unsure whether Violet looked relieved or disappointed he had stopped.
He knew he was both.
For as much as he wanted to make love to her right here and now, the more pragmatic part of him knew that doing so would have been a colossal mistake.
Violet was the most idealistic woman he had ever met.
She believed in love with all her heart and soul.
Not hookups.
Not tawdry one-night stands.
When she made love with a man again—and he was determined now, after kissing her, that it would be with him—she would want it to mean something.
The surprise was that he wanted their coming together to mean something, too.
She took a conciliatory breath. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Gavin grinned, aware he was enjoying spending time with her more than he had enjoyed anything in a long time. “For what? Kissing me back?”
Violet shook her head as if that would get her back on track and locked eyes with him. “No. For doing whatever it was I did to lead you on.”
Ah. So this is the way she’s going to play it.
She straightened, her face still flushed with desire, and scooted her hips to the foot of the bed.
“You didn’t lead me on,” he said, testing her, too.
She glanced back at him, her tousled hair enticingly spilling over her shoulders.
Resisting the urge to run his hands through the silky strands, he concentrated on the just-kissed softness of her lips before returning his attention to her eyes. “You’ve always made it clear you’re still in love with Sterling.”
There was a long, thoughtful pause that seemed to indicate he had guessed wrong about that.
Finally, she tilted her head. “Then you do understand.”
He had the distinct impression they were talking about two different things.
“Frankly, I’m envious.” Gavin was prodding, trying to figure out what exactly was holding her back if not her love for her late fiancé. “He was a lucky guy.”
Violet slid off the edge of the bed. “Until he died when he was twenty-five.”
Gavin swore silently. He had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time in these kinds of situations. He stood, too. “You know what I mean.”
“I just don’t like it when people tell me how great we had it. Or how lucky we were to have found each other. Because nothing about it feels lucky, Gavin.” She paused, her lower lip quivering.
“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly pulling her into his arms and giving her the hug she seemed to need.
For an instant she sank into him. When she pulled back, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. “Forget all the books and movies, Gavin,” she whispered. “There’s nothing romantic about having a terminal illness. For the patient, or his or her loved ones.” She swallowed, pressing a palm to her forehead. “It just...”
“Sucks. I know. And I am sorry. For wanting to understand and not being able to because I haven’t walked a mile in your shoes.”
Again their eyes met. This time she accepted his acknowledgment of her pain.
After a moment her expression changed and she took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Moving on...” She brushed past him, to the narrow aisle he had created. “I still forgot to get pens!” This time when she reached down between the mattress and nightstand, there was just enough room. She bounded back up, plastic box filled with writing utensils clasped in hand. “Now, on to what we should be doing. Filling out those questionnaires...”
* * *
“WHY NOT ADMIT you made a mistake with this whole glamping thing and move in with me temporarily,” Violet’s oldest sister, Poppy, said the next day when she arrived to assess Violet’s storage needs. Fiercely independent, and the only single-birthed daughter of Jackson and Lacey McCabe—who also boasted a set of twins and triplet daughters—Poppy was an interior designer, known for her practicality, efficiency and style.
“I just need a neat and inexpensive way to organize my clothes so I’m not tripping over them or rooting through boxes and suitcases for the next few months.”
And, Violet thought, still getting hot and bothered whenever she thought about it, she especially didn’t need to be rolling around on her bed kissing Gavin Monroe! Not that she was obsessing over their hot, sexy clinch or anything.
Poppy walked around the large space, measuring, thinking, making notes. She swung back around. “I have plenty of room in my bungalow, you know.”
Violet looked at the gray clouds on the horizon. “Thanks, sis, but I’d rather be here.”
Poppy frowned. “Aren’t you lonely?”
She sure hadn’t been last night. Gavin had stayed another hour and a half, as they’d taken their time with the questionnaires, debating each fine point, wondering what would be best for their tiny charge.
But at least he hadn’t tried to kiss her again when he left—
The sound of a big tractor-trailer roaring up the lane jerked Violet from her reverie.
She and Poppy moved to the open screen door. They looked out to see the arrival of the big steel Dumpster for the construction debris, and another six pickup trucks carrying the workers.
“I mean, it’s so quiet out here in off-hours. And it looks like it’s going to be really noisy during work hours.”
“I can handle that.” Violet pointed to her headphones. “As for the rest of the time, I like my solitude.”
Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “Too much sometimes?”
Everyone had thought that, after Sterling died. What they hadn’t understood was how much the alone time had helped Violet to process her loss and work through not only her grief but the many mistakes she had made, the countless ways she had let Sterling down.
Now, finally, she was ready to move on.
She just wasn’t sure to where or to what.
All she knew for sure was that she felt stuck. And the only way to get out of her rut was to seek change. Big, life-altering change. In the meantime, though...
“I have the transformation of McCabe House to keep me occupied.” She glanced at her watch. “And I have to get to the hospital, too.”
“To check on the baby you and Gavin are temporary guardians for?”
Violet nodded, aware that with the exception of the four phone calls she’d made to the nurses’ station in the Special Care Nursery, she had sort of been delaying going back there in person. For
