Jane and Bingley (Countdown to Christmas Book 8) by Jenni James Page B

envelope were the words—
    Jane, I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you. Forgive me. Today is seven swans-a-swimming. Here is your ticket. If you’d rather go alone, I understand—please just text me and I’ll leave you alone for the time being. However, if I don’t hear from you I’ll be the handsome guy in a tux in the seat next to yours. Love, Charles.
    P.S. For whatever I’ve done, I’m so, so sorry .
     
    Jane’s heart melted a bit, but then the large lump in her throat came back. There was no magic here anymore. She just couldn’t do it. Maybe she was being a little harsh and intense, but the pain was still too real. She needed time.
    Her hands shook as she taped the ticket onto the door and then locked it. As she crawled into bed to hide from the world, she typed up a quick text.
    Thank you for the lovely gift. Swan Lake has always been a favorite of mine. Please take someone else instead. I left the ticket on the door for you.
    A few minutes later, he texted back, When can we talk? Whatever it is, I’m so, so sorry.
    She replied, I promise we will discuss this. I promise. I just need time (a few days to process). Please respect my space. And I’m sorry too.
    He didn’t text again. Jane was relieved that he didn’t. But after an hour passed and he still hadn’t, she became worried, or agitated, or something. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she’d put some distance between them before she did something she would regret. Time heals all wounds. She knew that, and hopefully, after a few days, she’d be able to see his side of things. Maybe. Either way, it was time she let her mother know they wouldn’t be over for dinner that night.
     
     
     

CHAPTER TEN
    Eight Maids-a-Milking
     
     
    Charles took the ticket and replaced it with a vase of yellow roses on Jane’s doorstep. Grammy loved the ballet, and then spent a good couple of hours afterward at her house giving him sound advice on how to handle women.
    “If she says give her space, you give her space!” She slapped the wide armrest of her recliner. “You men try to control everything and then you go and ruin it, but if you’d just listen, you’d know what to do. Now stop pacing like a caged lion and talk to me properly. You’re giving me a crick in my neck, looking up at you like that.”
    “Sorry. I just don’t know what’s happened, and I’m worried, and I can’t seem to sit still long enough to pretend not to be worried.”
    “Nobody said anything about anyone pretending anything. Now sit.”
    Charles chuckled and sat down at the end of the couch to her left. “There. Better?”
    “Much.”
    “But what if she’s one of those women who says one thing and means another?”
    Grammy shook her head. “Oh, good grief. There you go again.”
    “I mean it. What if this is a test to see if I’ll come banging on her door and hold her while she tells me everything and I’m failing miserably?”
    She ran a wrinkled hand through her short gray curls. “If you’ve gone and found yourself one of those girls who are all drama, be done with her now. However, from what I know of Jane, I’d say she isn’t anything at all like that. She’s frank. She’s sensible. She’s kind. If she’s asking for time, give it to her. The last thing you want to do right now is overwhelm her.” She pointed to his agitated knee bouncing in place. “Good grief, boy. Are you trying to pounce on something?”
    He grinned and took a deep breath, then straightened his legs and rested his head against the cushions behind him. “No. I’m just . . . I don’t want to lose her. And I feel like I am. I already lost her once, and honestly, I can’t—I won’t go through this again.”
    “You won’t go through what again?”
    “Losing her.”
    Grammy had the audacity to laugh. Hard. When she was through she actually had a real-live coughing fit. “That is the dang funniest thing you’ve ever said.”
    Once Charles saw that