to a place. If you decided to stay and work through things—”
“Hold it,” she said, lifting her hand. “What you’re doing is ‘deflection’ and it’s the oldest trick in the therapy book. We’re focusing on you, Nathan. Not me.”
“First, tell me if I’m right.”
“Nathan.”
He gave her that stubborn look. Why hold out if it helped?
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t like work that kept me interested for a longer time. I did enjoy the travel agency, until that problem with the tours to no-toilet land.”
“So, instead of working things out, you decided you were bored.” He moved even closer, holding her with his eyes.
“But I was bored. And it wasn’t that creative.”
“So what about your creative jobs—the jewelry business?”
“It started out fine, but then I had tons of orders and it was one long assembly line. Completely dull. I—damn. You’re doing it again. Scoot back there.” Away from her. “I’m the therapist. You’re the client.”
He moved back with reluctance.
“So, you say you’re finished here,” she continued. “How did you come to that conclusion?” She held his gaze and managed to keep her therapy focus, too.
He seemed to be having an internal struggle. Probably with whether or not to tell her the truth.
“What are you feeling right now?” she asked. “This minute.”
He stared a moment longer and then the word just slipped out. “Empty.” His shoulders sagged, signaling he’d decided to be honest. “When I come home, I’m just…there. My house is comfortable and I have everything I need here, but I still feel…”
“Empty?” But she could see in his eyes that what he meant was lonely.
He saw that she understood and that seemed to scare him, because he folded his arms and began to babble about being able to run Cactus Confections in his sleep and how startup companies were so challenging, and on and on. As he talked, his expression was flat, his eyes dead. This could go on for hours, with Nathan pretending he was worried about his career, when it was really his heart that hurt. She decided to cut to the chase. “What about the rest of your life?”
“The rest of my life?” His gaze shot to her.
“Yeah. Tell me what happened with your girlfriend.” She wasn’t being nosy. This was therapy.
“There’s not much to tell. It was mutual. We got along well, but there was no fire. We were just passing time with each other.” He swallowed hard, then looked past her, lost in emotion.
There was more to it than that. “And does the breakup have something to do with your decision to leave?”
His eyes shot to her, then he looked away, then back. “In a way, I guess. When I start over in California I hope I’ll meet someone. I want love in my life.”
“Tell me more about this someone,” she said, swallowing. The question made her nervous. “What will she be like? How do you see her?”
“You really want to know?”
She nodded.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, so close she leaned back. “She’ll be someone with fire in her soul, who’ll make me think and make me laugh. Someone I can’t wait to come home to so I can see her face, hear her voice, find out how she’s been while we were apart…You know what I mean?”
Yes, oh, yes. She swallowed and fought to maintain her therapist composure. She forced her words to come out calmly. “It sounds like having someone special in your life is very important to you.”
“Yeah. My life feels empty without her.” His eyes flared with emotion. For a second, she thought he was talking straight to her. My life feels empty without you. But that couldn’t be. How vain of her to think he was talking about her. That had been so long ago. They’d been kids. Or at least she had been.
She felt herself redden. She had to say something therapeutic, but she couldn’t come up with anything.
“Don’t you feel that way?” he asked her, still leaning close.
“Of course.”
“But you probably have your pick of men.” His eyes dug into her.
She sighed. “Not really. I’ve been on my own lately. Dating gets routine.”
“I know what you mean.”
“It’s like riding around the rotating restaurant at the top of the Hyatt hotel—how many times can you look out at the same landmarks?”
“Exactly,” he said.
She’d said the same thing to Nikki, but Nikki shrugged it off. She enjoyed the challenge of keeping things light with men more than Mariah did. “You start saying the same things,” she continued, “hearing the same lines, and pretty soon you just want to—”
“Find someone special,” he finished.
“I was going to say, ‘rent a good movie and eat some red licorice.”’
“Oh, sorry. So, you’ve given up on finding that person?”
“No, I’m just not looking now, I’m…” What was she doing? Holding her breath? Waiting for Mr. Perfect? Who probably didn’t exist anyway? She hadn’t felt sure of her feelings about a man since Nathan. And then she’d been a kid—clueless about love.
“You’re…?” Nathan prompted.
“I’m…” Nathan was the last person she should be talking about her love life with. “I’m late for work, that’s what I am,” she said, making a big show of looking at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m not even dressed.”
“When did you start worrying about being late for work?”
“I guess you’ve been a good influence on me. I think we’ve done enough for today anyway, don’t you?”
“Yes, actually. I think I’ve said enough.” He looked relieved to be off the hook.
She didn’t need more therapy time anyway. Nathan was lonely. And he was sublimating that loneliness, claiming it was career dissatisfaction. The obvious cure was a new woman. But Mariah wasn’t about to round up eligible singles. She did not want to be his dating service. Sleep with him yourself. She knew that’s what Nikki would advise her. That’ll clear the cobwebs from his psyche.
No way.
But you’re lonely, too.
Ouch. She hated when she was honest with herself. Turned out Nathan wasn’t the only person getting therapy here. Talking about his experience made her realize that the empty feeling she’d been carrying around for months—and trying to ignore—was loneliness. She wanted a special someone, too.
So, sleep with him.
Uh-uh. At best, that would be a short-term solution and, at worst, a heartbreaking disaster. Whatever Nathan felt for her was mostly the backwash of nostalgia. Even if it was more, she never stayed in relationships, and Nathan was the kind of guy who stayed and stayed. And stayed.
No. She had to find another way to cure Nathan’s loneliness besides sleeping with him. The sooner she did, the sooner she could leave everything about Copper Corners that bugged her—her parents, the candy factory and, most of all, Nathan.
Still pondering, she went home, took a shower and got dressed for work, choosing the most inappropriate thing she’d brought—a lime-green miniskirt and tank top.
“Good lord, Mariah. You’re not going to work in that,” her mother said, watching her dash from