Nights in Rodanthe - Nicholas Sparks [43]
“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” he said, “but this weekend… it’s like something I didn’t know existed. I mean, it’s been a dream. You’ve been a dream.”
The warmth of his hand seemed to penetrate into her bones.
“I’ve had a wonderful time, too,” she said.
“But you don’t feel the same way.”
She looked at him. “Paul… I . .”
“No, you don’t have to say anything—”
She didn’t let him finish. “Yes, I do. You want an answer, and I’d like to give you one, okay?” She paused, composing her thoughts. “When Jack and I split up, it was more than just the ending of a marriage. It ended everything I’d hoped for in the future. And it ended who I was, too. I thought I wanted to move on, and I tried, but the world didn’t seem all that interested in who I was anymore. Men in general weren’t interested in me, and I guess I retreated into a shell. This weekend made me realize that about myself, and I’m still coming to terms with that.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.”
“I’m not saying this because the answer is no. I would like to see you again. You’re charming and intelligent, and the past two days have meant more to me than you probably realize. But moving to Rocky Mount? A year is a long time, and there’s no telling who either of us will be then. Look how much you’ve changed in the last six months. Can you honestly tell me that you’ll feel the same way about all this a year from now?”
“Yes,” he said, “I can.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Outside, the wind was a steady gale, howling as it blasted against the house. The rain was hammering against the walls and roof; the old inn creaked under the incessant pressure.
Paul set aside his glass of wine. Staring at Adrienne, he knew he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Because,” he said, “you’re the only reason I’d bother to come back at all.”
“Paul… don’t…”
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Paul believed he was losing her. The realization scared him more than he’d imagined possible, and he felt the last of his resistance give way. He looked up at the ceiling, then down to the floor, then focused on Adrienne again. Leaving his chair, he moved to her side. With a finger, he turned her face toward him, knowing that he was in love with her, with everything about her.
“Adrienne…,” he whispered, and when Adrienne finally met his gaze, she recognized the emotion in his eyes.
He couldn’t say the words, but in a rush of intuitive feeling, she imagined she could hear them, and that was enough.
Because it was then, as he held her in his unwavering gaze, that she knew she was in love with him as well.
For a long moment, neither one of them seemed to know what to do, until Paul reached for her hand. With a sigh, Adrienne let him take it, leaning back in her chair as his thumb began to trace her skin.
He smiled, waiting for a response, but Adrienne seemed content to remain quiet. He couldn’t read her expression, yet it seemed to hint at everything he was feeling: hope and fear, confusion and acceptance, passion and reserve. But thinking she might need space, he let go of her hand and stood.
“Let me put another log on the fire,” he said. “It’s getting low.”
She nodded, watching him through half-closed eyes as he squatted before the fire, the jeans stretching tight around his thighs.
This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. She was forty-five years old, for goodness’ sake, not a teenager. She was mature enough to know that something like this couldn’t be real. This was the product of the storm, the wine, the fact that they were alone. It was any combination of a thousand things, she told herself, but it wasn’t love.
And yet, as she watched Paul add another log and stare quietly into the fireplace, she knew with certainty that it was. The unmistakable look in his eyes, the tremor in his voice as he’d whispered her name… she knew his feelings were real. And so, she thought, were hers.
But what did that