Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Sinclair

Saturday morning brings a final email from my lawyer: the house is Clara's, the alimony is done, and she will be a bride by sunset. I'm not brokenhearted, but I'm still bothered by the failure. It's not like I'm the only McFolley who divorced. Five out of five marriages is a pretty bad ratio for my parents.

I'm too old to blame them for my problems, but I'm starting to believe that they definitely played a big part in how we all view relationships.

My conversation with Lavender comes back again. "You were the problem—she didn't have your heart."

I mean, she didn't say it that way, but that's actually what she implied. And all night, I kept wondering if she was right about it.

Did I ever love Clara? Even an smidge to propose to her? I hate to admit it, but I'm not sure I did. Fuck, I don't even know if I know how to love. Everything in our relationship, including our marriage, was just going through the motions, keeping up appearances, and making my parents happy. The more I think about it, the more her claims of emotional frigidity ring true. I held back, kept myself walled off in so many ways.

And maybe it's even sadder to realize that I've never been in love. In conclusion, Clara was right and to be honest, I didn't deserve her. But somehow I feel like in a way I didn't have her either, did I?

With a heavy heart, I pick up my phone again, ignoring the inner voice urging me to leave well enough alone. My fingers seem to dial of their own volition. Clara answers on the third ring, her voice clipped. "Please don't tell me you're going to fight me for the house, because I didn't want it to begin with."

I muster up a fake chuckle to hide my nerves. "Well, hello to you too." I lean forward, resting my arms on my legs and pressing my phone to my ear. "Sorry for the impromptu call."

"You should be," she replies sharply. "I'm about to enter the spa where I have an appointment for a luxurious two-hour massage followed by hair and makeup. Mind you, I'd rather you ruin my day now than after I'm already relaxed."

"This isn't a call to fight," I quickly assure her. "I just have a few questions."

"Questions?" Her confusion is evident in her tone.

"Why did you marry me?" I blurt out, my heart pounding with uncertainty.

"Excuse me?" she stammers, clearly taken aback.

"You said I was too frigid, that I never loved you. Then why did you marry me?"

There's a moment of hesitation before she responds. "I-I don't understand why you're asking this now," her voice quivers.

"Because obviously, I was the main problem in our relationship," I admit, feeling defeated. "But if I was all those terrible things, why did you choose to marry me? You knew who I was from the moment we started dating—three years before. And why did it take five years for us to get divorced?"

"I was in love with the life you provided—the luxuries," she confesses softly. "You made everything possible for me. To be honest, I didn't care about feelings until I felt lonely and used. It seemed like I was just a trophy or object for you to show off when it suited you."

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I feel a wave of shame wash over me. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath as I try to process her painful confession. "I'm sorry, Clara. I never meant to make you feel that way. I had no idea what I was doing other than going through the motions and checking all the boxes."

"I know." Her voice is a quiet exhalation of air, and I can almost visualize the crease in her brow and the pursing of her lips as she speaks. "But that doesn't change the fact that you did make me feel like an object the McFolleys had to have," she states.

Her voice sighs, a heavy weight of disappointment in her words. I can almost picture her face, her furrowed brow and pursed lips as she speaks. My mind conjures up an image of her in the quiet dimness, surrounded by shadows and thoughts. The silence between us stretches on, filled with unspoken truths and painful realizations.

She's right—my parents liked her because she fit the societal standard of beauty, not because they thought I was madly in love with her. And I had gone along with it, liking her well enough but never having deep feelings for her—not a one.

"Did you ever love me?" I ask because we may have been in the same place—two people who never found true love in what might've been a modern arranged marriage. We just didn't know we were part of it.

"Honestly, no," she whispers, and despite everything, I feel a pang of something that I can't quite identify. "I didn't realize that until after we had been divorced for three years. I was . . . infatuated at first and then too angry to even look into what I was feeling."

I don't comment on her infatuation, but I can't help but note the timing of her newfound realization. "That's around the time you began to be nice to me," I remark bitterly.

"I understood that we both made a mistake," she explains, a weariness creeping into her voice. "Being angry at you just didn't make sense anymore when I should've walked away after our third date."

Wow, that's not what I was expecting her to say. Third date. Was I that shitty? Talk about failures. "I hope you've found it."

"Found what?" she asks, confusion evident in her voice.

"Love," I say, almost scoffing at the idea. "That Sam is the love of your life and you two are happy."

"Thank you and . . . well, you deserve it too," she says with such a sweet voice, I wonder if this is the Clara I never got to meet.

It doesn't matter anymore though. At least one of us will be happy. Me? "I have limited emotional capacity," I remind her. "Love isn't for me. Just look at my father. He's a heartless asshole."

"That may be true, but he loves your mother in ways that most men couldn't even comprehend," she points out. "If he could find someone to love, I believe you can too."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I never wanted to be anything like my father, yet here I am—cold and emotionally distant just like him. But her belief in me gives me a glimmer of hope.

"Thank you for answering my questions," I say, feeling grateful for the unexpected honesty and closure from our conversation .

"Be happy, Sinclair," Clara says, her voice carrying a gentle warmth that I can almost feel. The sound of her smile fills my ears and I can't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over me.

"You too, Clara," I reply, my heart feeling lighter than it has in days.

After hanging up the phone, I quickly change into my workout gear and head out for a run, needing to clear my head. As I leave the B&B behind, my feet pound against the pavement with determination, each step bringing me closer to Harris Orchard. The sun is shining bright, casting golden rays of light through the crisp, clean air. With each exhale, I can feel the tension slowly dissipating from my body.

Before I know it, I've reached the lake, and that's when I see her. Lavender. She sits atop a fallen log with a sketchbook in her lap, her long brown hair cascading down her back in soft waves. The sunlight catches on her hazelnut strands, giving them a golden glow that makes her look ethereal.

I slow my pace as I approach her, not wanting to startle her. But even with caution, she jumps at the sound of my footsteps and nearly falls off the log in surprise. Instinctively, I reach out and catch her by the arm to steady her.

"Easy there," I chuckle, unable to resist the smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She looks up at me with wide eyes. There's a hint of mischief in their depths as she replies, "Well, you did. But I suppose I can forgive you . . . just this once. "

Feeling guilty for startling her, I give her a small apologetic grin. "Thanks. I'll try to make less of a habit of it."

Lavender brushes off her clothes with a shy yet warm smile. "What brings you out here, Sinclair? Running away from the ghosts of your past, or just the regular morning exercise?"

I can't help but laugh at her teasing.

"A bit of both, honestly," I confess, my voice dropping to a more serious tone. Memories of my conversation with Clara running through my head, but being surrounded by fresh air and nature helps to clear the lingering fog. "Had a lot to think about. And running . . . well, it helps sometimes."

She nods understandingly, her gaze flickering down to her sketchbook for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "Sometimes, moving forward is the only way to figure things out," she says thoughtfully. "That, and changing the scenery can give you a new perspective. I guess that's why I'm out here too." Her words strike a chord within me and I find myself grateful for this unexpected encounter with Lavender in such a peaceful setting.

I take a moment to admire Lavender's sketchbook, my eyes tracing the delicate lines of her drawing. The lake looks even more beautiful than in reality. Each stroke is purposeful, capturing the serene beauty of our surroundings with an impressive skill.

"You're very talented," I remark with genuine admiration, handing back the book to her.

She smiles shyly, a hint of pride shining in her eyes. "Thanks, Sinclair. It's just a hobby, but it helps me unwind."

"Do you mind if I join you for a bit?" I ask, surprised by my own desire to prolong our conversation. "I promise not to scare you again."

Lavender pats the log beside her in invitation and I take a seat, leaving a respectful space between us. "Only if you can share some of your insight on moving forward," she says with a small smile. "I could use some of that myself."

As I settle down next to her on the log, I can't help but feel a sense of closeness between us.

"Well," I begin as my gaze drifts out over the lake, "I just had a long talk with my ex-wife. This whole trying to learn from my mistakes is harder than I anticipated. More so when I don't like to admit that I've failed." I turn to look at her and see understanding and empathy in her expression.

"It sounds tough," she responds softly.

"It is . . . was. But it's also freeing in a way. Acknowledging the problem is the first step to fixing it, right?"

"I totally understand." She nods in agreement and I can't help but feel grateful for this unexpected connection with someone who gets me.

"And what about you?" I inquire, curious about her own journey. "What brought you to the lake so early in the morning?"

Lavender sighs and gazes out over the water. "I couldn't sleep since I still don't know what I want from this visit. Sure, there's a need for change. I came here looking for peace, maybe to find a part of myself that I lost along the way. But I don't know what I want for my future, other than my business to stay afloat."

I nod, understanding all too well. "I heard that Kentbury has a way of giving us what we need, not always what we expect. At least that's what my brother says."

Her laughter rings out again, a joyful sound that seems to dance with the gentle breeze. "Maybe that's exactly what we both needed," she says thoughtfully. "A surprise or two to shake things up."

As we sit there, sharing stories and reflections, the distance between us feels less like space and more like a bridge. We connect through shared experiences and unexpected beginnings. And just maybe, this chance encounter could lead to something new for both of us—hope, understanding, and maybe even a shot at happiness.

In the peaceful stillness that surrounds us, interrupted only by the soothing sounds of the lake, I realize that this moment—with Lavender, in this tranquil setting—might just be the beginning of discovering what I've been missing. And perhaps, as we help each other find our way, we might also find a little more of what we've been searching for all along.