Daniel stormed back across the lane in the darkness, crashing his gate shut and loping up to the front door of his house, slamming the door behind him with satisfaction, trying desperately to physically block out the image in his head of her standing up to him – chin out, eyes flashing, stance ready.
Taking a deep breath, he turned around, placed his hands against the worn wood and halfheartedly banged his head against the solid door several times.
"Stupid, stupid…" he rasped at himself. "So bloody stupid, Davies."
Straightening, he walked to the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge, collapsing at the kitchen table to take a deep swig from the bottle, his blood finally lowering from boiling to merely simmering.
He shouldn't have lost his temper like that.
He never lost his temper like that.
He hardly lost his temper at all.
What that silly woman had said was right though: his mother would be absolutely appalled at the way he had just spoken to Sophie Roberts as though she were a petulant child instead of a grown woman.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he mentally berated himself again, slumping back against the chair.
Sophie Roberts clearly was a bit hyper, a lot afraid of spiders, and totally unafraid to stand up to him.
Through those things alone, she had made herself known to him, proven herself in some ways, and he didn’t like it one bit. It was the last thing he needed.
He had seen Sophie Roberts several times in the last few days – being picked up for work, dutifully microwaving her dinner each night, or taking a turn or two about the garden before bed each night. And the more he watched her, the more he was afraid she was an apparition of Rosamunde, come back to Hay to haunt, or rather taunt, him.
He winced at the thought of her name, and then took another deep drink from the bottle.
Rosamunde had been his one shot – what he had thought should have been the love of his life. They had grown up together and reconnected several years later as adults, built a relationship over time, made plans together, pictured themselves growing old together…
He'd proposed marriage. She'd accepted. They stayed up nights planning what their house would look like, what sort of car they might share, whether or not children were what they really wanted…
He was more than ready to settle down, and though he was a few years older than Rosa, she seemed to feel the same way.
And then everything went wrong.
When she realized that his circumstances had changed permanently, that he had no immediate plans to leave Windy Willows, she'd gone absolutely spastic.
He vividly recalled the shouting match in the family room: one of the only other times his blood had boiled like tonight.
Rosamunde demanding that he stick to "their plan" and go with her to London. He was going to study accounting at University, join a huge firm, set them up for a nice life with a healthy salary, and she was going to become one of those "ladies who lunch", playing at being the perfect wife for him to come home to.
Oh yes, she had "their plan" mapped out entirely, right down to the neighborhood in London in which they would live and which exclusive clubs they were to join. He was simply the breadwinner, and she would end up spending every pence of it on frivolity.
Their plan, he mentally scoffed. More like her plan to which he acquiesced for fear of losing her.
He knew that Sophie and Rosamunde were worlds apart as people, but that auburn hair, that energy… it was so much like Rosa that he couldn't seem to exercise her ghost from his mind in the last few days.
And they both seemed to have that damn silly streak that made it impossible for them to just act like normal, rational adults.
Sophie moved here willingly, and Rosa couldn't wait to leave. When he'd declared that he was staying at Windy Willows for good after the dust had settled after his life had been turned upside down, it had only taken her a few days to pack up her own home, say her goodbyes in Hay, and flee to London on her own.
He hadn’t heard from her since.
Rumor about town was that she'd found a new man to pamper her, take care of her, and allow her to run amok with a credit card.
Bully for him, Daniel thought with a wry grin for the poor bloke Rosa had roped for herself.
It was no wonder he was wary of women, he thought with a sigh. They were either useless (such as not being able to turn off a loo on their own), gold digging (such as wanting to live off his salary when he finally earned one), silly (blasting Bon Jovi like a twelve year old girl with her first boom box) or selfish (refusing to understand why he had to stay in Hay after everything that had happened).
He'd had to do everything for Rosa, it seemed. He paid her bills, had her car serviced, called the electrician to repair her lines when they went down, stocked up the groceries, made travel arrangements went they went on mini-breaks, everything. She couldn't seem to make do on her own – couldn't cook or clean, couldn't be expected to do laundry or wash a few dishes, couldn't go to school or learn a trade.
He'd become her maid and her butler, rather than her partner.
He didn't need any of that anymore. He didn't need Rosa – he'd learned that months and months ago when she left and after only a few days, he had felt nothing but a sense of relief in her absence.
And he certainly didn't need to be chummy with this new neighbor. She may have a wide smile and an obvious sense of spirit, but those didn't balance out the rest of what he had seen. She was one of those "ball breaker" women, judging from how she had read him the riot act, and he certainly didn't have the strength to put up with that – he'd been mentally berated by Rosa enough to last a lifetime.
He was just too tired to try anymore.
No matter how cute she may be in her faded sweats and oversized tee shirt, ringlets escaping from her bun.
Just too tired.
No comments:
Post a Comment