Page 46 of BTW I Love You

Maybe Maddy had got under his defences, had become an addiction which he was finding it hard to break. But there was nothing more to it than that.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

‘YOU’RE absolutely positive? You don’t have anything?’ Maddy’s fingers squeezed the mobile. ‘I’ve got a lot of experience and I can provide excellent references.’

The woman on the other end of the phone, the last employer on the list she’d jotted down from the Internet last night, apologised again and hung up.

Maddy dropped the phone into her apron pocket. She’d lost count of how many people she’d rung in the last week, begging for a job. But all the winter work had been snapped up ages ago.

‘Still no luck on the job front, eh?’ Phil placed two frothy cappuccinos on her tray.

She shook her head, tried not to look as dejected as she felt. She should never have indulged herself with Rye for so long, that much was obvious. She wiped the thought. She couldn’t think about him now. He’d been away for over a week and she was in a worse state now than when he’d left.

She’d spent that first day, her day off, scrubbing the cottage until her fingers had been raw. She’d washed the floors, scoured the hob, cleaned out the kitchen cupboards, reorganised her wardrobe and laundered all the bedding in a vain attempt to put him out of her mind, but it hadn’t worked. The empty feeling inside her, the aching sadness when she had to cook alone, the well of tears that caught her unawares hadn’t gone away. But worse had been the nights and those wildly erotic dreams which woke her in a cold sweat, every cell in her body throbbing, the phantom scent of his skin and the need to have his arms around her so strong the loss felt like a physical blow.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d never been the clingy type. She had to stop obsessing about this. She’d already decided that if Rye returned she would have to be firm and tell him their affair was over. She couldn’t go through all this a second time. A clean break would be best, for both of them. But as hard as that was to contemplate, even harder was the creeping suspicion that Rye had decided not to return to Cornwall after all.

Her bottom lip quivered and she bit into it. Balancing the tray on her arm, she squared her shoulders. ‘I’m sure something will come up.’

Phil laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Hey, Mads.’ His brows drew together. ‘Are you about to cry?’

‘No, of course not.’ She tried to tug away but he held her easily, plucked the tray off her arm.

‘Sit down.’ He studied her face as he nudged her onto one of the bar stools. ‘And stay put; I’ll take these over. Then we’re going to have a little chat.’

He was back before she had a chance to do more than sigh. ‘Did you ask Rye about working at the hotel? Lover boy owns the place; the least he could do is get you a job.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she said, folding her arms over her chest. The last thing she needed right now was to be interrogated by Phil. ‘He’s away.’

‘Where is he?’

‘California,’ she replied curtly. She really didn’t want to be talking about Rye. And she absolutely refused to start whimpering in front of Phil.

‘For how long?’

‘I have no idea.’ She threw her hands up, exasperated. ‘And, as we’re not seeing each other any more—’ she paused, swallowing to shift the idiotic constriction in her throat ‘—I don’t really care.’ She tried to climb down from the stool, but Phil took her upper arm.

‘You guys broke up? Since when?’ he asked.

She huffed out a frustrated breath. Why couldn’t he let this go? ‘We didn’t break up. We were never together. It wasn’t that sort of thing.’

Phil swore. ‘So what sort of thing was it?’ The incredulity and annoyance in Phil’s tone brought a cold rush of shame. Why did their affair suddenly sound so compromising?

‘He was here every damn night behaving as if he owned you,’ Phil continued. ‘And now suddenly he’s gone? I knew he’d do this. That son of a …’

‘Phil, I know you mean well,’ she interrupted, tugging her elbow out of his grasp, ‘but this really isn’t any of your business.’ She climbed off the stool.

‘It is my business when you look dead on your feet and on the verge of tears and one of my friends is the cause.’

‘You’re not responsible for me,’ she said, her spine straightening and the tears drying in her throat.

She’d been a total wimp. And more of a pushover than she ever wanted to admit. But she’d made the decision to have a no-strings affair. And it was her own fault the strings had ended up strangling her. It was way past time to cut loose. ‘And neither is Rye. I’m responsible for myself.’ Pulling her pencil out of her apron, she shoved it behind her ear. ‘Now, I’ve got a shift to finish, if you don’t mind.’

She marched off, her head held high and her back ramrod straight, ignoring the panic that had been clutching at her throat ever since she’d watched Rye walk away a week ago.

She needed to take control of her life again—a control she now realised she’d ceded to Rye, and her hormones, over the last month.

No more avoidance. No more self-indulgence. Today had officially become Pull Yourself Together Day.