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While Hope was in the bathroom, Mitchell zoned out of the conversation going on around him.
Sitting beside Hope was half bliss, half torture. Part of him wanted to whisk her out of the pub, away from watching eyes, take her in his arms and kiss her until tomorrow. The other part of him wanted to run the other way so he didn’t risk hurting her again. But he’d made a promise to himself there would be no more running.
The first time he’d run was when social services picked him up when he was barely old enough to read. After that he’d run from school, from his foster parents and from the police. He no longer bolted when things got difficult. It had taken a long time, but he was finally at peace with his past and in a good place emotionally and physically.
Mitchell blamed his mother. She’d always run. One day he’d come home from school and she was gone. No one knew where, and he never heard from her again. His father, whom he’d never met, was in jail and there was no other family Mitchell knew of.
He was only six-years old when they took him away so it was no wonder he grew up to be a bitter, angry young boy—a boy who became more hostile and more rebellious the longer the foster system shunted him from house to house, from family to family.
When the Simpsons took him in and showed him nothing but love and acceptance—and forgiveness every time he stuffed up—he slowly started to change.
One day, not long after he turned thirteen, he made a conscious decision he was not going to end up like his mother—someone who ran when the going got tough. But somewhere in a tiny recess in the back of his mind, a voice warned him he’d never be able to outrun his DNA.
He grew up watching Beth and Bill, paying close attention to how they treated each other. But it had been for nothing because in the end he’d still ruined things with Hope.
During his twenties, he went out with a string of women, but he was always honest with them, making it clear he wasn’t interested in anything long-term. After a few failed relationships, he decided it was easier to stay single. It was also easier to tell people he didn’t believe in true love—that it was a Hollywood invention—but it wasn’t what he really believed. He’d seen true love modelled by the Simpsons, and he wanted the same thing with all his heart.
Over the past few years, prodded by Lachlan and Jordy who’d grown impatient with his bachelorhood, he’d reluctantly dipped his toe into the dating pond again, but no one had caught his interest until Anna. She was the first woman he’d taken out on more than two dates but, even then, there’d been no lasting spark.
But at least he’d shown Anna respect, which is more than he’d done for Hope after he’d slept with her. She’d given herself to him, body and soul, and in return he’d acted like a jerk. She’d left Macarthur Point the next day bound for Africa and he’d never as much as written her a letter. It was a miracle she was giving him a second thought, let alone a second chance.
He was still pinching himself over how easily and naturally they’d picked up their friendship. Every night he couldn’t wait to finish work and phone Hope. After dinner, he’d switch off the lights and sit in the dark chatting with her for hours about anything and everything.
He’d dared to believe she was developing feelings for him again and when he’d arrived at the pub and seen the look in her eyes, he’d barely been able to contain his joy. He didn’t know how she did it, but it felt like she’d climbed into his heart and taken up residence there.
Twenty minutes later, when Hope hadn’t come back from the bathroom, Mitchell excused himself to go and look for her.
He found her sitting at the bar with Liz. Both women were deep in conversation and for a moment he almost went back to the bistro. Whatever they were talking about looked serious and he wasn’t sure interrupting them was a good idea. When Hope glanced up and saw him standing in the doorframe, she froze. Liz followed her gaze, said something he couldn’t hear, then headed back to the bistro.
He took Liz’s still-warm bar stool and pulled it as close to Hope as he could get. He rested his hand on her thigh. ‘Everything okay? I wondered where you’d got to.’
She gave him a tight smile. ‘I’m fine.’
He frowned. Twenty minutes ago, they’d been flirting and playing footsies under the table and now he had the distinct impression he was getting the cold shoulder. Why the sudden change of heart? Was he that out of touch he’d misread her signals? No, he’d seen the look in her eyes. Something had happened. Had Liz said something, or had he done something to upset Hope without realising it?
‘Would you like another drink?’ he asked.
She shook her head and indicated the half-full glass of wine in front of her.
He signalled the barman and ordered himself a beer. When it arrived, he examined the label. ‘Murphy’s. Made in Geelong. There’s some great local beers around these days.’
Hope said nothing.
The longer he sat trying to find the courage to ask her what was wrong, the harder it became. He hated the awkwardness between them. It had never been like this when they were younger.
Hope shifted her weight, swivelling on the bar stool to face him. She brought up her foot to rest on the rung of his stool and exhaled heavily.
Mitchell braced himself. She was going to tell him she wasn’t staying.
Strains of muted conversation floated around them and he blocked them out.
‘Do you believe everyone deserves a happy ending?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
He craved a happy ending with all his heart. He’d be lying to himself if he denied the yearning to have someone special in his life and a family to call his own. Whether he believed it would happen, he wasn’t so sure, but it didn’t stop him wishing for it. Some days it was a shock to realise he was nudging forty and still single. He’d have thought he’d be married with kids by now.
‘Do you?’ he asked. He pictured Hope pregnant with a child—his child—radiant and glowing with new life—and had to work hard to chase the vision away.
She shrugged. ‘I want to, but I’m not sure.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I used to think everyone deserved a chance at a happy ever after, but it takes two people.’
He fiddled with the label on the beer bottle and waited for her to continue.
‘Both people have to be willing to chase after it, fight for it.’
She was being cryptic, but he was following her. She was trying to tell him she wasn’t willing to fight.
‘And you don’t want to do that?’ he asked finally.
‘I don’t think I can,’ she murmured.
‘Why not?’
‘My job.’
He waited.
‘My job is in Melbourne, Mitch.’
His chest constricted. Was she kidding? Surely, she wouldn’t put a job ahead of a chance to be happy.
‘You haven’t even given us a chance, Hope.’
‘I’m sorry, Mitch.’ She drew a quick, tremulous breath. ‘It’s not just my job. You know what I’m like. I’m not good at staying in one place for long. I never have been. I know how much you want to fall in love, get married and start a family but I’m not certain our goals and plans align, and I should have said something sooner. I have so many things I want to achieve in my career, and I can’t do that here.’
He huffed out a breath, annoyed with her for not even considering a relationship with him. Equally annoyed with himself because he’d dared dream it could happen.
‘I’m—’
She broke off as the barman leaned between them to take their empty glasses.
‘Another drink?’
‘No, thanks,’ they replied in unison.
Mitchell was partially grateful for the interruption. Hope was turning him inside out and he needed to get out of there before he said something he’d regret. He downed the last of his beer and slid off the bar stool. Hope spun to face him, but he could barely look at her. He ground his teeth, fighting the irritation rising in his throat. Clearly, she wasn’t prepared to try, and he had no idea what to say to make her reconsider.
He sighed softly, his body humming with tension. Being around Hope was like riding the world’s biggest rollercoaster. One moment he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her silly. The next he wanted to walk away and let her get back to her life so he could move on with his. He rubbed a hand over his chest. He’d been so careful to make sure he didn’t hurt her again that he’d forgotten to protect his own heart.
Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Mitch, I really am.’
He ran a finger down her cheek before leaning in and kissing her. Her lips quivered beneath his and for a second he considered staying locked to her a moment longer, but he quickly broke the contact.
‘It’s a shame you don’t do forever, Hope, because we’d be good together.’ He pulled out his keys. ‘Guess I’ll see you around.’
He left the pub without saying goodbye to anyone else and got into his car. He sat for a moment, engine idling, waves of emotion washing over him. Anger. Pain. Grief. And after that, a deep sadness for all he’d lost.
He’d taken a leap of faith opening his heart to Hope again and admitting his feelings for her. Now he needed to put the memories to the back of his mind and get on with his life. Exactly what he’d been trying to do when she walked back into it. He should have known she wouldn’t stay in Macarthur Point. She never had. No doubt she’d hit the road again soon and it could be years before she came back. If she came back.
Sighing heavily, he headed home to his empty house and his animals. At least he knew they’d stay.