“And according to Carol, if you’re out in that fog, you’re destined to fall in love.” Emily grinned. “When us girls were teenagers, we’d run outside if we saw the fog, but none of us fell in love with the boys here for the summer.”
“That’s because none of them were right for you,” Carol said. “You have to be with the right one for the fog to work.”
Emily laughed and got to her feet, grabbing the empty plates as she did. “And all the stars and moon have to be aligned just right, too. It’s a legend, Carol, and not one I believe in.”
Carol wagged a finger at her. “You’ll see. Some foggy night, true love will come your way.”
Emily didn’t answer that. Instead, she brushed open the swinging door with her hip and set the plates in the sink, then filled it with soapy water. By the time she returned, Cole and Carol were talking about the repairs on the Inn, instead of silly age-old legends.
Just as well. The last thing she needed Cole to do was drag her down to the lake in the middle of the night because he believed some legend about dead teenagers would fix their marriage. No kiss on a foggy night was going to repair the damage the years of distance had created.
Maybe if they had gone to counseling when the problems first started, it would have righted the ship’s course. She’d asked Cole to go, but time and time again, Cole had put off the appointment. She’d given up after a while and stopped asking him. If their marriage was important to him, she’d reasoned, he would have made the time to save it.
Then again, she hadn’t gone on her own, either, or fought very hard to get Cole to the appointments. She’d been just as guilty about finding other things to fill her time. Maybe because deep down she was afraid to confront the issues between them—and find out they were beyond fixing.
“You know, Cole, it doesn’t make much sense for you to drive all the way into the city tonight,” Carol was saying as Emily picked up the platter of chicken, “when I have rooms right upstairs. Why don’t you stay here? It’s the least I can do to thank you.”
Cole stay here? Emily prayed he’d say no, that he would do what he always did, say he needed to leave in the morning to get back to the office. But no, he grinned and nodded instead. Damn. Having him stay here was a definite complication, especially to her hormones and her heart. She needed to stay firm in her resolve and not be swayed by a smile.
“That’d be great, Carol. I’ll have my luggage sent over in the morning.” Cole rose, stretched his back and let out a yawn. “Just the thought of driving back to the hotel makes me exhausted.”
“Well, I’m exhausted just hearing you talk about it.” Carol gave the two of them a smile. “I hate to ask this, but I’m really tired. Lots of early mornings and a little stress over this renovation/sale thing. Would you two mind clearing up the rest of the dishes? I’d like to get to bed early.”
Emily shot Carol a curious look, but the innkeeper just muffled a yawn and kept her gaze averted. Emily suspected Carol of a little matchmaking, what with telling the story of the two doomed lovers and asking Cole to stay at the inn. Maybe with Carol out of the room, Emily could make Cole see that his being here wasn’t a good idea. “No problem. See you in the morning, Carol.”
Carol thanked them, then hurried out of the room. Harper stayed behind, ever hopeful for scraps. Cole and Emily gathered the rest of the dishes and brought them into the kitchen. “You don’t have to help,” Emily said to Cole as she slipped on an apron and tied it behind her back. “I know how you hate doing dishes.”
He shrugged. “I used to hate it. Now I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”
“You’re doing your own dishes?” She shot him a glance. In his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like a guy who did his own dishes, a million miles away from the wealthy, driven CEO. “You’re not having a maid do them?”
“It’s not like I cook a gourmet meal every night,” Cole said. “I usually have one plate, one cup and a fork to wash. No need to pay the maid to do that.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She’d let the household help go, too, after their separation. She’d seen no sense in paying people to clean up after one person. Plus doing her own housework kept her busy instead of focusing on how Cole’s absence made the house echo in ways it never had before.
“Nothing drives home the fact that you’re alone like washing your dishes.” Cole took the clean dishes from the strainer, swiped them dry with a towel and put them in the cabinets. “I guess that’s when it finally hit me.”
“What did?” Emily stowed the leftovers in the fridge.
Cole put his back to the sink and crossed his arms over his chest, the pink-and-white-striped towel a strange juxtaposition in his muscular hands. “That this wasn’t a fight we’d get over in a couple days. That this separation could be permanent. I’d come home from work and look at that plate and cup and fork in the sink and think...” He let out a gust and shook his head. “I’d think how sad they looked.”
“Really?” Over the years, Cole had rarely opened up about his feelings. She’d asked him what he was thinking, but most of the time, he’d withdrawn and in the end, she’d be left feeling cold, alone. This was the most he’d shared in a long, long time.
“All those years we lived together, I don’t think I ever noticed if we had five plates or fifty,” he went on. “I couldn’t tell you what the pattern was on our silverware if you paid me. But I notice the plates now. I notice when there’s one.” He nodded toward the sink. “Or more than one.”
Her heart softened. She put the empty serving dishes in the soapy water, then picked up one of the plates and started washing it, instead of falling into that vulnerable look on Cole’s face and in his voice. “I notice now, too,” she said quietly. “It’s like the plate and cup are lonely.”
“Maybe I should buy a whole set.” Cole grinned. “Or just bring mine back home so they’d be together again. Happy. Complete.”
The thought of him returning, of the two of them being happy and complete, together again, caused her heart to race and her throat to close. Hope warred with caution. She concentrated on getting the plate clean, watching the bubbles circle and circle the rim. “We’ve tried that before, Cole. It didn’t work.”
“What’s that saying about success? That it’s about not giving up?”
She could see the saying now, one of those kitschy posters that she had hung in her college dorm, then again in their run-down first apartment because it was the only wall decor they could afford. By the time they moved to the big house, the poster had been relegated to a landfill. But the saying and the image of a determined competitor in a tough tug-of-war had stuck with Emily. “‘Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go.’ William Feather said it,” she said.
“I’m hanging on, Emily,” Cole said softly. “I really am.”
She placed the clean plate in the strainer, then picked up the next one. “Why?”
“Because we had something once. And I think we can have it again. And because I’m ready for change.”
How she wanted to believe him. Her brain reminded her heart that he had said all this before, and gone back to his workaholic ways as soon as the crisis passed. How could she know this time would be any different?
Another clean plate in the strainer. She tackled the third one. The only sound in the room was the running water and the soft clanging of dishes. “Change how?”
“Working less. More vacations. More time for you and me to get back to where we were.”
She’d heard all these words before. Dozens