In Over His Head

Chapter 38

The hulking shape of the dresser loomed out of the darkness when Sharla opened her eyes, bright moonlight casting a shadow across the round, silvery knobs.

"Whu—" she muttered as her eyes found her suitcase set on top of it, a jumble of clothes frothing out onto the floor.

Right. She was in Newfoundland, stranded at an inn that was every stereotype of charming Maritime culture all thrown together into a bag and shaken. Not that it wasn't delightful, but as she shifted and the mattress squeaked, she thought she would rather be anywhere else, preferably with a Tempurpedic.

Her head hurt, her face was puffy, and she sat up, massaging her cheeks. An old, square alarm clock on the side table glared a red 1:00 AM, and the toilet was quietly running. She had fallen asleep crying after Kevin had yelled at her and walked out.

Quiet, deep breathing from the other side of the bed turned her head and the lacy curtains cast a patterned shadow across Kevin. He was flat on his back, head turned away from her, still in his clothes from dinner, on top of the covers. The pillow wall was somewhat dismantled, but he'd left the big ones in place.

The rest were piled on the loveseat.

He looked uncomfortable and stiff, but there he was. She'd half expected him not to come back tonight, and squeeze in with James and the pilots.

Tomorrow they'd have to figure out how to go forward. She was going to hand in her resignation, and ask him to get her to Toronto. She'd figure out the rest when she got there. Mo could likely box up what she'd left behind and ship it.

Back to the winery. Back to square one. She swallowed as a lump in her throat formed, emotion trying desperately to explode outwards. She loved Barleystook, and the thought of never waking up with the sun streaming in through the window, or walking out past the back gardens to take in the rolling hills and tree dotted landscape was going to make her cry. She'd grown to care for Mo, and Peter, even grumpy Rupert and all his noisy, boisterous children.

Her eyes travelled over the man beside her, the lump growing, tears threatening to spill as it all tumbled about in her head. He'd said he wasn't with Cressida. She had confirmation on that question, and it was what she wanted to hear. Not wanting to show how affected she was by that, she'd lashed out at him instead, anxiously hiding her relief. She still couldn't get the image of the two of them out of her head.

Maybe it was jealousy, not heartbreak. He wasn't hers, so she had no right to feel either.

He'd been so mad tonight, and her stupid, stubborn pride got in the way of just giving into the want and letting go of the fear. It was fear, she knew that, and Kevin's words from Beaujeu leapt out at her. He'd called her on that fear then, and she'd dismissed it, her own doubts screaming at her. She wasn't good enough for him.

Replaying what he'd said in her mind, holding back bigger, fat tears, she reminded herself once again that she was an utter fool. He loved her and wanted her. She knew she loved him. The idea of them eventually being miserable stopped her short every damned time. The idea of being ridiculed in public, frosty meals with his mother... It petrified her that she couldn't handle it.

Kevin let out a soft, rumbling snore, and she jumped, not expecting that noise from him. He was balanced along the edge of the bed, and since it was a double, that wasn't much room.

"Oh for fuck's sake," she whispered under her breath, and carefully pulled the pillows from the centre of the bed, dropping them as quietly as possible down to the floor on her side. Unconsciously, he shifted over, taking up a bit more room, rolling to his side with another soft groan. One of his hands levered out, brushing her skin with his knuckles.