Free Second Time Around by Beth Kendrick Page A

promotion if this trip goes well, and I was thinking we could use the extra money to—”
    “Try in vitro again?” She perked up.
    “No. We’re done with IVF. I told you, it’s time to move on.”
    “I see.” And with that, she put her emotions on autopilot and focused on getting to the end of this conversation without any more dashed hopes or hurt feelings. “Well, if you’re worried about wasting
your
money, you shouldn’t. I’ve alreadyoffered to use my inheritance from Arden to pay for all our future fertility treatments.”
    “That’s not what that money is for. Her lawyer specifically said you’re supposed to put it toward paying off debt and starting a new career, and I agree. With your freelance work drying up and everything that’s going on between us right now, I think it’s good you have a hobby.”
    She let that comment hang between them for a moment.
    Too late, he realized his misstep. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
    “Allow me to enlighten you about a few things,” she said primly. “First of all, baking isn’t a hobby, it’s a science and an art form.” He started to say something, but she cut him off. “Second, you were right about us needing a break. Go do whatever it is you need to do over in Brussels, and I’ll hole up here for a while with the girls.”
    “And when I get back? Will we be okay?”
    “Let’s be honest, Jonas. We haven’t been okay for a long time. A couple of months and a few time zones aren’t going to make a hell of a lot of difference at this point.”
    “You’re mad.”
    “Honestly, I’m not.” And to her surprise, she realized this was the truth. Her anger had dulled into a steady, almost soothing numbness.
    “Okay. I’ll call you?”
    She stared up at the thick green tangles of ivy. “If the spirit so moves you.”
    A few moments after Anna hung up, Jamie rushed over. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her freckles. “See that woman over there in the navy pantsuit and the pearls?” Jamie pointed out a genteel-looking lady with fabulous shoes andan elegant silver pageboy. “She wants me to coordinate her daughter’s wedding next month. Just like that! We’re meeting tomorrow morning to go over the details. I’m going to have a real client. I’m officially an event planner! This is so much easier than I thought it would be!”
    Anna forced a smile. “That’s great, Jame.”
    “And she wants you to do the cake. She says she’ll pay whatever you charge.”
    “Sure. Of course. No problem.”
    “And I was thinking we could—” Jamie broke off mid-sentence when she noticed Anna’s expression. “Oh boy. What happened to you?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You lie.”
    “I lie,” Anna admitted. “Do you think Brooke would mind if I moved up into one of her spare bedrooms for few months? I think my break with Jonas may be turning into a breakup.”

“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction …”
    —Virginia Woolf,
A Room of One’s Own
    C ait leaned back in her chair and assessed the total lack of progress she’d made that morning.
    The blank computer screen and blinking cursor seemed to demand she fill the space with something worthy of her potential. Something insightful and moving. All these years, while she studied and lectured and ducked-and-covered through the front lines of departmental politics, she’d sensed deep down that her real talent lay in writing rather than researching.
If only
, had been her wistful refrain.
If only
she could eke out the time and resources to apply herself to her true calling.
    Well, here she was, hunkered down in Henley House ofall places, with her laptop and the whole day stretching out in front of her, and nothing to do but write. Days and weeks and months ahead.
    And nothing to do but write.
    She chewed her lower lip and clicked open her Web browser to check email again. A flock of Canadian geese flew over the house, honking madly, and Cait realized that,