Andrew had been listening with arms folded. He shifted his feet now, and squared his shoulders. “Is that all?”
Lizzy blinked at him. “All?”
“Three days ago you told me you might have quit your job. I asked when you’d know for sure. You shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Now, all of a sudden, you’re crystal clear about all the reasons you need to go back. At the risk of sounding paranoid, are you sure this isn’t about last night?”
“I’m going back because it’s what needs to happen, Andrew. I’m still who I am—still what I am. I let myself forget that last night. Because I wanted to feel how I felt. I wanted to be with you. I wanted it more than anything. But it wasn’t fair to you. I was wrong to let last night happen.”
“So I was a mistake?”
“No,” she said evenly, hating that he’d thrown her own words back at her. “I was. I knew it couldn’t be anything more than one night. I just . . .”
“How long did it last with Luc?”
“Luc was nothing. He was a distraction, someone to fill up my nights and weekends. He wasn’t . . .” She closed her eyes, letting the rest dangle.
“What?”
“You,” she said softly. “He wasn’t you.” She resisted the urge to reach for him. Touching him now wouldn’t do either of them any good. “All I did last night was make things harder for both of us, and I’m so sorry for that. You deserve the whole white-picket-fence thing, and you’d never have that with me. I told you I’m not happily-ever-after material. I was wrong to let you think I might be—and wrong to let myself think it.”
“Who said anything about a white picket fence? I don’t need kids, or even a ring if that’s how you want it. I don’t care about all the trappings. I care about you. And last night I thought you cared too.”
“I do. I care enough to step back, to not ask you to live half a life. I was always clear about that.”
Andrew nodded, his face suddenly shuttered. “Yes, you were. I guess part of me thought I could change your mind. Apparently, I overestimated my powers of persuasion.” He turned away, running his eyes around the kitchen. “I suppose we should get to the police station.”
Lizzy picked up her purse, clutching it to her chest like a life preserver. “Maybe it would be better if I went alone. You need to get down to Boston, and, really, I can do this. I have to stop at the bank and the market on the way back. You don’t need to hang around for all that.”
“You shouldn’t be alone. Not after last night.”
“The police told you they’d keep an eye out. I’ll be fine.”
“You could come with me to Boston. Give the police a few days to do their thing. A break might be a good idea. You could hang out by the pool, or poke around Newbury Street.”
Lizzy forced a smile. “There you go again, trying to rescue me.”
“There was a man with a knife walking around this kitchen last night. What am I supposed to do?”
“You said you were going to put a new lock on the mudroom door, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll sprinkle salt on the doorstep for protection.”
He glowered at her, clearly frustrated. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
Lizzy managed a half smile. “Only a little.”
She understood his concerns for her safety, but the truth was she couldn’t think of anything more dangerous than spending two or three days with Andrew in Boston. It would be too easy to backslide, to surrender to the delicious pull of memory. She needed to keep her distance and give her resolve time to jell.
Andrew pulled his keys from his pocket, removed one from the ring, and laid it on the counter. “You’ll stay at my place again tonight.”
“Andrew—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t be there. From the sound of things, I’ll be gone several days, which means you’ll have the place to yourself. There isn’t much in the fridge, though, so you’ll still need to hit the market. Make sure you drive over. Don’t cut through the woods. And make sure everything’s locked up once you’re in.”
Lizzy looked at him, stung by his frosty tone. She wished there was something between icy aloofness and the hot sting of rebuff, some middle ground where they could coexist in the wake of last night’s brief lapse in judgment. Again, she found herself casting about for something to say—for anything to say. But they’d already said it all. Except perhaps goodbye.
It was nearly three by the time Lizzy arrived at the market. It was a relief to have the trip to the police station behind her. She understood the need, but she’d known before setting foot in the station that nothing would come of it.
Detective Hammond had run her through the questions. No, she hadn’t seen the intruder’s face. No, there was nothing she recognized about him. No, nothing had been taken from the house. The only detail she felt confident in sharing was that the intruder appeared to have been male, and even that was speculation.
The entire interview had taken less than an hour and had ended with Hammond handing her his card, encouraging her to call if she happened to remember anything else. He’d promised to keep her apprised of future developments but hadn’t sounded especially optimistic. Perhaps because the knife had turned up negative for prints.
The market was relatively quiet. Lizzy wandered the aisles, picking up enough to get her through the next few days at Andrew’s, then
