And there was the problem. When he fell for a woman all the blood drained from his brain and his eyes glazed over. He stopped thinking logically. He stopped being pragmatic.

What if he let go, let himself fall for Ginger? And what if it was a big mistake? What if there were some other things he couldn’t see right now, lurking, that would keep them from having a successful long-term relationship? Like? Oh, hell, he didn’t know. If he knew, he could check them out, examine them. Sometimes these things sneaked up on you.

He was going to have to be still and quiet for a little while. It would be a good time to dig, aerate, fertilize, trim and prune. He should be by himself and spend some time in his head. Thinking of all the possibilities, because Ginger was getting her own place. With a door that closed. With a bed in it.

If he was wrong about a woman he felt that strongly for again, it was going to be ugly.

* * *

Ginger hoped Matt had stayed over at his sister’s house Saturday night and would call her on Sunday. She hoped he had because it had been far too late by the time he could have begun his four-hour drive north. But her phone didn’t ring.

So she told herself a different story—he’d gotten up early and headed back to the farm, got caught up in the after-church family circus with twenty people at the table. So later, he would call her later.

She stayed busy, longing to talk to him. They’d just had that romance at the lookout, the kissing, the whispering, and she wanted to hear him talk about it. He was gentle but there was such a power there; she could feel the tension in his arms, his body, as he was reining it in, keeping all those runaway emotions under control.

She walked the beach in the early afternoon. She stopped off at Cooper’s bar, which was hopping because it was a sunny Sunday. Even Troy was working, getting out kayaks and paddleboards for rent.

“I can’t believe you’re working,” she said. “You just got married last night!”

“I know, but I was up early. We had a great breakfast with the family and now they’re all headed home. Grace is exhausted and she’s taking a nap. I think we wore out Winnie, too. The only person with energy to spare is Mikhail—he’s looking for things to do. Last I saw him, he was headed into town on foot, determined to look around.”

“You should be with Grace,” she said.

“Shh, don’t tell, but I got restless. I don’t want a nap. I’m going to go over to the loft in a little while and clean it up for you. You do want it, right?”

“I do,” she said excitedly. “I’ve only been in it a couple of times. Can I go, too? Help?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “I’m going to give Cooper a couple more hours. Should I call you?”

“You can. Or...I think I’ll go to the shop and make sure everything is right for tomorrow morning. I’ll be over there already.”

So, back to town she went. There wasn’t a lot to do in the shop, though the Saturday rush for the wedding had left it a little messy. The arch was standing in the alley beside the back door, as promised, and had to be dismantled and put away. There was the usual sweeping and wiping down to do. She listened to the work cell, but there were only congratulatory messages for Grace and no orders.

She looked at her own cell phone several times, wondering why Matt wasn’t calling. There was a kernel of fear in her. She couldn’t wait any longer. She texted him. Are you home safely?

Then she stared at the phone, waiting. He didn’t reply. If she didn’t hear from him soon, she would call Peyton. In the meantime, she began to tidy the back room and office. The phone that a couple of months ago she didn’t even care to recharge was now in her pocket. She was waiting for it to chime or ring. And she hated that!

She went from tidying and wiping to scrubbing, putting a lot of muscle into it, making that scarred old worktable shine. Waiting. It brought to mind how she waited to hear from Mick, to hear he was nearby and could see her or out of town on some gig but thinking of her. Waiting for his affection, waiting for him to come to bed in the wee hours, waiting, always waiting for some affirmation from him. Didn’t he feel horrible about leaving her alone and pregnant? Didn’t he want to at least discuss the divorce? Make a compromise? Didn’t he wonder how she was getting along? Wonder about the baby? She almost reached out to him ten thousand times and it took a will of iron not to but she could remember the agony of that waiting so clearly, it might’ve been yesterday. And had that agony ever touched him? Not in the slightest way. This next song is going to be it, babe, it’s going to push me to the top.

Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out. Twenty-five minutes had passed when Matt responded. Safe and sound.

She waited, staring at the phone screen. Was there nothing more? No, talk to you later? Hope you weren’t worried? Had a good time last night?

Nothing.

She felt her eyes well with tears and told herself to stop! She couldn’t be that woman again, that woman in love and desperate to have her passions returned. She couldn’t cry for attention from a man, hoping he’d call, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d care. It was too painful, living in a one-sided relationship.

She turned off her phone. She blew her nose.

It wasn’t long before Troy arrived, knocked on the locked back door of the shop and then took Ginger upstairs. It was such a darling little apartment. One room, really, the bedroom separated from the living room by an arch. There was plenty of room for one person, a large bathroom, the linen closet, which held a stacked washer and dryer along with shelves, a galley kitchen with a few cupboards and a table for two. But there was a regular-size sectional and wall unit holding a TV. The bed was queen-size and there was a wall unit of drawers and closet space.

“This is adorable,” she told Troy.

He was busy moving around the little apartment, checking the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen. “Well, I should have known. My mother wouldn’t leave a speck of dust behind.” He flipped open the lid of the washer. “I guess this means you even have clean sheets on the bed. I’ll run this load of sheets, make sure the bathroom is clean and—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “I’ll take care of that. I know you have your own apartment to clean up. Didn’t I hear you say you’re taking the living room furniture for your game room in the new house?”