“No, I’m saying this to you right now because I’m your best friend. I may have never been married or had a serious, long-term relationship, but I’ve seen enough examples in my life and read enough romance novels to know that you can’t just run when things get tough. If everyone did that, no relationship would ever last.”
“I’m not running…”
“Yes, you are. You guys had a fight, and I know he let you down, but instead of trying to solve it, talk it out and work through it, you threw in the towel.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “What about for better or worse, huh?”
“Now you’re going to throw wedding vows in my face right now? Vows I said when I was drunk?”
She nods. “Yup, because they turned into vows that you wanted to honor while sober. You fell in love with him, Waverly, and love isn’t always easy. That’s why you promise those things when you get married because it’s easy to run. It’s not easy to stay and fight. But if you do,” she says, slowing down her words and reaching for my hand, “if you do, you can build the marriage that I know you want, the marriage that you deserve.”
I feel my bottom lip tremble, but I promised myself I wouldn’t break down again.
“Seeing you and him together? It was like seeing two best friends in love. I was jealous, jealous that you found your person, albeit unexpectedly, but you found him. And he was already committed to you. I thought this was it for you two. And now, watching you walk away?” She lets out a defeated sigh. “God, I know this isn’t supposed to be about me, but it’s making me lose faith in the whole idea. I mean, if you guys can’t turn a drunken marriage into something real, how are any normal and sober people supposed to find it?”
I can’t help but huff out a laugh at her thoughts. “I do love him, Emma. But …”
“Waverly Morgan?” The receptionist comes out from the hallway that leads to the offices of each lawyer at the firm.
Clearing my throat and ending the conversation between Emma and me, I stand and smooth down my dress. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Mr. Hansen will see you now.”
“Thank you.”
Emma reaches for my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late.”
I turn my head to face her and then twist back to glance down the hallway. I’m literally at a fork in the road, a moment where I can make one of two choices, and up until this second, I thought I knew what I wanted, what I felt like I needed to do.
But now? Hell, now I don’t know anything.
* * *
It’s just after six o’clock when I pull into the driveway of Hayes’s house, much later than I anticipated being here, but time ran away from me once I left the lawyer’s office. My mind was reeling with what Emma said, and my heart was aching at the thought of what I’d done.
I wasn’t ready to face my choices, my mistakes, my own faults in this mess. So I took some time to gather my thoughts before heading over here, banking on the fact that Hayes would probably still be at work and we wouldn’t have to cross paths just yet. Knowing I would have to be near him at my brother’s wedding was going to be torturous enough. One more day without feeling his presence around me was going to be necessary to get through the next five days.
I left my garage door opener on the counter earlier this week when I came by, but kept my key so I have to use the front door to get inside. Walking up to the entrance has me thinking back fondly to the first time I walked up this path—the morning I moved in with Hayes when our arrangement was just starting. This house was the first inclination that maybe Hayes wasn’t the man I had him pegged to be. But nothing prepared me for the dozens of details I’d learn about him the second I stepped inside and the millions of butterflies that would hatch and take flight once I truly got to know him.
I turn the key in the lock, the glare from the sun setting behind me catching on the metal handle of the door as I move inside and shut it behind me. Almost instantly, the weight of a thousand pounds rests on my chest just being here again. I peer over at the piano to my left, the memories of seeing Hayes play and make love to me there almost too much to recall.
Forcing myself to keep moving forward, like I need to in all aspects of my life, I take a deep breath and then head down the corridor that leads to the kitchen and living room. I love this house. It did feel like home, and the last thing I want to do is walk away from it when I discovered so much about love within these walls.
But when I take in that open area—the kitchen to my left and the living room right in front of me—my jaw falls to the floor as I glance around the room at a snail’s pace and stand there in awe of what my eyes are seeing.
Dozens of candles are lit on every surface, interspersed among bouquets of pink and white roses—the same ones he bought me when I came home from a trip to Vegas all those months ago. The dining room table is set for two, with more candles and a bottle of wine—and as I step closer, I see chicken parmigiana on both plates, the first dinner that Hayes and I learned to cook together at our cooking class.
But that’s not even the part that has me
