Читать книгу Now You See Me - Kris Fletcher - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
J.T. STOOD IN THE cramped upstairs bathroom of his mother’s home bright and early the next morning, carefully peeling the backing from the temporary tattoo he’d applied to his arm.
“There,” he said to the lumpy mutt lying half in the bathroom, half in the hall. “It’s not a heart that says Mom, but it should do the trick.”
Charlie—the latest in a string of mongrels—yawned, obviously not impressed with the way the morning sun gleamed off the stylized maple leaf now adorning J.T.’s biceps. J.T. shrugged, wadded up the paper and tossed it toward the trash, congratulating himself when he hit it the first time. Courage bolstered, he turned to the mirror to see if he passed muster.
Good. He looked only half as idiotic as he felt.
He’d left his hair uncombed, both to increase the rumpled look and to hide the gray that had started taking hold. A day’s worth of stubble paraded across his jaw. The bags under his eyes were a by-product of flying across time zones, but they added to the seedy appearance. An earring would have been a nice touch, but he had his limits.
Black biking shorts and an electric blue muscle shirt completed the mugger-in-training look. All he needed was a motorcycle. But he’d spent years learning caution and common sense since leaving town, and he wasn’t about to abandon them completely. He’d settle for Rollerblades and hope they were enough to cause a stir.
Satisfied that he looked vaguely reminiscent of the delinquent teen he’d once been, he stepped over Charlie and crept down the stairs, hoping he could make his escape without his mother hearing. She would have to see him like this in time, but he didn’t want to ruin her breakfast.
“J.T.?”
He should have known. The minute he walked into town, his luck turned tail and hopped the next flight out.
He nearly tripped over the damned stealthy dog and steeled himself for the worst.
Iris Delaney stood in the hall, thinner than she’d ever been in his life, snug in a white housecoat festooned with the flowers she’d been named for. She had a mug cradled in her hands and an expression of sheer horror on her face.
Wait for it....
She opened and closed her mouth. Raised one hand to her lips. Lowered it again.
At last she spoke.
“Make me a happy woman. Tell me you’re going jogging and then you’ll shower and get dressed for real.”
“Sorry, Ma. What you see is what you get.”
“Do I dare ask why?”
She could ask, but he wasn’t sure he could explain. He knew that when he left town, he’d broken her heart. Her hurt was compounded when she realized that no matter what he did—graduating from university, getting his PhD, moving to Tucson to teach high school and the occasional university class—no one wanted to hear about it. She’d been deprived of both her son and her bragging rights. She didn’t need to know that he’d already been tried and condemned on his first day back.
“Let’s say I’m giving the people exactly what they want to see.” He kissed the top of her head and swiped her mug with every intention of helping himself. One whiff of the contents made him hand it back, fast.
“What the he—heck is that?”
Iris rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re leaving here dressed like a hoodlum but you won’t say hell in front of your mother?”
“I figured you’d wash my mouth out with soap. What is it?”
“Astragalus tea. Strengthens immunity and enhances body energy and defenses.”
So she was trying to build herself back up. Good.
“When was your last doctor’s appointment?”
“About three weeks ago. Maybe longer.” When he started to speak, she shushed him with a shake of her head. “Don’t fuss. I’m fine now.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Mothers don’t like to worry their children.” She stared into her tea. He tipped her chin up so he could look her straight in the eye.
“And children don’t like being kept in the dark, Ma.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” She paused, before adding, “Not from you, I promise. Not anymore.”
He could live with that. If Iris wanted to keep the rest of the town from knowing the truth about her ongoing fight with seasonal affective disorder, well, that was her right. As long as she didn’t try to hide it from him. He never wanted to get another phone call like the one he’d received last winter—the call in which an artificially calm voice informed him that his mother had tried to kill herself.
But she was doing better now. She was gradually adjusting to life without his father. And it was summer, when the long light-filled days held her depression at bay. As long as he got her out of Comeback Cove before fall, she would be fine.
The trouble was that while Iris said she was ready to move, he had the feeling she was really hoping for some sort of reprieve. Something, perhaps, like convincing him to move back.
“So.” He sniffed the tea again, turned up his nose. “Where can I get a cup of real coffee these days?”
“The same place you always could. River Joe’s.” She looked him up and down. “You know it’s going to be crowded this time of day.”
It was a gentle hint that he might want to change. Little did she know that there was no way he was going to reveal the depths of his changes to this town. He could handle them rejecting the kid he’d been. The man he’d become, though—that was off-limits.
Besides, it was fun to put on the old ways and tweak folks a bit. He kind of missed letting his inner daredevil have his day.
“River Joe’s, huh?” A picture of the woman he’d spotted the previous evening flashed through his mind. Maybe the answer to her identity was closer than he’d expected.
He snagged his Rollerblades from beside the deacon’s bench in the front hall, then sat down and wriggled the first foot in. Keeping his voice casual, he asked, “Who’s running it these days?”
“Lydia Brewster.”
“Who’s she?”
“Buddy Brewster’s daughter-in-law.”
J.T. wound the laces around his hands, tugged and looked up. “Glenn’s wife? How did she end up with the shop?”
“Glenn’s widow, yes. She moved here with her children after Glenn and Buddy died.”
Memories raced through J.T.’s mind, outtakes from the one and only time Comeback Cove had gained national attention. There had been a tanker on the seaway—a common enough occurrence. But this tanker had been targeted by a nutcase with a statement to make and enough explosives to make sure he was heard. Buddy and Glenn had been out deer hunting when they stumbled across the man. They stopped him. But in the process they lost their own lives.
J.T. tied a quick bow and moved on to the next foot. “Must have been tough for her.”
“It was. I’m sure it still is.”
The slight catch in his mother’s voice was proof that she understood Lydia Brewster’s pain better than he ever would. He hunted for something to say that would keep them on even emotional ground. “What made her come here?”
“You say that like it’s a life sentence.”
“You mean it isn’t?”
“Maybe when you’re a child. But adults usually enjoy it.”
Any minute now, she’d start a commercial on the joys of life in Comeback Cove. “Lydia Brewster?” he prompted.
Iris sighed. “Well, she and Ruth were both hurting, as you can imagine. Ruth was all alone in that big house, and Lydia’s children were so small—the youngest was little more than a baby. She brought them here, and Ruth helped with the kids while Lyddie ran the store. It was good for both of them.”
It made sense. But he still couldn’t see how moving to the Cove could be in anyone’s best interests.
“This is her home now,” Iris continued, “and people are glad to have her. Losing Buddy and Glenn was terrible. It helps to have her and the children here, like a part of them is still with us. And Lyddie is so sweet and brave that everyone wants to help.”
J.T. could only imagine. From what he remembered, if the nutcase had succeeded, the resulting explosion could have destroyed the town far more completely than he ever had. Lydia Brewster must be the next thing to a saint around here.
If she were indeed the woman he’d seen, it explained the ease with which she’d been accepted into town. Even the Cove couldn’t keep a hero’s widow at arm’s length.
He gave the laces a tug vicious enough to risk snapping them. He hoped to hell that this Brewster woman either wanted to close the shop or had enough money tucked away to buy her building from him. Because even with skates on, he doubted he could outrun the wave of condemnation that would crash over him if he had to sell Lydia Brewster’s business out from under her.
* * *
THE WEDNESDAY-MORNING RUSH was in full gear, leaving Lyddie little time to worry about Tracy’s revelation of the night before. Good. If she let herself think too long about this, she could come up with a dozen possible outcomes, each one scarier than the last. She was all too aware that the worst-case scenario really could happen in a life.
She could lose her business. Have to start over in another location. Worst of all, she would have to say goodbye to another piece of her children’s history—the shop their grandfather started, the place where their father carved his initials into the kitchen wall.
But all that had to wait. Right now she had to draw a hazelnut roast for Jillian.
“Leave it black, please,” Jillian called, as though this were a new request. Every morning she ordered the same thing. Nadine and Lyddie were getting on in years, but even they could remember a medium hazelnut, no cream, no sugar.
On the other hand, Jillian hadn’t attained the office of mayor—and every other title in town, from Little Miss Fall Festival on up—by leaving anything to chance. Maybe Lyddie should take a lesson from her. Jillian would never find herself breathless and foundering while her building was sold out from beneath her, that was for sure.
“How about a blueberry muffin, Your Worship?” Nadine was in fine form. “Mmm, look at that brown sugar streusel.”
Jillian, queen of the Thighmaster, shuddered visibly. “No. Just coffee. No food.”
On the other hand, there had to be a more positive role model than an anorexic power slut.
“I need music,” Lyddie announced, and scooted around the counter to reach the long-outdated CD player. Usually she didn’t start the tunes until the morning rush had cleared and conversation had dwindled. But today she needed all the distraction she could get.
She thumbed through the CDs and shook her head. Gregorian chants, harp music, the sounds of relaxation... None of those felt right. She needed in-your-face vocals that would give her a socially acceptable outlet for the frustration perking inside her. She needed—
“Oh, yeah.”
Bonnie Raitt’s greatest hits slid into place. In a moment, assertive guitar chords punctured the atmosphere, mingling with the warm smell of coffee and the casual ambience. It was almost enough to make her relax.
She boogied her way behind the counter where Nadine waited with her arms crossed and eyes rolling.
“Lydia, it’s bad enough you make me work at this hour. Force me to listen to that and I’ll report you to the labor board.”
“Stop. This is good. People like it.”
“It has a beat, I’ll give you that.” Nadine scanned the room, pausing briefly at the opening door. “But I think you need to try something... Oh, my God.”
“What?” Lyddie looked up, more worried by the sudden drop in Nadine’s volume than her words. Then she realized that the entire room had gone suddenly, eerily still. If it hadn’t been for Bonnie belting from the CD, asking if she was ready for the thing called love, there would have been dead silence.
“Nadine?”
A nod toward the door was the only answer.
Lyddie glanced in the direction indicated and saw that a man had entered the shop. Dark hair. Slightest hint of stubble on the chin. Electric blue T-shirt over black biker shorts. The most remarkable thing about him was the Rollerblades on his feet, and even Comeback Cove had progressed enough to handle those.
On closer inspection, this guy didn’t need anything remarkable to stand out. He wasn’t what she’d call drop-dead gorgeous, though he certainly was making the second look worth the effort. It was something about the way he held himself. The set of his shoulders, the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, the calm and purposeful way he scanned the room sent a clear message that this was a man who knew exactly who and what he was, and nothing would change him.
So why did she get the feeling he was braced for attack?
“It’s him,” Nadine whispered. “J. T. Delaney.”
Ooooooooh.
The quirk spread into a cocky grin. “Nice to see I still know how to make an entrance.”
The room echoed with the sound of about a dozen throats being cleared.
His gaze settled on Lyddie. Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, confusing her. “Okay to wear these in here?” he called over the coughing and harrumphing.
“Uh...” Somewhere in her brain she understood he was referring to the skates. She wanted to toss off a casual reply, but something—anger?—had started curling low in her belly, interfering with her thought process.
It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t had time to think, no chance to determine her plan of attack. Why was he here already?
And why did he have to look so...interesting? Despite what Nadine and Tracy had said, Lyddie had expected a middle-aged version of his late father: sober and responsible, slightly balding, wearing sensible loafers and madras plaid shirts. That kind of man she could handle. What was she supposed to do with James Dean the Second?
His grin widened. “If you’d rather I didn’t, could we pretend this is a drive-through?”
From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red. Oh, no. Jillian was moving in for the kill.
“Well, well, well. So much for that line about being adults.” Jillian crossed her arms and looked him up and down with—in Lyddie’s opinion—a bit too much interest. If Ted heard about this, there would be hell to pay. “You’re still as crazy as ever.”
“Only when I’m here, Jelly.”
Behind Lyddie, Nadine snickered back to life. “Jelly?”
Lyddie had much the same thought. She’d never met anyone who could put Her Worship in place with five little words. When the mayor clamped her lips together and hustled out the door, Lyddie had to remind herself that this was the potential bad guy in front of her.
But bad guy or not, she couldn’t leave him standing in the doorway. She waved to let him know the blades were acceptable but couldn’t keep from adding, “After all, it’s your place, Mr. Delaney.”
The soft whir of wheels across slate marked his progress. That and the swiveling of every head in the room. He moved slowly, as if making sure everyone had a chance to size him up.
“Morning, Mrs. Krupnick.”
“Morning, J.T.” Nadine spoke far more cautiously than Lyddie would have expected. “What can I get for you?”
“A cup of French roast.” There was a slight pause before he added, “Please.”
Lyddie stifled a groan. Just what she needed. A landlord with a God’s-greatest-gift complex.
She had to meet him eventually, so she straightened her shoulders and prayed that she would come off as an efficient businesswoman instead of the brain-dead twit she was currently channeling. Though how she was supposed to do that when he’d dropped in on her out of the blue like this...
“Hi.” She thrust out a hand, well aware that it was more challenge than greeting. “Welcome to River Joe’s. I’m Lydia Brewster.”
“J. T. Delaney.” He took her hand, palms meshing in a perfect fit. An unanticipated fog rolled through her brain. All she could think was that he sure didn’t look like a landlord. Nor, to be honest, did he resemble her idea of a wild arsonist. She wasn’t sure why. He certainly had the “wild” part down. Maybe it was his teeth. They seemed far too straight and white for someone with a juvenile past.
Nadine slid a full mug in his direction. He lifted it and inhaled like a drowning man who’d just found an oxygen tank.
“God, that smells good.”
Okay, he appreciated good coffee. That was a plus. But looking at him made something bubble inside Lyddie. She couldn’t put a finger on it. She was irritated and intrigued and frustrated and fascinated, all at the same time, but none of those emotions seemed to capture exactly what she was feeling.
All that was certain was that she needed to know the truth—not through a rumor, but from him.
She gave him a moment to swallow before saying, as casually as possible, “I hear you’re selling the building.”
The room echoed with a dozen sudden inhalations.
J.T., however, showed no reaction other than a slight quirk of an eyebrow. “Word travels fast as ever, I see.”
She nodded. Crossed her arms. Settled her hip against the corner of the counter so he’d know she was in no hurry.
A slow smile spread across his face. No surprise. It was the brief hint of some other emotion flashing in his eyes that made her pay attention. Was that guilt she spied?
But his next words laid to rest her brief hope that J. T. Delaney was having second thoughts.
“That’s right.” He spoke clearly, slowly. She had the impression he wanted to make sure everyone in the room caught every word. “I’m selling this and every other building my father owned. I want it done quickly and easily so I can leave at the end of summer. The sooner I can get back to Tucson, the better.”
A chorus of whispers filled the room. Lyddie was glad for the solid wood against her hip. It compensated for the weakness in her knees.
He looked straight at her, but again the words were meant for the crowd. “This is prime waterfront property, Mrs. Brewster. I won’t have any trouble selling.” He fished in his pocket, tossed money on the counter. “I’ll stop by at closing time to discuss the details.”
He saluted her with his mug and took another long swallow before setting it on the counter with what looked like regret. Without another word, he skated out the door.
Silence filled the shop.
“Damn that boy.” Nadine’s words were soft but heartfelt.
“Ditto.” It was the only word Lyddie could manage. Too many thoughts vied for attention in her head, pushing her toward panic mode. The rumors were true. Could she buy? Would she get a new landlord? Was her rent going to jump? Would she have to move? Would he—
“He never was any good at math.” Nadine whisked the coins off the counter, shaking her head, and Lyddie finally clued in.
Not only had J. T. Delaney stolen her piece of mind and upset her business for the morning, but he’d also shorted her on the price of the coffee.
* * *
WELL, THAT HAD definitely not been one of his finer moments.
J.T. sauntered down Main Street that afternoon on his way back to River Joe’s, hoping no one could see that beneath the outer confidence, he was beating himself up. He kept a practiced, slightly patronizing smile in place as he observed the street, never once letting on that he was actually impressed with what he saw.
Last night he’d been so intent on searching out familiar landmarks that he hadn’t noticed the changes. How was that for irony? He had locked up his perception of the town just the way the town had frozen its opinion of him.
But today, after cursing himself for the way he’d behaved in the coffee shop, he could see the bigger picture. The Cove was still no crowded tourist hotspot, but it had grown and even thrived over the years. He remembered a sad downtown in which there were three empty storefronts for every one business clinging to life. Now there wasn’t an empty space to be seen. Pizza and doughnuts, T-shirts and antiques, even a natural food and vitamin shop—all seemed to be bustling between the standard grocery, post office and hardware store.
No wonder Lydia Brewster got that deer-in-the-headlights look when he said he was selling. There was no place for her to go.
The load of guilt on his shoulders got a little heavier—again—at the memory. She hadn’t deserved to get drawn into his give-’em-what-they’re-expecting joyride. She hadn’t done anything to him, and he had no right to assume she would condemn him like the rest of the town. He couldn’t let himself get ticked off at the way he’d been treated and then turn around and do the same thing to someone else.
Even at his worst, he’d never been heartless—yet he had a lousy feeling that he’d been exactly that this morning.
It hadn’t helped that when he walked in and recognized her as his mystery woman, his first thought was of the way she’d looked when she stretched the night before—long and curvy and inviting. That had knocked his carefully prepared words flat out of his mind. By the time he realized what he was saying, he’d already messed up.
It was all he could do to keep a determined spring in his step as he pulled open the door to River Joe’s, setting bells tinkling. He hoped to God he could get everything sold quickly. The kick he’d got from resurrecting his long-ago persona was fading fast.
“Hello?” He peered around the deserted dining room. No signs of life. Chairs were neatly upended on round tables, the counter was empty, lights dim. If it hadn’t been for the unlocked door he’d have thought she stood him up.
He was about to make tracks for the kitchen when that door flew open. Out marched Nadine Krupnick. He recognized the scowl on her face. He’d seen it enough times back in school, when she was the lunch lady and he was the idiot who’d just yelled, “Food fight!”
“Afternoon,” he said cautiously, turning so she couldn’t get between him and the exit.
“Afternoon? Ha. More like, high time someone talked straight to you, Mister Delaney.”
The bitter twist to her words told him precisely where Nadine’s loyalties rested. Before he could muster up an apology, Nadine was in his face, bobbing like a pissed-off bantam hen. The fact that he stood a good eight inches over her did nothing to dispel the feeling he’d just come between a mother bear and her cub.
“Listen here, J.T.” She poked his chest. Hard. “Up until about nine o’clock this morning, I was ready and willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Then I heard what you’re doing. From your own lips, no less. And all I can say is, if you take this place away from that girl, then you might as well turn yourself in to the police right now, because you’ll be killing her just the same as that nutcase killed her husband.”
She finished her words with another jab that barely avoided being a punch. It took all his effort to keep breathing in a seminormal manner.
“You been working out, Mrs. Krupnick? I don’t remember you having such a mean right hook back in school.”
“That’s because you still had some brains back then. And a heart. Now it seems you’ve got a rock in your chest. And as for what’s filling your head instead of brains, well—”
“Nadine.”
Lydia leaned against the counter the way she had earlier that day, but this time she seemed almost relaxed. Even with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, she seemed more amused than worried. Maybe it was the smile tugging at her lips. He’d spied it this morning, briefly, before Nadine had obviously told her who he was. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see her smile again.
Too bad it was currently directed at Nadine, not him. When she glanced in his direction she frosted over. Wariness replaced the amusement that had encompassed her just a second earlier.
I did that. His shoulders sagged.
“Kick him out, Lyddie. Don’t talk to him until you call your lawyer.”
But Lydia shook her head. “It’s his building, Nadine. Besides, I’m certain Mr. Delaney and I can come to some reasonable agreement.”
Nadine muttered something under her breath. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure that back in school, if she’d ever caught him saying what he thought she’d just said, he would have been carving yet another notch in his favorite chair in the principal’s office.
“Absolutely.” He ducked his head, stepped back and opened the door with a show of politeness. Nadine flounced through the opening, looking from him to the river behind them so pointedly that he would have to be an idiot to miss her meaning.
He allowed himself one lungful of the coolness coming off the water before turning back. Lydia stood by the set of love seats that flanked a coffee table at the fireplace end of the room.
“No Rollerblades this afternoon?”
He glanced at his sandals. “This is a business meeting. I thought I’d go formal.”
Something like amusement twitched at her lips before quickly fleeing.
“Shall we get started?” She gestured to one seat before sitting in the opposite one. She moved with a fluid grace that reminded him of the waves he’d spied on the water. But just like the water, he was pretty sure there was a lot more beneath the surface than she was going to show. At least to him.
He sat, well aware that he had some atoning to do. He hoped he could get through this meeting without turning back into the rebel without a clue.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this place,” he said. “Even when I lived here, I usually wasn’t allowed inside. My dad came here to hang out with his buddies. Your father-in-law was his best friend. Having me here would have cramped their style.”
She nodded. “Your father never came back after...after I took over.”
“Really?”
Another nod. “I’m sorry you lost him.”
“And I’m sorry, too. For your loss, I mean.”
This time she merely pursed her lips, as if he’d said something unexpected. It took him a moment to realize that expressions of sympathy might not go with the image he had presented that morning.
God, when he messed up, he did it big-time.
After a moment of silence, she spoke again. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Delaney, but my—”
“J.T.”
“Fine. I’m Lydia, and my children will be here soon so I can drive them home from school, so could we please skip the getting-to-know-you stage and get down to business?” She leaned forward slightly. “I want to buy the building.”
He tried to answer. He really did. But when she leaned in, he got a glimpse of something purple and lacy beneath her no-nonsense polo shirt, and boom, his neurons went into some kind of overactive shock. Which, as a scientist, he knew wasn’t possible. But he also knew that science couldn’t explain everything.
“Mr. Delaney? J.T.?”
“Uh...sorry, I...long day yesterday. I’m still foggy.”
“Then let me say it again. I want to buy the building. How much are you asking?”
He wasn’t seeing the Realtor for a couple of days, but he knew the assessed value of the building. He added a few thousand for good measure and named the resulting figure.
She blanched just a little.
“That’s a bit more than I expected.”
He reminded himself of the costs of moving his mother and establishing her in a new home in a country without subsidized medical care. “This is a good-sized building. It could probably be subdivided into two or three stores. Or it could stay as one large space, which I gather is what the other potential buyer plans to do with it.”
A bit more color drained from her face. “Someone else wants it?”
In going through his mother’s papers he’d found a letter from a Brockville snack maker asking about the possibility of buying the building to house a Comeback Cove spin-off of his establishment. J.T. didn’t want to come off like a hard-ass, but she needed to know that he had to get the best possible price.
“There is other interest,” he said slowly. “It would be a lot easier to sell to you, and I have no problem doing that. But I can’t dismiss another buyer simply because you were here first.” Then, because the way she was shrinking in on herself made him feel like he’d stepped on a robin’s egg, he added, “I need to do what’s best for my mother.”
He wished he could tell her the truth, that he wasn’t a heartless bastard, that he was only cutting as many ties as possible to make sure there was no reason for his mother to ever come back to this place of long, dangerous winters.
But Iris had gone to great and elaborate lengths during her hospitalization to convince the town that she was suffering from a very contagious flu. If he breathed so much as a hint that she was actually being treated for depression she would never forgive him. Worse, she might never leave town with him. She had already been dropping too-casual hints about how good life was in Comeback Cove and how the school could use an energetic science teacher. If he pissed her off, she would stay here with her friends, for another winter, and pretend she could ride out her illness on her own.
And he would lose her.
“Your mother. Of course. I understand.” Lydia stood, smoothing the fabric of her khaki-colored pants, drawing his attention to nicely rounded hips. All thoughts of the building and the town and even his mother fluttered from his mind at the sight of long fingers sliding nervously down her thighs.
He shook his head. Four months of celibacy was obviously too long. If this were anyplace but the Cove he could try to amend that sad condition, but the mere thought of finding someone here was enough to bring a wry smile to his lips.
“My children will be here any minute.” Her words pulled him back to attention. “I need to get ready for them.”
“Right.” He sprang to his feet, reached for her outstretched hand. Her shake was firm. His grasp lasted a fraction of a second too long. Well, to him it was too short. Who would have suspected that her palm would nestle so intimately against his? But from the slight frown and the speed with which she pulled back, he knew he’d overstayed his welcome.
“I don’t want a bidding war, but I’m not giving up and moving out meekly, Mr. Delaney. I have too much invested here to let go just like that.”
He nodded, certain that if he tried to say anything, he’d end up apologizing all over himself and practically giving her the building. “I understand. Why don’t you take a day or two to consider your options and get back to me?”
Lydia’s gaze darted around the room, lingering in the oddest places—a scarred section of the fireplace, a pane of glass in the window that didn’t seem to match those surrounding it. He would have thought she was reassessing as she looked around, but the soft glow in her eyes told him he’d missed the boat.
“I’ll be in touch as soon as possible,” she said as she walked him to the door. He nodded and reached past her for the handle. For a moment they brushed against each other. He was close enough to breathe in the scents of coffee and vanilla that clung to her, near enough to hear the small breath that escaped from her lips when he touched her. He was filled with a crazy yearning to forget the door and reach for her instead.
It was impossible, of course. She might not have judged and dismissed him like the rest of the populace, but a hero’s widow and the town bad boy—reformed or not—wasn’t what anyone would call a likely pairing.
The best thing he could do was hope that from now on, she would wear shirts that wouldn’t get him thinking.
