weren’t even living together?
They had to talk about their relationship. They had to get back on track. But before they could get into that, he had to break another bit of news to her—the news that he had to return to Washington earlier than expected. Earlier as in tomorrow morning, rather than January third as they’d planned.
That would go over about as well as telling her that the holidays had been canceled this year. With the way their plans had been preempted, that wasn’t so far from the truth.
Jamison made his way toward the stainless steel refrigerator and tugged opened the double doors. The precise arrangement of the cartons, jars and stacked glass and plastic containers echoed the kitchen’s tidiness.
One of the many things he admired about his wife was the pride she took in their home. He’d encouraged her to hire a cook and a full-time housekeeper so that she’d have more time for herself and time for the Children’s Home, a non-profit orphanage where she sat on the board of directors. But she’d refused, because she loved cooking—and was darn good at it. She’s said while it was just the two of them she could get by with someone coming in and doing the deep cleaning a couple of times a month. She claimed she enjoyed keeping their house, making a home for them. When it came to home and family, there was no one more dedicated than Olivia. That’s why their fertility issues had been such a struggle. They desperately wanted children and had jumped through many hoops to get pregnant—all to no avail. Too much testing and too many treatments had set them on an emotional roller coaster and taken a serious toll on their marriage. How ironic, when marriage had to be the bedrock on which the family was built.
Liv wouldn’t take well to the suggestion, but he’d been thinking about asking her to agree to put having children on hold until they could heal their marriage. It was the only thing that made sense.
But one thing at a time. First, he had to break the news about the change of holiday plans.
Jamison found the eggs, butter and cheddar cheese and was just turning around with his hands full when Olivia walked into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he said. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”
She shook her head. “I thought you’d sleep in since you got home so late.”
She didn’t sound like herself, and she looked at him with a wariness that took him aback. But she did look beautiful standing there perfectly made-up and dressed, wearing the pearls that he’d given her as a wedding present, her dark hair twisted up in a way that accentuated her porcelain skin, fine cheekbones and gorgeous dark eyes—deep brown, like the coffee he craved almost as much as he thirsted for her.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was flat. She sounded tired.
He adjusted the goods in his hands, fidgeting as if he’d been caught trespassing. This was her territory after all. In the seven years they’d been married, he’d barely set foot in the kitchen, much less cooked a meal.
“I thought I’d fix you some breakfast.” He grinned sheepishly, suddenly feeling out of his league.
“You don’t have to do that.” She gestured toward the items in his hands. “Just put those things down and I’ll do it. I have a special breakfast planned.”
Oh. Of course she would, it being Christmas.
“Well, I just thought—” Their gazes snagged for a brief moment before she looked away. With that, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that something was wrong. Of course something was wrong, but he’d been so bent on moving forward with the next steps they should take to fix things between them that he hadn’t counted on having to delve backward into their problems before they could move on. Suddenly the clarity he’d felt moments before was replaced by a dread that riveted him to the wooden kitchen floor.
Olivia walked toward him and took the food from his hands. Then she set to work, returning the cheese to the dairy drawer and removing various other items from the refrigerator and pantry. Jamison stood and watched her for a moment, feeling superfluous.
Since she hadn’t made any moves to start the coffee, he decided it would be a good task and began opening cabinet doors to locate the beans.
“What are you looking for?” Olivia asked.
“Coffee,” he replied.
“It’s in the freezer.” She gestured to the drawer below the refrigerator. “I keep it there so it will stay fresh since I’m not drinking it these days.”
“Really? So, no coffee for you?”
She shook her head.
“How come? You love coffee.”
She turned and squinted at him, looking plenty annoyed. “Jamison, I haven’t been drinking coffee for the past two years. Don’t you remember the doctor suggested that I cut caffeine from my diet while we were trying to get pregnant?”
Well, it was an honest mistake since they hadn’t had the opportunity to try during the past couple months. Even so, he thought as he rummaged through the freezer drawer, his not knowing felt like a failure. Funny how he felt perfectly at home on the senate floor, where he knew every nook and cranny of the issues he passionately presented, yet he’d forgotten that the doctor had nixed caffeine from his wife’s diet.
Bad show, man.
When he pulled out the unopened bag of whole-bean French roast, Olivia was right there ready to pluck it from his hands.
This time, he held on tight.
“I can do it,” he said.
“Since when do you know how to make coffee?” she asked, tugging every so slightly, but he refused to let go.
“Since I haven’t had you to make it for me,” he said, looking her square in the eye. For an instant, a look—surprise, hurt, disappointment. maybe a combination of the three—flashed on her face.
“I’ll make it for you,” she insisted. Once again her expression was flat and there was no warmth in her eyes where mere seconds ago there had been a pileup of emotion.
The distance between them was killing him. He had to do something.
He glanced down at their hands still holding on to the bag of coffee. They were so close, yet not touching. He stretched his finger until it touched hers. She flinched and snatched her hand away, leaving him holding the bag of French roast.
She looked startled for a moment then turned back toward the kitchen counter, busying herself with the breakfast preparation, taking eggs from the carton with shaky hands.
“Liv,” he said. “We need to talk about this. It’s not just going to go away.”
She placed the eggs in a bowl and stilled but didn’t respond.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’ve missed you so badly it’s tearing me up.”
He saw her grip tighten on the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.
“I’m sorry last night didn’t work out the way we’d hoped. I
