I was pleased to see that someone who enjoyed color had decorated this room. Soft hues of orange and tanzanite brightened up the space. I set my eyes on the statement piece in the room—a beautiful canopy bed that looked like it’d come from the pages of a travel magazine, beckoning a visit to Bali or . . . well, Aruba.

Why did the room feel familiar? Remind me of that bed, the one we made love in. And the framed photograph of a beach over the bed . . . was that our beach, where the water had crashed onto the shore while we made love?

I was probably reading too much into the room. I highly doubted he remembered what the bedroom even looked like.

Yeah, we’d had sex with the lights on, but what an absurd stretch of the imagination for me to believe he’d recreated this room to remember me?

This had to be one big coincidence. I’d have to do my best not to express my hope I was right when I turned around.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice almost hoarse.

“Mm-hmm.” I set aside my purse, pulled myself together, then slowly faced him. But the nerves in my stomach didn’t dissipate. They kept fluttering, kept what if’ing their way to a place of hope.

I had to stop these dangerous thoughts, so I reminded myself he told me he’d believed I’d rejected him. Therefore, it made no sense he’d recreate a room to remind him of our time together. That’d be as ridiculous as believing he drank Legacy Ridge all these years, not because he loved the taste, but because he wanted to remember me.

“You okay?” he asked in a concerned tone.

“Yes,” I lied, wishing my face would stop talking on behalf of my mouth. “Private bathroom?” I deflected.

“There is. It should be fully stocked.”

“Guests stay here often?” Shit. My voice betrayed me, cracking on the last word.

“This will be the first time. My cleaning staff just always ensures everything is ready for guests if the time were to come that I have them.”

“Oh. No one has slept in this bed, then?” Stop it, hope. Go away.

“No.” He turned to the side, giving me his profile. “You’ll be the first,” he added while walking to the doorway. “Get some rest.”

“Wait, um.”

He glanced over at me, his hand going to the interior of the doorframe.

“Thank you for saving Colin. I don’t know if I said that yet, but he said you risked your life for him.”

“You never need to thank me for protecting our son,” he responded in a low voice.

“Well, I will anyway.” I swallowed. “And, um, are you okay? This is all a lot for you.”

“I’m . . .” His chest lifted and fell as he looked up at the ceiling. “Processing.”