?

“What?”

“It leaves me time to work. To put into the company. Instead of her.”

Joe tapped Cole on the head. “Ding, ding, ding. I think he finally got it.”

“What’s wrong with being successful, though? Isn’t that the American dream?”

“Hell, yes, it is. But what’s the good of all that success if you end up a sad old man sitting in a dark room, all alone at the end of your life?”

Cole chuckled. “Gee, thanks for the bright picture of my future.” He said the words like a joke, but even he could see it ending up that way. He’d invest all his energy in the company, and then end up alone, because he’d forgotten to save some of that energy for the people in his life.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Joe asked.

“Get back to work,” Cole said, getting to his feet and leaving the beer on the stoop. “That’s the only answer I know.”

He picked up the ax and went back to chopping wood. As the metal blade hit log after log, slivering them into fireplace-sized chunks, Cole told himself he was making progress, when he knew damned well he wasn’t doing much more than staying in place.

* * *

“You can do this,” Emily muttered to herself and faced the daunting task assembled before her on the kitchen counter. Carol had gone into town for the day, off on a hair and manicure day arranged by Emily, who’d figured the stressed inn owner could use a little R & R. Martin Johnson, who’d been around the inn often to help Cole with some of the repair projects, had asked Carol if she might want to meet for lunch. Carol had fretted for an hour over her outfit for the day, changing three times before she left.

While Carol was gone, Emily promised to make dinner for everyone. She had to learn how to cook sometime. Better to start now and get some kind of kitchen skills under her belt before the baby came, or Emily would be weaning Sweet Pea on General Tso’s chicken and fried rice from Mr Chow.

“Can’t have you eating takeout every day, can I, Sweet Pea?” she said to the tiny bump under her belly. “Okay, let’s figure this out.”

She braced her hands on the counter and read over the recipe again. Seemed simple enough. For someone who knew what they were doing. Outside, she heard the sound of two axes hitting logs over and over as Cole and Joe chopped wood for the fireplace at the inn. At the rate they were going, Carol would be well stocked into next winter.

Joe had come into the kitchen earlier for some lunch, and spent some time catching up with Emily, telling her that Cole had asked him to help out with the repairs. She was glad. Not just because Cole needed the help, but because it was nice to see Cole’s friend, and to hear about his life for the past few years.

Except every time she looked at Cole and Joe together, it was like her wedding day all over again. She was walking down the aisle toward a nervous Cole flanked by a grinning Turner, then backed up by Joe, who’d been smiling through his hangover. Emily remembered the excitement, the rush of joy, the hopes and dreams she’d had that afternoon, when Cole had lifted her veil and kissed her. It had been a simple, small wedding on a limited budget, but perfect.

Thinking about the wedding made her melancholy and nostalgic. Not a good strategy right now, because it muddied the very waters she had come here to clear. So she’d make a chicken potpie and let the task take her mind in a different direction.

She reached for the onion, celery and carrots and placed them on the cutting board, then picked up the chef’s knife. She grabbed the onion first and raised the blade.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She looked up to find Cole standing in the back door. Damn. How did the man always manage to look so handsome? He had on a thick dark green sweatshirt, dark jeans and new work boots. His hair was getting a little long, she noticed, but it only added to his sex appeal. “Do what?”

“Cut the onion first. Leave that for last. That way, you aren’t crying over your carrots. Or—” he took a step inside “—you could wait for me to wash up and I can help you.”

“You? Help me. Cook.” She scoffed. “Right. What have you ever cooked?”

“I’ll have you know reheating takeout takes real skill.” He grinned, then crossed to the sink, pushed up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands. When he was done, he grabbed a second cutting board and knife and set them up across from Emily. “Two terrible cooks in the kitchen has to be better than one, don’t you think?”

She laughed. “It could be double the disaster.”

Cole leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. “Then blame it all on me and call for pizza.”

The temptation to have him here, in the close quarters of the kitchen, rolled over her. Every nerve in her body was tuned to his presence, even when he was outside working. She’d glanced out the window a hundred times already this morning, catching quick glimpses of him replacing some of the siding. He surely had a long list of outdoor activities to complete, yet he wanted to be here, to help her make a chicken potpie. Nothing else. Right?

“Deal.” She turned the cookbook toward him. “We’re making chicken potpie.”

Cole skimmed the directions. “I’m good with the chicken and vegetables part, but I have to admit, the words roux and piecrust have me terrified. What the hell is a roux?”

She laughed. “I have no idea.”

Cole read over the directions again. “Sure you don’t want to just call for pizza?”

“Cole Watson, you’re not giving up already, are you?”

“Me? Never.”

“Me, either.” She turned the book back toward herself. “Besides, I need to learn how to do this.”

“Why? Why now?”

“Because it’s about darn time I learned how to cook,” she said, instead of the truth—that she had this dream of baking cookies with her child. Of being in the kitchen with Sweet Pea on a stool, helping to measure and stir. Building a family life of just two. She’d wanted that for so long—

Then why did the thought suddenly sadden her?

Outside, she could hear the sound of Joe chopping wood. She gestured toward the door. “If you want to help Joe, I can handle this.”

Cole arched a brow.

“I can figure it out. And if I don’t, I’ll blame you and call for pizza.” She grinned, half hoping he’d leave, half hoping he’d stay.

“I’d rather stay and help you. I should learn to cook, too, since I’m living on my own now.”

She didn’t remind him that he could afford a team of chefs to make him food around the clock.

“After all,” Cole said, leaning in toward her again, “didn’t you say you always wanted me to help you instead of hiring someone to do the work? Let me help you, Emily.”

She considered him for a moment. What would it hurt? Maybe together they could puzzle through this whole roux and piecrust thing. He had a point. She couldn’t say no when he was offering the very thing she’d asked him for.

“Okay, then, you have onion duty.” She plopped the offending vegetable onto Cole’s cutting board.

“You just want to see me cry.”

“No, but it is definitely a bonus.” She took the celery, trimmed off the ends and began to cut it into little green crescent shapes. Across from her, Cole had peeled the onion and sliced it down the middle. He made slow, neat, precise slices in the vegetable, so exact it was as if he’d measured them.

Cole stopped cutting and looked up at her. “What?”

“You’re treating that onion like it’s a prototype or a stock report. It won’t break if you chop it fast, Cole. We only have so long to get dinner on the table.”

“I like things neat,” he said.

“Neat? That’s an understatement. You should have been an accountant, Cole, with all those straight lines. Though, there were a couple times you didn’t mind a mess. One in particular I remember.” The last few words came out as a whisper. “Remember the closet in our first apartment?”

“That wasn’t a closet—it was an overgrown shoe box. It was impossible to keep neat.” He stopped slicing and looked up at her, and a knowing smile curved across his face. The kind of smile that came with a shared history, a decade of memories. It was a nice, comfortable place to be.

“The ties,” Cole said. “You’re talking about the ties.”

Oh, how she would miss this when her marriage was dissolved. All the memories they held together would be divided, like the furniture and the dishes and the books on the shelves. She’d be starting over with someone else. A blank slate, with no inside jokes about food fights and messy closets.

Emily craved those memories right now, craved the closeness they inspired. Just a little more, she told herself, and then she’d be ready to let go. “Remember that day you couldn’t find the red one with the white stripes?”

He nodded. “The one you gave me for our first Christmas. I said it was my lucky tie and I wanted to wear it on my first sales call.”

Their gazes met, the connection knitting tighter. She smiled. “You were so mad, because you like everything all ordered, and this was out of order. So I tore the closet apart looking for it, and because I was frustrated and in a hurry, I just threw all the ties in a pile on the floor. You came in and found me—”

“And at first I was upset at the mess, but then you held up the tie—”

“And I told you that if you made a mess once in a while, maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight.”

They laughed, the merry sound ringing in the bright and cheery kitchen. “But you forget the best part,” Cole said, moving a little closer, his voice darkening with desire. “How we ended up making love on that floor, on top of the ties, and having a hell of a good time.”

“In the middle of a mess.”

It had been a wild, uninhibited moment. They’d had so few of those. Too few.

Cole caught a strand of her hair in his fingers and let the slippery tress slide away. “Why didn’t I do that more often, Emily?”

She ached to lean into his touch, to turn her lips to his palm, to kiss the hand she knew so well. “I don’t know, Cole, I really don’t.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then a mischievous light appeared in his eyes and his hand dropped away. He shifted his attention to the onion again, and this time did a frantic chopping, sending pieces here and there, mincing it into a variety of tiny cubes. “There. Done. And messy as hell.”

She laughed. “I think the pie will be all the better for it.”

“Oh, yeah? Wait till we make the crust. You might not feel that way with flour in your hair.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He eyed the five-pound bag of all-purpose flour on the counter. “Oh, I would. And I will. I never did get you back for throwing my ties on the floor.” Cole came around to the other side of the bar, scooping up a bit of flour in his hand. “Are you sorry about that?” he asked.

There was a charge in the air, fueled by the innuendos and heat between them. It was delicious and sweet and she hoped the feeling stayed. “Not one bit.”

Cole held his hand over her head. “You want to rethink your position, Mrs. Watson?”

She hadn’t been called that in months, and the name jarred her for a second. She remembered when Cole had first proposed and she had written Mrs. Cole Watson a hundred times, until the proposal felt real and she could believe she was really going to marry the man of her dreams. Soon, she wouldn’t be Mrs. Watson anymore. Or a missus at all.

“I’m sorry, Cole,” she said softly.

He dropped his hand and met her gaze. “They were just ties, Emily. I didn’t really care.”

“I know,” she said. She was trying to hold on to the moment, but knew it was a butterfly, fleeting, impossible to catch. Eventually, Cole would go back to work, and she’d be on her own again. A single mom. Better to end it now than to prolong the inevitable. Emily returned to the vegetables. “Let’s, uh, get this pie made before Carol comes home.”

If he sensed the change in her, he didn’t say anything. He helped her finish chopping the vegetables and cooked chicken, then lifted the heavy food processor onto the counter and helped her assemble the ingredients for the piecrust. “Okay. Here goes nothing,” Cole said, pushing the pulse button. Several pulses later, the flour and butter and ice water had coalesced into a crust. “Voilà!” Cole said, lifting off the plastic lid. “Piecrust.”

“I am impressed,” she said. “What are you doing for your next trick, Superman?”

He grinned. “That you will have to wait to see, Mrs. Watson.”

She shook her head and dipped her gaze before he saw the tears that had rushed to her eyes. “Don’t call me that, Cole. Please.”

“Emily, Emily,” he said, tipping her chin until she was looking at him. “We cleaned up the mess with the ties. Why do you have such little faith that we can clean up the mess with our marriage?”

CHAPTER NINE

THE FOUR OF them sat around the long dining room table, helping themselves to big slices of chicken potpie and generous bowls of tossed salad. Carol had brought home a loaf of bread from the bakery in town, which served as the perfect complement to the meal. Cole sat beside Joe, across from Emily and Carol in a warm and cozy room filled with great scents, great food and great people.

This, he thought, this is what home feels like.

Was that what he and Emily had missed? Had they been so fixated on getting from A to B that they had missed that critical step of building a home, not just a house?

Or rather, had he? Emily had asked him to be home more often, and he’d promised over and over to do that, only to spend his time at work instead. Then they’d built that house on the hill, and despite the fact that it had a table in the kitchen, a handcrafted one in the dining room and another outdoor eating space, they rarely ate together. Most nights, she had been asleep before he got home, and then he was gone again before she was awake.

“Great job, Emily.” Carol gestured toward the chicken potpie. “Maybe I should hire you on as a chef.”

Emily laughed. Cole liked it when she laughed, because her face and eyes lit up, and the whole room felt lighter. “I am far from being a chef. Cole’s the one who mastered the piecrust. I just read the directions.”

“You did more than that, Emily,” Cole said. “You taught me how to chop an onion, too.”

She dipped her head, a flush shading her cheeks. “I just told you it didn’t have to be all perfect.”

Joe looked from Cole to Emily and back again. “You got this guy to loosen the reins a little? What’d you do, drug him?”

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Cole said.

“Right. You are the only man I know who had a typewritten itinerary for your own bachelor party.” Joe chuckled.

Cole scowled. “I like to be organized. So sue me.”

Joe leaned toward Emily with a conspiratorial grin. He cupped his hand around his mouth, mocking a whisper. “If you want to drive Cole crazy, just hide his lists and his planners.”

“First I’d have to pry his smartphone out of his hands,” Emily said, laughter in her voice. “And that’s almost impossible.”

Cole unclipped the phone and slid it across the table toward Emily. “Hey, I can disconnect the umbilical.”

Joe scoffed. “That’s not a challenge. It’s already after five.”

The cell phone sat on the table, one of the things that had built his company to its current position at the top, but also one of the things that had dragged his marriage to the bottom. That was one of the hazards of always being available—it was good for business, but bad for a relationship.

Emily glanced at his phone, then slid it back. “I don’t need it. I’m just glad you’re getting some time away from the office here.”

“Are you glad I’m here?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers.

A small, bittersweet smile crossed her lips. “Of course. You work so hard, I was always worried you’d have a heart attack. You need some time to destress.”

That wasn’t what Cole had hoped Emily would say. He’d wanted her to say she was glad he was here with her, finally trying to work on their marriage again.

“And in the process,” Emily added, “maybe you can get back to what’s important.”

The last few words had him trying to read Em’s face, but her gaze was on her plate, keeping whatever secrets she had hidden behind her wide green eyes.

“That’s what this inn was always about. Helping people get in touch with their lives, themselves,” Carol said. “And what I’d like to do more of if I end up keeping it. I think it’d make a great retreat for corporate types who want to get out from behind the desk.”

“You could make it a win-win,” Joe said with a grin. “Give them some hammers and nails or some paint and a paintbrush and put them to work on that project list that Cole drew up. You’ll get the stuff done around here, and they’ll get to do something other than sit around an office all day. Plus, Cole would get to check things off on one of his lists, and we all know how happy that makes him.”

Cole laughed. Damn, it was good to have Joe here. His friend kept him grounded, real. “Joe, only you would make people work on vacation.”

Emily dished up some more salad and grabbed another slice of bread. “Says the man who hasn’t taken a vacation in years.”

“True.” Cole gave her a nod, then leaned in with a grin. “Maybe you should have kidnapped me and whisked me away to an undisclosed location. Out of network range, of course.”

A mischievous glint shone in her eyes. “That might have been fun.”

“Just for the record, if you ever get the urge to do something like that, I’m game.” It seemed as if the room had closed to just the two of them. He held her gaze, and his heart skipped a beat. “But you might want to take my phone first.”

“If I get that thing in my hands, I’ll end up smashing it with a sledgehammer,” Emily said with a teasing smile. “It’s needier than a three-year-old.”

As if on cue, the smartphone began to ring and the caller ID screen lit. Doug, probably calling about another problem with the new product launch. Cole reached forward, pressed the button on the side of the phone, sent the call to voice mail and darkened the screen. The action sent a flicker of anxiety through him, but he pushed it aside. Emily was right. He’d spent far too much time letting work interrupt dinners, and the last thing he wanted was an interruption in this one, when things seemed to be going so well, almost like the old days.

“That’s a good start,” Emily said, and gave him a smile that he wanted to hold in his heart. “Thank you, Cole.”

The dinner ended too soon. Carol began to pick up the dishes and put out a hand to stop Cole and Emily when they rose to help her. “You two go off on a walk or something. Joe and I can get these.”

“Are you sure?” Emily asked. “You already do so much.”

“That’s my job. Your job is to go relax,” Carol said. “And that’s an order.”

“Don’t worry about Carol,” Joe said. He flexed his biceps. “She’s got a whole lotta help.”

Cole chuckled. “A whole lotta something, that’s for sure.” Then he turned to Emily, glad that Carol had made it impossible for Emily to say no. “Want to take a walk? It’s not too cold out tonight.”

She glanced at Carol, who nodded and waved her off. “Okay. Let me get my coat.”

A few minutes later, they were outside, breathing in the crisp fall night air. The scent of a wood-burning stove filled the air, mixing in the fragrance of cedar and oak. “It’s a beautiful night,” Cole said. “Look at the lake. It’s as smooth as glass.”

“It’s gorgeous. Like a postcard.” Her breath frosted in the air, surrounding her face with a soft cloud.

He thought of what she had said before, about how he should learn to make a mess more often, to be less uptight and rigid and planned. Spontaneity had never been Cole’s strong suit, yet the happiest times he could remember were when he went off schedule. Maybe that was the key to finding his way back to where they used to be—throwing out the plan and just...

Being.

A rowboat lay on the beach, flanked by a pair of oars. The moon glinted off the wooden boat’s hull, making it look like a giant smile in the dark. “Hey, let’s take the boat out,” he said.

“At night? In the middle of November?”

He leaned in close, catching the sweet scent of her floral perfume, a fragrance he knew as well as he knew his own name. Her hair drifted across his lips. “Live on the edge, Emily,” he whispered. “With me.”

She turned to him, her lips an inch away from his. Her eyes widened, she inhaled, and Cole wanted her more in that moment than he could remember. “On the edge? But it’s dangerous. It’s nighttime, the water is cold and...well, things could go wrong. Remember the story Carol told?”

He brushed the hair off her forehead and let his touch linger there a moment. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to catch you.” His hand drifted down, along her jaw. “I always will be.”

She shook her head, and tears glimmered in her eyes. “Cole—”

“Trust me, Em. Just tonight.”

She bit her lip and watched him for a moment, wary, hesitant.

“It’ll be fun. Unscripted, spontaneous, fun. I promise.”

Then the hesitation disappeared and she smiled. “Okay. As long as you don’t rock the boat.”

He took her hand and led her down the hill. Her hand felt good in his, right. Long ago, they had stopped holding hands. Why, he couldn’t remember. If they ever got back together, he vowed that if Emily was nearby, he would always hold her hand. “Of course. Not rocking the boat is my specialty.”

“You’re wrong about that, Cole. I’m the one who never likes to rock the boat,” she said, bending to help him right the boat and slide it into the water. “You’re the one who takes chances.”

“In business, yes. In my personal life—” he took an oar, then waited while she climbed into the rowboat before handing her the second oar “—not so much.”

Cole gave the boat a push, and it slid into the water with a gentle ripple. He took both of the oars, positioned himself on the bench, then began rowing away from the shore. The oars made a satisfying whoosh sound with each stroke, while his back and shoulder muscles jerked to attention. A fish jumped out of the water behind them, then flopped back in, spattering them. Emily watched him row, a smile playing on her lips. “What?” he asked.

“You look...well, you look sexy and strong doing that.”

“Then maybe I should do this more often.”

She didn’t respond to that, just smiled again and leaned back on the bench. “All the times I’ve been to the Gingerbread Inn, I’ve never been out on the lake after dark. It’s so peaceful out here.”

A perfect setting for a man to propose, Cole thought. When he’d proposed to Emily all those years ago, he’d done what he always did—he’d created a plan for the evening and stuck to his timetable, almost to the minute. Dinner in the city, followed by the ubiquitous and clichéd carriage ride along New York’s streets, then pausing by Central Park to slip onto the carriage’s carpeted floor and pop the question. He’d known Em was going to say yes before he even asked, because they’d talked about getting married a half dozen times before.

Out here, alone in the dark while fish bobbed in the water around them and geese swam silently along the banks, he had the perfect setting for something unexpected. Something that would show Emily he wasn’t here to fix the porch or chop firewood. He was here for them. For a second chance. He gave the oars a final tug, then set them across the center of the boat. Then he leaned forward, dropping to one knee, and reached for his wife’s hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Living on the edge,” he said. “Emily, I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want us to live apart anymore. I want to try again, to give our marriage the chance it needs. Will you try again?”

Her eyes widened, and she backed up a bit. Damn. This was why he planned these things out. So he could have time to write a good proposal, to plan out what he was going to say. That had to rank up there with the top ten least romantic proposals in the history of time. “Cole, there’s a lot we need to discuss. Things we haven’t settled yet.”

“What’s to settle? I love you.” He held her hands, but noticed she didn’t hold his back. Nor did she tell him she loved him. Had her feelings for him changed? Was he reading her all wrong?

“It’s about more than love, Cole. It always was. We’re...not on the same path anymore.”

He grinned. Okay, so she hadn’t said she didn’t love him, either. He’d take that as a good sign. “We are now. A path that’s kind of going in circles in the middle of the lake.”

She pulled her hands back and tucked them inside her coat. The air between them dropped a few degrees, and the grin faded from Cole’s face.

“I want a family, Cole. I always have. We’ve put it off forever, and honestly, it’s gotten to the point where I don’t understand why. You’ve achieved what you want with the company, I’m writing my book...what more is there to do or get before we have kids?”

Just the word kids made him freeze. When he’d first married Em, he’d told her he wanted children, and maybe for a time, he had. But as the years had worn on and he watched his friends have kids and have trouble and turmoil in their families, trouble and turmoil that affected the kids and ruined their childhoods, the more Cole didn’t want to change the status quo. But he knew that telling Em would drive her away for good. She had always been set on having children, the one risk Cole didn’t want to take. “We always wanted to travel, Em. Have fun, live our lives, before we added kids into the mix.”

She let out a gust. “Let’s go back to shore. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Let me ask you this.” He leaned toward her, causing the boat to make a gentle rocking motion. “Why do you think having kids will improve our lives?”

“How can you say they won’t?” She shook her head. “I don’t get you, Cole, I really don’t.”

“I’m just trying to make sure we have everything in order first.” He didn’t want to tell her that the thought of being a father was the only thing that truly scared Cole. He knew what he was good at and what he wasn’t—and parenting didn’t make the list of talents.

“You and your lists and timetables.” She let out a gust. “For once, I wish you would just let all that go.”

He was losing her. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her face. They had reached a moment of no return, a time when he had to act, instead of just talk. Their relationship stood on a fault line, and only a dramatic shift would keep it from falling apart.

“I can, if you want me to, Em.” He tugged his cell out of his pocket and held it over the water. “I can drop this in the water, and not think twice about it. Devote myself entirely to us for the next week or month or year or however long it takes.”

“You’d do that? Walk away from the company?”

“If it brings us back together, yes.” Then, as if God was testing his resolve, Cole’s phone began to ring. Doug, again. The little notification bar under the caller ID showed Doug had called four times with no answer. Definitely an emergency, if he was trying that hard to get hold of Cole.

He glanced at the screen, his stomach churning. The urge to answer the call, to solve the problem, burned inside him. The company had taken so much of his life in the past ten years and even now, even when it mattered, he couldn’t let it go. He could feel the need calling to him, like the business held an invisible string to his gut. He wasn’t sure which direction the need went—whether it was the company that needed him or him who needed the company. The phone dangled from his fingers, inches from the water. Then his fingers tightened their grip and the decision was made. He realized that at the same time Em did.

Emily gave him a sad little smile. “You might as well answer it.”

“What about us?”

“Us?” She took the oars and put them in the water, then began rowing back toward shore. “The only thing I know for sure is that I’m done going in circles.”

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