Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My mouth dropped open.

‘What is he doing here?’ A tsunami of shock and disbelief swept over me.

‘I asked him the same thing.’ The set of Mel’s lips showed she was anything but impressed with Gareth’s sudden reappearance. ‘He turned up at the door and tried to come in, but I told him it was best if he waited here and I’d go get you.’

‘Thanks, Mel.’ I touched her arm, grateful she’d given me a chance to deal with his surprise return in privacy. Well, as much as any street in London could be private. ‘Wow. I can’t believe he’s back.’

‘Yeah, me neither. You all right?’

I drew in a deep breath. ‘I guess so.’

‘Okay. I’m going inside. Come find me if you need me.’

I nodded, then took a few tentative steps toward Gareth. His hair was longer than it had been when he’d left, and he looked like he’d lost some weight. He’d always been rangy, but now he was downright skinny. Heath’s solid frame flashed through my mind, and confusion filled me. Wasn’t this what I wanted: Gareth coming home, the big romantic gesture, the blissful ever after? So why didn’t I feel happy?

Gareth’s face lit up when he spotted me. ‘Rosie!’ He rushed toward me, sweeping me into his arms. A thorn from a rose pricked my cheek and I drew back quickly.

‘I’ve missed you so much. I couldn’t bear to spend Christmas away from you.’ He put his lips on mine and pressed against me enthusiastically.

Just go with it, I told myself, despite my stinging cheek and freezing bare arms. Here I was, being kissed on an East London street in the glow of the streetlamps right before the holidays, by a man I’d been longing to hear from for months . . .

I pulled back. ‘Did you really miss me?’ If he had, wouldn’t he have emailed?

‘Oh Rosie, Rosie.’ Gareth tugged a curl. ‘You know I did. I thought about you each and every day.’ He pecked my lips again, and I couldn’t help noticing his felt dry and rough. Could I stand another Twelve Days of Chapped Lips?

‘How about we go inside, you show me this museum you’ve been working on,’ he continued, obviously not noticing my lack of response, ‘and then we can go home. I’ve really missed a proper bed and a shower without roaches.’

‘Home?’ I repeated lamely.

‘Yes, home. Our home.’ Gareth smiled and put an arm around my waist, squeezing me closer.

A jet of anger hit me. Our home? I was the one who’d covered all the expenses for the past year while Gareth had travelled. And now that I thought about it, it hadn’t been just for that year. I’d been paying our bills for quite some time before he’d left, too. Not to mention all the cooking, cleaning . . . I could go on. And now Gareth thought he could rock up with some roses, give me a kiss, and everything would go back to normal?

‘No,’ I said in a small voice.

Gareth’s grip on me loosened. ‘Sorry, hon, what?’

I cleared my throat. ‘I said, no. No, you’re not coming home with me.’

His jaw almost hit the pavement. ‘But, but, I have nowhere else to go,’ he stammered. ‘And I got you roses.’

I shook my head. Had he really thought giving me flowers would make up for everything he’d done? Or rather, hadn’t done. As much as I wanted to blame him, I had to admit that just a few weeks ago, turning up out of the blue with a bouquet probably would have been enough for me to run off home with him. So what had changed?