Tea and Primroses by Tess Thompson

Author:Tess Thompson [Thompson, Tess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Women's Fiction, Contemporary Women, Romance, Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery & Suspense, Suspense
Amazon: B00HV2OCM2
Publisher: Booktrope
Published: 2014-02-15T14:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

LOST IN HIS TOUCH, Sutton thought, feeling nauseous. She had listened to her mother’s story with her eyes closed, but she opened them and looked over at Declan as he read the last sentence of the chapter.

“You feel all right?” He chuckled. “You look like you did that time when we were kids and you threw up after that roller coaster. Remember that?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Laugh it up. I can’t believe we’re reading this about my mother. She doesn’t describe more, does she? Please say,‘no.’”

He ruffled through the next several pages. “You’re in luck. She doesn’t go into any further detail on the sex stuff.”

“Thank God.” She moved her feet from his lap and sat up, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around her bare legs.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

She rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t know. Does it seem right, to read this? I’m terrified to hear what’s coming next. It’s all so intimate. Thinking of her this way is confusing.”

“You mean as a young woman?” Declan set the manuscript on the coffee table.

“Yes, a young woman talking about sex.” She felt the tears coming, only this time they came from a feeling of betrayal instead of grief. “How many secrets did she have?”

“She was a person, not just your mother.” They were quiet for a moment. “Do you ever regret coming back here?” He asked this delicately, like someone not wanting to spook a wild animal.

“No. I missed it here. And mother.”

“You always said you never wanted to leave. But you did. At least for a while.” Was his tone accusatory? She couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, and I loved my time in Portland but I knew eventually I would come back here to open my business.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“You know, same old thing. I’m afraid to make a mistake.”

“You won’t fail, Sutton. You can do this in your sleep.”

She reached out, touching the side of his face, leaving her hand there, feeling the stubble on his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “You always had this way of making me feel like I could do anything.”

“You can.”

“The world’s cruel. I’ve learned that since you left. I’m not made to fight and scratch. It’s better for me to live small. Nothing is new here. I know every inch of the roads here, the houses, the beach, Legley Bay, everything is the same, day after day. I thought about it a lot when I was in Paris. Do you know how much courage it took for me to leave here and go there by myself, not knowing anyone or the language? But I went everywhere, all the museums and sites, and drank espresso and wine at small cafes, and it made me feel different, more independent and capable and curious, less afraid than I used to be. All of which made me wonder what I’ve missed staying in Oregon instead of venturing out into the world. I thought maybe you were right after all, that to find yourself you have to go away from home.

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