Kate Hoffmann - Sean

The door opened behind him and he zipped up the bag. He turned to see Laurel slip inside. Her expression was unreadable. His heart ached as he saw the answer in her eyes. "How did it go?"

She shrugged. "As expected. He's not going to give me my trust fund, so I'm leaving. I'm going to get on with my life."

"Are you sure?" Sean asked. "Maybe you should give him a little more time."

"Nope." She walked over to the closet and grabbed the suitcases she'd begun to pack just a day ago. "I'm fine with this. I have a little money in a savings account and I might be able to pick up a teaching job. I need to find an apartment, but until then, I have a few friends I taught with who'll put me up. I'll see if I can stay with Nan Salinger. You met her at my wedding. She was my maid of honor."

"You can stay with me," Sean suggested. "I have a big apartment." He didn't expect her to say yes, but he said a short prayer anyway. He couldn't bear the thought of passing an entire day and night without seeing her or touching her. An ache had settled into his heart and he knew it came from the spot that she was about to abandon.

"Thanks for the offer," Laurel said. "But I need to do this on my own. It's time for me to stand up for myself and stop depending on others. I've had a pretty cushy life, but that's over now."

"What about the center?"

"I don't know. I'm going to try to make it work without my trust fund, but it's going to be tough. Life looked a lot easier when I had five million to throw around. I'll call Amy and tell her that my situation has changed."

"And Rafe's people are still working on the plans and estimates."

"Maybe you should call and tell them to stop," Laurel murmured.

Sean stuffed a stray pair of jeans into his bag. "No. Damn it, Laurel, the center is a good idea. Go ahead and do your presentation to the foundation. Make it work. What do you have to lose?"

"You should be glad this is over," Laurel commented. "Now your life can get back to normal."

"I was beginning to feel like this was normal."

She shook her head. "No. This was just make-believe, Sean. Like magic. We snap our fingers and it's gone."

Sean reached out and took her hand, twisting his fingers around hers. "It wasn't all make-believe. And it's not going to disappear so easily."

He wanted to kiss her, to drag her into his arms and convince himself that nothing had changed between them, that Laurel still wanted him as much as he wanted her. But if their relationship did end here and now, kissing her would only make that end much harder to bear.

"Maybe not," she said with a weak smile. Laurel picked up her purse from where she'd thrown it on the floor, then pulled out her checkbook. "I guess I'd better pay you."

"I don't want your money," Sean said, his anger flaring. Was this so easy for her? To just push him out of her life without a second thought? He'd thought they'd made a connection, something stronger than could be broken with just a shrug and a check.

"I want to. I'm afraid I don't have enough for the whole month. I was expecting a windfall and that didn't come through."

"I wasn't here for a month. Let's just call it even."

"But we had an agreement," she argued. "I can give you two thousand now. Once I get settled and get back to work, I can give you more."

Sean reached in his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He found Laurel's original check inside and handed it to her.

"What's this?"

"I want to make a donation," he said. "To the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts. Keep your money. Just send me a receipt when you get up and running so I can deduct this on my taxes," he said with a wink. Laurel stared down at the check, her lower lip trembling. When she looked back up at him again, her eyes had filled with tears. "I'm going to miss you, Sean Quinn."

Sean slipped his hand over her nape and pulled her close, kissing her softly. To hell with his resolve. If this was the last time, then he wanted one good memory to carry with him. "We had a pretty good marriage."

She smiled through her tears. "It was good. Maybe it was so good because we weren't really married."

He gently stroked her cheek, trying to memorize the feel of her skin. "If you need anything at all, I want you to call me, Laurel." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and withdrew a business card.

"That has my phone and cell phone number and you can always reach me at the pub. They'll know where I am."

"I'll remember that."

He wanted to tell her right then, to wrap his arms around her and to murmur the words, to beg her to make a life with him. But Laurel was right. They'd lived in a fantasy world this whole time, a place where they only had to think about eating and sleeping and making love. The honeymoon was over and Sean couldn't be sure that what they'd shared would last.

His brain screamed at him to take the risk, to surrender his soul. But instinct held him back. "I should go," he murmured, knowing that if he stayed a minute longer he might be lost.

Laurel reached up and slipped her arms around his neck, giving him a hug. "I guess I'll be seeing you."

"Not if I see you first," Sean teased. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and walked to the door. He didn't look back, certain he'd forget all his resolve and find an excuse to stay.

As he walked down the stairs, he saw Alistair waiting at the bottom. He stopped, held out his hand, and the butler shook it. "Thanks for everything, Alistair. You know your beer and you make a helluva breakfast."

"Thank you, Mr. Sean."

"It's just Sean." He glanced up the stairs. "Keep an eye on her, all right?"

"That should be your job," the butler said.

Sean shook his head. "I wish it was, but I'm not sure I'm the guy to do it."

"I think you're the only guy to do it, sir."

Sean clapped the butler on the shoulder, then strode to the door. He considered making a stop in the library to give Sinclair Rand a piece of his mind. But in the end he walked out, walked away from the Mighty Quinn curse, away from the woman who was supposed to be his destiny. Sean wasn't sure if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life or had saved himself a broken heart. But he figured he'd know soon enough.

"As you can see by this map, the location for the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts is two blocks off Dorchester Avenue and within easy walking distance of two bus lines. Within a ten-block radius, census figures show nearly one thousand school-age children who would benefit from our programs. Working parents would know that their children are safe after school and they'd be assured that their children were participating in an enriching variety of artistic endeavors including dance, music, theater and the visual arts." Laurel pointed nervously to the map, then gave a tremulous smile. "How was that?"

Alistair clapped excitedly. "Oh, very good. I must say I was quite impressed, Miss Laurel."

"I should have pointed to the map when I was talking about the location. I have to remember that."

"No, I thought that was fine. It emphasized your information about the location at the very end."

Laurel had put her final presentation together last night and had brought everything over to the house to show Alistair when she stopped by to pick up more of her clothes. The butler had offered to serve as a practice audience and she'd been grateful for the input. Her displays and charts and floor plans were propped up around the dining room, some on the floor and some on easels that she'd brought along.

"I get so flustered with all the facts and figures," Laurel said. "But I know they're important. Amy says her board of directors likes facts and figures. I have all of it in the handout, but I think they'll want to hear it from me."

"What time is the presentation tomorrow morning?"

"Ten o'clock at the foundation office," she said. "In their boardroom. Amy showed me. There'll be at least ten people there, maybe as many as fifteen." Laurel fussed with the papers she'd laid out on the dining room table. "Would you come? For moral support?"

"Of course I will," Alistair said. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope, holding it out to her.

"What's this?"

"I wanted to be the first to make a donation," he said.

"Oh, you don't have to make-"

"No," Alistair interrupted. "If you're going to make a success of this, you have to learn to accept every donation graciously."

Laurel smiled and plucked the envelope out of his hand. "Thank you very much. Your donation will be put to good use." She opened the envelope and looked at the check inside. Her eyes went wide. "Thirty thousand dollars?"

"Your uncle has paid me very well over the years," Alistair explained. "And I've been lucky with my investments. I can't think of a better cause than this."

Laurel hurried over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug. "Thank you."

He patted her back. "Now, why don't you come to the kitchen and I'll fix you a sandwich. You've been working so hard, you probably haven't eaten anything all morning."

"I am a little hungry."

She slipped her arm through Alistair's and walked with him through the butler's pantry to the kitchen. After pulling up a stool, Laurel sat at the kitchen worktable. "Thanks for letting me come over and practice in front of you. I really appreciate your input."

"How's the hunt for an apartment going?"

Laurel shrugged. "I'm still sleeping on Nan's sofa."

"And have you seen Sean lately?"

Her stomach did a little somersault at the mention of his name. Sean Quinn. She'd thought about him at least a hundred times a day since they'd parted a month ago. She'd even driven past the pub three or four times, hoping that she'd find the courage to stop in for a bowl of soup and a chance to see him. "We haven't talked."