They had a week. A glorious week of lazy mornings in bed and afternoons walking or talking or simply spending time together. A week that felt both surreal and intensely real at the same time. A week that Anna never wanted to end. A week when they didn’t, not even once, talk about the future.
Perhaps it was cowardly not to make plans, not to tackle all the roadblocks that made a relationship feel like an obstacle course only an emotional Olympian could navigate. Still, the issues were there, ever present, looming; they’d just gotten good at dodging them.
Perhaps it was wise to live in this oh-so pleasant stasis; Anna wasn’t sure if either of them was ready for the kinds of conversations they needed to have one day, if they were going to make it work. But as the day of her departure loomed, she knew they had to talk about some of it. Either that or say goodbye forever.
“You could change your plane ticket.” The words came out of Colin unexpectedly one evening two days before she was meant to leave. Anna had been stirring pasta sauce at the big Aga while Colin set the table for two.
She looked at him, startled, waiting for more.
“You’re freelance, aren’t you?” he continued, his gaze on the table in front of him. “You don’t have anything to get back to.”
Something about his tone rankled. “Just because I’m freelance doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to get back to.”
“You know what I mean.”
She pursed her lips. “I can’t change my life just like that—”
“Anna.” He looked exasperated.
Maybe she was being prickly, but something about the way he approached the whole thing made her uneasy. Of course she was the one who would have to change. Move. She’d slot into his life, not his into hers.
“Fine, I could change my ticket,” she agreed. “Give us a few more days, maybe a week. But what then? I have to go back home, Colin. Because New York is my home. I have an apartment, a job, friends, family. Plants that need watering.” She was silent, waiting for him to say something more, but Colin just kept setting the table, his forehead furrowed.
“If we want this to work, one of us is going to have to give,” he said at last.
Anna stared down at the bubbling red sauce. “And it’s not you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know. I inferred it.” She sighed and stirred the sauce without enthusiasm. “Look, I get that if someone was to move eventually, it would most likely be me. Taking you out of this village would be like... like transplanting a camel to the Antarctic.”
Colin looked up, bemused. “I’m not sure how I feel about that comparison.”
“But it all feels too soon,” Anna persisted, her voice catching. “I can’t just give up my life after a couple of days with you. I wouldn’t even be allowed to live here without a visa. I don’t know anyone besides you and your family, and they’re not all that crazy about me at the moment.”
“I don’t care about them.”
“But you do.” Anna insisted. “Family is important to you, even if they annoy you. Anyway, that’s not even the point. The point is... I can’t just stay here, without any sort of real life.” Colin looked mulish and Anna persisted, trying to make him understand. “How would you feel if you arrived in New York with nothing to do?”
“I don’t know,” Colin said, a hint of sullenness in his tone. “But in any case I’m not expecting you to completely uproot yourself immediately. But the long distance thing can only last for so long.”
Anna stared down at the sauce, a pressure building in her chest. Colin was right but she knew the geographical issue was only part of the problem.
“Anna?” he prompted gently. “I’m not trying to be pushy, but I know we need to figure something out. There are ways around this.”
“Are there?” She took a deep breath and then plunged ahead even though she didn’t want to. “What about children, Colin?”
“Children?” He sounded startled by the leap in conversation.
“Yes, your whole dream of the kids and dog in the back of your Rover. I can’t give you that. I never will be able to.” She risked a look up to see him frowning at her.
“We don’t need to think about that now—”
“But we do”—she cut across him—“I know it feels like I’m jumping the gun way too much, but if we’re going to attempt this thing with all the difficulties it already possesses, you need to make sure it’s what you want. That I’m what you want. And I can’t ever give you your own children.” Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away impatiently.
She’d known this conversation would be hard, whenever it had happened, but she hadn’t realized quite how hard. Stating the truth so plainly still hurt. Perhaps it always would.
“What... what kind of infertility do you...” Colin asked after a moment, his words trailing away. “I mean, are there treatments? How is it that you’re not...”
“I was diagnosed with advanced premature menopause four months ago.” She spoke flatly, almost coldly.
She hated that he’d asked. She knew where his mind was going, down the blind, dead-end alleys of IVF, surrogacy, yada, yada, yada. None of it could work for her.
Colin looked confused. “I... I don’t know what that is.”
“Basically my ovaries gave up the ghost. No more eggs, no more periods, no fertility. By the time I was diagnosed it was too late to freeze eggs or save anything. I had a hysterectomy, it was the easiest way. I’m on HRT for the health benefits but basically... I can’t have kids, not with IVF, not with a surrogate—at least not my own genetic child. You could, with a surrogate.”
Colin grimaced. “Let’s not go there right now.”
“Well.” She hunched her shoulders. “All I’m saying is, it’s not possible for me. Ever.”
“I know. I get it.” His voice was quiet, his tone giving nothing away. The ensuing silence felt awful. “Of course,” he continued after an endless moment. “You—we—could always adopt. If it—we—came to that.”
It was way, way too early for this conversation, but what choice did they have? “That’s true.” She sighed, the conversation feeling like a leaden weight that had settled in her stomach. “That’s what people always say. You tell them you’re infertile and their expressions cloud for a few seconds and then they perk up as if they’ve just discovered the cure to cancer and say ‘oh, but you can adopt’. And it is true,” she continued, her voice turning a little ragged, “I can adopt. We could adopt, if we ever got that far. And adoption is great, it’s awesome, I know it is, but... the reality is, for me, it would be a second choice, it would only because I couldn’t have children of my own.” She risked a glance at his expressionless face. “And I think it would be for you too.”
Another endless silence. “That doesn’t mean it would be bad.”
“No,” Anna agreed, the words dragged from her slowly. “But it’s still a second choice. Something less than.” Which was how she felt, how she’d felt since she’d been given the diagnosis.
Colin let out a ragged breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “This is too much to process right now. We’ve only...”
“Known each other a week?” Anna filled in with a humorless laugh. “I know. Everything feels rushed because the truth is neither of us is getting any younger and if this is it... or if it isn’t it...”
The words hung in the air, neither of them finishing that sentence. The silence stretched on, punctuated by the bubbling of the sauce on the stove, a mundane yet happy sound at odds with the tension and unhappiness Anna felt in the air, in herself.
“Maybe... maybe we should wait and see,” Colin said slowly.
A new, creeping sense of dread stole into her stomach. “Wait and see?” she repeated numbly.
Colin didn’t look at her as he explained. “Wait a month. And then see... how we feel.”
She stared at him, trying to hide how hurt she felt, how horrified, by that suggestion. He lifted his head to smile wearily at her, and she saw the lines of resignation in his face and realized, with a ripple of icy shock, that he was going to let her go. And she knew then that she’d been waiting for him to fight for her, for them—to battle all her doubts, slaying them like dragons.
But he wasn’t, she acknowledged hollowly as Colin looked away again. Just as she was, he was seeing all the difficulties, the challenges, the impossibilities. And he was telling her to wait and see.
She knew how that would go. They’d wait a month, maybe send a few brief texts or emails in the meantime, although even those would peter out. Maybe they’d have an awful Skype call where both of them would talk at the same time and then laugh uncomfortably to fill the awkward silences, feeling nothing but a sorrowful relief when the call ended. They might try again, or talk about scheduling a visit, but the halfhearted plans would come to nothing and six months from now they’d be nothing but a shadowy memory in each other’s lives, something to bring a smile touched with sadness to their faces. That was what wait and see meant. That was what Colin was suggesting.
And so Anna gave the only answer she could, considering the circumstances. “Okay,” she said.
That night Colin held Anna in his arms and wondered where he’d gone wrong, and how badly. Their conversation in the kitchen had felt like a breakup but he hadn’t meant it that way. At least he didn’t think he had. But Anna had been coming at him with so many difficulties, and he didn’t know how to solve them all. He’d started, in a terrible, treacherous moment, to wonder if he ever would. Or should.
Everything had happened so suddenly, and Anna had expected him to process huge life decisions in the space of a few seconds. And when he hadn’t, she’d looked at him as if he’d failed her.
He still didn’t see why she couldn’t stay a little bit longer, let them figure this out together. Tackle things a bit more slowly. But Anna had made it clear she had a life in New York to go back to, a life, it seemed, that wasn’t going to include him. And he didn’t know if he could change that.
Anna let out a soft sigh, her eyelids fluttering, and he stroked her hair. This felt like goodbye, but he didn’t want it to be. He wanted things to be simple, but maybe they couldn’t be. Maybe they just weren’t. The infertility thing had thrown him for a loop; he supposed he hadn’t given it too much thought until that moment, hadn’t realized quite how final it all was. And, he’d realized, after knowing someone for a week—one incredible week—it didn’t feel fair or right to have to make the decision that he’d be okay not having kids, ever.
Sighing, he closed his eyes. He didn’t know how to fix this. Part of him wanted to wake Anna up and reassure her he didn’t care about any of the stuff she’d thrown at him, but that didn’t feel right or truthful. He couldn’t just sweep everything under the rug or pretend it didn’t matter. It did matter. He just wasn’t sure how much, or what the future held.
For the first time in a week, he wondered if he and Anna had one.
The last day in Wychwood-on-Lea felt like a funeral. She and Colin did all their favorite, familiar things—if she could even use those words after a single week. Colin cooked a huge fry-up and then they took Millie on a long, rambling walk by the river, up through the meadows high above the village, and then down the high street.
Anna felt as if she was saying goodbye to everything, and each silent farewell tore at her heart. She didn’t want it to be like this. She just didn’t know how else it could be.
That afternoon it started to snow, big, soft white flakes that looked like something from a fairy story. Anna stood at the kitchen window and watched them drift down, covering the world in white.
“Your flight shouldn’t be delayed,” Colin said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. “The forecast says the snow will taper off tomorrow.”
They hadn’t had a normal conversation all day; it had been all stops and starts, throat clearings and awkward laughs. All of it made Anna sad.
“Oh. Okay.” Anna paused. Was she supposed to be pleased? She didn’t feel it. At all. In any case a couple of hours or even a day or two of delay wouldn’t make a difference—would it? Anna felt like she didn’t know anything anymore.
On her last night Colin insisted they go out to Wychwood-on-Lea’s one bistro, and Anna agreed because it felt easier. When they were surrounded by people they wouldn’t be able to have a painful heart-to-heart, which was a good thing. She couldn’t bear Colin stumbling through some awful it-was-fun-but. She’d rather he said nothing at all.
In the end they chatted about nothing in particular, jobs and movies and, at one low point, the weather. Then, after the waitress had brought their after-dinner coffees, Colin put his hands flat on the table and said. “Anna.”
She paused in stirring her coffee, her eyebrows raised as she waited for the speech she’d been hoping to avoid.
“What’s going on here, really?” Colin asked. “I feel like we’re breaking up but that’s not necessarily what I want.”
The necessarily felt like a stab wound. It was worse than a maybe. “What do you want?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Colin gazed at her, clearly frustrated. “I want things to be simple but I know they’re not.”
“Nothing’s simple, Colin.” Now that she knew him a bit better she understood how he operated.
He acted as if things were always simple because he wanted them to be. She’d been drawn to that clear sense of certainty at first, but now she saw that when things weren’t simple, Colin backed off. Stopped trying. And she couldn’t make someone try.
“Fine, some things are simpler than others.”
“Let’s make this simple, then,” Anna said. She couldn’t bear any more bumbling about the truth. “We haven’t known each other long enough to decide whether we want to spend the rest of our lives together, or for one of us to make the huge commitment of moving continents for the sake of this barely-begun relationship. So let’s just trust fate or providence or whatever you like that if we’re meant to be together, we will be. Our paths will cross again, one day.” She smiled as if to show this was a great plan.
Colin glared at her in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s your plan?”
“You’ve got a better one?”
He stared at her for another moment and then slowly shook his head. Anna felt as if a crack had splintered down her heart.
“No,” he said. “I guess I don’t.”
So that was that. Everything seemed to speed up after their conversation. Colin paid for the meal and they walked out of the restaurant in silence, the world a blur behind the tears Anna was trying to blink back.
That night Colin reached for her in bed, and they made love with a quiet passion that bordered on desperation, their bodies in perfect yet sorrowful sync. Afterwards, lying in bed, her body still thrumming, she had time to think—and she came to the unwelcome conclusion that she’d been another one of Colin’s fix-it projects, left as unfinished as the half-plastered wall or the paint splotches. He’d cheered her up, shown her how to be happy again, and now he was leaving. Or rather, she was leaving... but he wasn’t stopping her. And Anna couldn’t even blame him.
The next morning she packed her bag and Colin insisted on driving her to the airport. She climbed in his battered old Rover and looked back at the village as they drove out; she could see the steep gabled roof of Willoughby Manor above the tree line, and had a pang of envy for the unknown people who would be moving into Willoughby Close and making their lives in this lovely village.
And then Wychwood-on-Lea disappeared around the bend, and half an hour later they were speeding down the motorway, and another hour after that they were at the airport and Colin was saying goodbye.
“Let’s not make a big deal of this,” Anna said in a rush. “I don’t want to cry.”
“But it is a big deal,” Colin said. They hadn’t spoken much in the car and now he looked both angry and miserable. “A very big deal.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, managing a trembling smile. “For everything. I mean it, Colin. I was at such a low point when I came to England, and you helped me to be happy again. For that I’ll be forever grateful.” Even if right now it felt as if her heart would be forever broken.
Colin’s eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I wish it didn’t have to end like this.”
“I’m not sure there is another way.”
He didn’t protest, just drew her into his arms and rested his chin on her head. Anna closed her eyes, both savoring and hating the moment, knowing it would end all too soon and wishing that it didn’t have to end at all.
Colin eased away first. “Ring me,” he said. “Please. To say you arrived back safely.”
Anna nodded, even though she knew she wouldn’t. She’d email instead. A conversation would be too awkward and painful. Colin had given her a ream of contact details, and she’d duly given hers back. It felt like exchanging addresses at the end of summer camp, when you promised to write and then never did.
She stepped away. “The security line looks long. I should go.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t kiss her. It was only later, when she was on the plane, when she let herself feel all the emptiness whistling through her and sorrow came for her like a howl in the dark, that she wished, quite desperately, that she had.
“You’ve been a sorry old git these last few weeks, you know.”
Colin looked up at his sister Jane, who stood in the doorway of his kitchen. It was seven o’clock in the evening and he was contemplating having cereal for dinner. And a beer. The usual, then, although actually he hadn’t eaten much these last few weeks.
Now he eyed Jane grumpily. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting you.” Jane stepped into the kitchen and Mille came over to her with a hopeful sniff. “Emma rang and said she was worried about you. And I can see why. This kitchen is a tip and you look terrible.”
“Worried about me?” Weetabix it was. Colin took down a box. “My kitchen is always a tip.”
“Because you’re avoiding people and the pub, and even the Rugby Club. So something is clearly up. Or perhaps down.” Jane leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “Is it the American?”
“The American’s name is Anna, Jane.”
“Fine. Anna. Is it her?”
“No. Yes.” Colin rubbed a hand across his face.
He was bone-tired, mainly from working all hours because the alternative was sitting around and moping. Remembering all the sweet and sexy moments he’d had with Anna. All the tenderness, all the laughter, and yeah, all the sex. But not just that. Hell, he missed making dinner with her as much as anything else. He missed Anna, full stop.
“I miss her,” he admitted, although why he was telling Jane he had no idea.
When their dad had died and their mother had move to Portugal, Jane had taken over as parentis in loco. The trouble was, Jane didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, as far as Colin could tell, and certainly not one for him.
“She did say the week was intense,” Jane said with a small smile. “I think she was trying to shock me.”
“And you were trying to cow her.”
“I was being protective.”
“Or vindictive?” Colin said before he thought better of it. Spending too much time working alone had made him lose his social filter.
Jane looked properly surprised. “Vindictive? What do you mean?”
Colin sighed. “Forget it.”
“No, I won’t.” Jane took a step closer to him. “Why do you think I would have been vindictive, Colin?” She looked curious but also troubled.
He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to go there with Jane or anyone. Three weeks after Anna had left and he still felt steamrollered. Letting her walk away had felt like the only thing to do, but it hadn’t felt right. Nothing had since then. He’d gone over and over his actions and words, and he didn’t know what he could have done differently. What Anna had wanted him to do.
“Because of Dad,” he said at last.
It had been fourteen years since their father had died so perhaps it was time they had this conversation, even if Colin still didn’t feel like it.
“Dad?” Jane’s eyebrows rose almost comically. “What do you mean?”
“You blame me for Dad’s death,” Colin said starkly. It felt weirdly good to say it out loud. “Because I was working him too hard. Or maybe because I went in with him on the business. Whatever. If it hadn’t been for me, he could well still be alive.” Jane was silent for so long Colin forced himself to look at her. “No denials?” Not that he expected any beyond the paltry.
“I don’t blame you, Colin,” Jane said quietly. “Maybe I did, for a moment or two, in the depth of my grief, I admit. When someone dies there’s always a time of wondering how things could have gone differently, what I could have done...”
“Or what I could have done,” Colin interjected. “Or not done.”
“I don’t blame you.” Jane insisted. “If you think...” She took a deep breath, seeming, for the first time since Colin could remember, near tears. “If you think I’m being vindictive because of that... I admit, I can be prickly. And direct. But I’m not out to get you, for heaven’s sake!” She brushed at her eyes. “Besides, Dad was so thrilled to be part of Heath & Son. He told me so. He told everyone. And he never would have let you push him. He’d have pushed himself.” She sighed, the sound ragged. “I don’t think he would have changed anything, even knowing how it would all turn it out. It was his dream, to go into business with you. If anything, I was jealous of that.”
“Okay.” Colin’s voice was hoarse. “Well, cheers for that.”
She nodded, and they both remained silent for a few minutes, sniffling and trying to act as if they weren’t on the cusp of some major emotion.
“So,” she finally said, slapping her hands down on the counter top. “What about Anna?”
The swerve in conversational tactics startled him. “What about her?”
“You and Dad took a risk in starting a business,” Jane pointed out. “Why can’t you take a risk with Anna?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“The distance?”
He grimaced. “Among other things.”
“Have you talked since she left?”
His grimace deepened. “I’ve emailed.” When the email back had been a terse two lines he’d felt both angry and hurt, and so he’d left it. Anna had, too. Stalemate, it seemed, again.
“Well, either she’s important to you or she’s not,” Jane said. “That’s simple, at least.”
Colin couldn’t believe his forty-four-year-old ever-single sister was giving him relationship advice.
“So what do you think I should do? Fly to New York and surprise her?”
He said it for her to scoff, but Jane merely raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”
Anna stared at the same line of boring medical text that she was meant to proofread before slamming down the lid of her laptop and getting up to make a cup of tea. Her productivity had plummeted in the three weeks since she’d been back in New York City. Since leaving Colin, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything, except perhaps her broken heart.
As much as she tried to talk herself into believing that particular organ was fine, she didn’t buy it. She spent the nights lying in bed, reliving every one of Colin’s caresses, and the days in a fog of misery, wishing he were there.
Her parents were worried about her, after she’d driven to Connecticut for a New Year’s visit, and she’d done her best not to mope about and failed. Her friends were worried about her, because she kept refusing offers to go out and hid in her apartment instead. She was worried about herself.
When she’d seen that email from Colin, hope had flared hot and bright inside her, only to wink out when she read the stilted lines. Hey Anna, hope you got back okay. Hope to hear from you, Colin. He might as well have been emailing an acquaintance. And maybe that was how it had felt. After a few bittersweet days, he’d most likely been able to get right back into normal life. He’d have finished the cottages of Willoughby Close; the first tenants would have moved in. He’d get some new contracts, head to the pub or the Rugby Club, laugh about his holiday fling and then give a philosophical shrug. She could see it all and, heaven help her, it hurt. Meanwhile she was drifting around her apartment like a ghost, barely able to string two sentences together on her laptop.
A knock sounded on the door and with a sigh Anna went to answer it. It had to be one of her neighbors, since the front door of her building hadn’t buzzed. Elderly Lois from upstairs asking if she’d gotten her mail—she hadn’t—or traveling businessman Paul from across the hall, reminding her to feed his cat next week while he was away. The joys of city living.
She opened the door. Stared. Felt her jaw drop and still no words came. Colin.
“Surprise.” His smile stretched and wobbled and Anna smiled back.
“You’ve definitely surprised me.” He looked so good was her first thought.
The same bright blue eyes, the shock of light brown hair. The weathered face and powerful build, the sheer size and ease of him. She wanted to run into his arms but suddenly she felt shy. His coming here was a good thing—wasn’t it? Still she didn’t know what to say. To feel.
“May I come in?” Colin asked, and hurriedly she stepped aside.
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m just so...” She smiled, emotion burning like a bright ball in her chest. “Surprised.”
“So, is this a good surprise or a not-so-good one?” Colin asked as he came in.
His voice cracked and she realized how nervous he had to be. How much he’d risked, coming here unannounced, hoping she’d be glad to see him.
And she hadn’t risked anything.
In a sudden rush of realization, Anna knew how much she’d played it safe all along. She’d wanted Colin to do all the heavy lifting, shining knight to her damsel in distress, assuring her it would all be okay while she kept whining that it wouldn’t. Why hadn’t she tried harder? Fought harder? Been stronger?
She’d chosen the cowardly option every time. She could have delayed her flight. She could have scheduled a visit. She could have determined to give their relationship a real try, instead of backing off, hands held up, shaking her head sorrowfully.
She’d been a coward because she’d been scared. Scared that Colin would tire of her, that she wouldn’t be enough for him, because that had been her fear all along.
And yet... he was here now. And maybe that was all that needed to matter.
“I’ve missed you,” Anna said, because those were the first words that came to mind, the first words that needed to be said, and the truest.
“Good. Because I’ve missed you like crazy.” He cleared his throat and then spoke in a stumbling rush. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard, and we still have a lot to work out, and there’s the distance thing and the children thing and God even knows what else, but I’ve realized, Anna, that I want you in my life. A lot. And I hope you want me in your life, too.” He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I needed to get that out.”
“I needed to hear it.” Anna knotted her hands together, anxious even now. “I’m sorry, Colin. I chickened out back in Wychwood-on-Lea. I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough for you. I’m still afraid. The children thing is big.”
“It doesn’t have to defeat us.” Colin insisted. “It doesn’t have to be everything, Anna. And it’s okay to be afraid. I’m afraid too,” Colin said, his voice rough with emotion. “Afraid of leaping into something this big, but even more afraid of losing it. Some things are worth the risk, Anna. You are.”
She let out a funny little sound, something between a sob and a laugh, because he couldn’t have said anything more perfect and, better yet, she believed him. “You are, too,” she whispered. “Definitely.”
She didn’t know who moved first, but somehow she was in his arms and he was hugging her so tight her feet nearly left the ground. And then he was kissing her, and her entire world righted itself. She could breathe at last. She could smile.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so scared about everything,” she said when they came up for air.
“I’m sorry I let you walk away. I felt like we needed to figure everything all out and I didn’t know how, but then my sister Jane talked some sense into me—”
Anna pulled back a little. “Wait, Jane?”
Colin grinned. “Yeah, Jane. Who knew, huh? I’ll tell you more about that later. The main thing is she knocked some sense into me and I realized that maybe we didn’t have to figure it all out now. Maybe all we have to figure out was that we need each other.”
“I do need you.” Anna promised him. “More than I even realized when I left.”
“And I need you. I’ve been like an angry bear these last few weeks, growling at everybody.”
The image made Anna laugh and she hugged him again. “So, is this our happily-ever-after?” she asked, her arms still wrapped around him.
“No,” Colin said as he hauled her against him. “It’s our happily-ever-beginning.”
Anna snuggled against him. “I think I like the sound of that.”