She looked a little stunned at that, considering, then she nodded in the way that reminded him of when her spreadsheets all balanced up and her crazy world suddenly made sense.

“So.” He ran a hand through his hair as silence settled between them. “You never answered me back in the bar. You just jumped me. It was so embarrassing.”

She looked at him like she honestly had no idea what question he was talking about. It made his throat dry up, and not in a good way. No turning back now, though. “Are we going to try this again?” he asked. “You and me?”

The gentle movement of her hand on his chest paused. She rose up on one elbow so they were eye to eye. She looked terribly worried, like she’d already made up her mind to leave him here and now. Like it was ten years ago and they were on another picnic blanket. Then she kissed him, close-lipped but sweet and long. That hadn’t happened a decade ago, and it sent his mind spinning toward hope.

“How?” she asked when she pulled away, and she looked genuinely confused. “How could we make that work?”

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, he replied, “We try.”

“All right, then,” she said seriously, and something sharp and sweet struck him in the heart. “We try.” 

Chapter

17

“Speaking of not answering questions, you still haven’t answered mine from last night.” Jen slid into the nook between the counter and the window overlooking Bleecker Street, marveling over the fact that Leith MacDougall was sitting at her tiny kitchen table, devouring a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats.

An impish look preceded his smart-ass comment. “Which question again? Was it: ‘Do you like that?’ or ‘More?’ Because the answer is ‘yes.’ To both.”

Though she acknowledged him with a smile, she clutched her coffee mug in both hands and tried to look as earnest as possible. “No, the one about why you aren’t staying in Gleann for the games. Or competing. The real reason. I know part of it, but I think there’s more. And I’m here to listen, if you want.”

He set down the cereal spoon so carefully it didn’t make a ripple in the milk. “You do know part of it. Because I showed it to you.”

She wanted to touch him but he’d gone shuttered, and he leaned so far back in his chair she couldn’t easily reach him. “Your dad. The house. You haven’t dealt with losing him yet, and going to the games, which was such a huge part of growing up—for both of you—would be too painful a reminder.”

He coughed. “Put like that, it seems so easy to fix.” The sun coming through the window turned his eyes the color of the whiskey they’d drunk last night.

“It’s not. I know it isn’t. But it’s something you have to do on your own. No one can make you get over losing the most important person in your life.” He nodded slowly, and she leaned over her mug. “But I can make you talk about the other reason you’re not competing.”

Narrowed, challenging eyes focused on her. The corners of his mouth drooped. “And what would that be?”

She’d thought about this for several days, ever since Olsen had told her about Leith’s final games. “You won the all-around three years in a row, coming on the heels of the best high school football season the valley had ever known and two state track championships. You’ve never not won anything your whole life. You said it yourself the other night at the Stone, that you’d never really been given a challenge. But then you didn’t win those final games, and then you stopped throwing.”

She’d never seen him so still. He looked into his bowl. “That was the last time Da saw me throw.”

“And I bet he loved it. I bet he cheered you the whole time. Didn’t you see that photo he had hung in your old room? Those last games where he looked proudest of all?”

Leith squeezed his eyes shut.

“You didn’t fail him,” she said. “You didn’t fail, period. Not winning doesn’t mean failing.”

Those whiskey eyes flew open. “Who said I thought that?”

“No one. No one had to. I know you, Mr. All-Star. I also know how Gleann worships you.” He winced. “I know it bothers you, but now I know it’s deeper than that. That it pressures you to not let them down. But since no one else will say it, it’s fallen on me to tell you that no one except you expects you to win everything.”

He opened his mouth and she sensed his protest. She held up a gentle hand.

“You think people love you because of the feats you’ve accomplished, but that’s just stupid. I’m sorry, but it is. They love you because you’re Leith, you’re impossible not to love, and you’re theirs. Do you think that if you go out on that field and throw shitty, Gleann will, I don’t know, erase you from memory or take down the caber monument and that billboard—”

“I want them to take those things down.”

“What I’m saying is, that because they are still up there, you feel responsible to uphold them, to keep them true. And because your dad taught you to throw, you think a bad day out will somehow sully his memory. Once upon a time you threw because you loved it.”

With a great inhale, his chest expanded. “You’re wrong. I’m fine with losing.”

See? she wanted to say. It’s either “losing” or “winning” with you. No in-between.

“Then prove it.” She pushed her mug away. “Throw in the games next weekend. One last time before you leave for good.”

He spread his palms over the table. “Can’t. I’ll be transporting a lot of big equipment down here and finally meeting with Hal Carriage to get his approval on his yard plans. It’s a big weekend for me. A lot rides on it.”

It was a good reason, one she could definitely relate to, and she nodded, her stomach suddenly pinching in hunger.

“Trying to fix me, too, Jen?” Suddenly he was smiling again, wiping away all that she’d just said. Just like he’d done with his father’s house: ignoring it, pushing it to the side.

She wadded up a napkin and threw it at him. He snatched it out of the air and tossed it back onto the table.

“I’m not afraid of failure.” He stood, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet and into his arms. Framing her face, he kissed her, and she couldn’t deny that he tasted like the warm sunshine filling her apartment.

“What I am afraid of,” he murmured during a break in the slow kiss, “is not seeing you naked again until after the games.”

So she fixed that and, two hours later, they left her apartment separately.

Jen had her hand on the gate latch, about to head up the flagstone path into the Thistle, when her phone chirped with a text message.

Back in Gleann tomorrow. Can’t wait to see u.

Like a schoolgirl, she read Leith’s words over and over again, hearing them in his voice. The drive back up north from the city had flown by, her little rental zooming over the highways on a warp speed that seemed fed by this crazy new energy zipping through her system.

Leith had returned to Connecticut to make sure his project was moving forward and to check out more locations for a permanent move of his business. It was an aspect of him she’d never witnessed before, this businessman who clearly knew what he was doing and whose love for the work transcended that knowledge. It made her exceedingly proud, and it endeared him to her even more.

Ugh, listen to her. Forget the flowery language. It made him hot as all hell.

For the second time, a very calm, very rational voice asked, How on earth do you expect to make this work with your jobs, your lives in different states, your separate lifestyles?

The first time it had happened was when they’d been lying naked, when he’d asked again if she wanted to try a relationship. Her immediate thought? Yes. Hell yes. The thought that came quickly afterward, however . . . So he moves to Connecticut. Still an hour by train, more with traffic if he drives in. She doesn’t own a car. She works insane hours, often at night, plenty on the weekends, nothing that would fit neatly into a train schedule. He works weekends during every season but winter. When could they possibly see each other? Would phone calls and occasional visits work? Could that ever be enough?