Читать книгу Her Small-Town Sheriff - Lissa Manley, Lissa Manley - Страница 12

Chapter Four

“So, it looks like we’re discussion partners.”

As Phoebe spoke, Carson arranged his face in a neutral expression and smothered the need to snort.

Figured he’d get paired up with the pretty blonde, who looked even nicer than he remembered, dressed in a black belted coat, jeans and hot-pink scarf that really played up the blue in her eyes.

Actually, getting paired up with anybody wasn’t exactly thrilling him; he’d been planning on dutifully sitting through some lectures, maybe filling out some forms or something. Alone. He hadn’t counted on sharing himself—or his feelings—with anyone.

Especially not the engaging ice-cream-store owner.

Belatedly, he realized that Phoebe was obviously here because she was dealing with grief herself. What was her story, anyway? And why was he so interested?

He rolled a shoulder. “Yep, looks like we are.”

A pause. “You don’t look too happy about being here,” she said, hitching her purse up.

Guess he was a bad actor. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said, surprising him. “I promised my mom I’d come, and…well, let’s just say it’s hard saying no to her.”

Again, his interest flared; who was she grieving? Guess he’d find out soon enough. “Then we’re in the same boat.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“I promised Lily I’d come,” he said.

“Ah. I see.”

“But I’d never have come of my own volition. I’m not much of a talker.” Especially when it came to what ailed him.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Look, if you’d rather have another partner…”

“I didn’t want any partner,” he said, his jaw ticking. “So don’t be offended.”

Her mouth thinned. “Well, that makes me feel better.”

He sighed. “I’m handling this badly, aren’t I?”

“Pretty much,” she replied, nodding.

“Sorry.” He laughed under his breath. “This kind of stuff isn’t my strong point.” Susan had always said he was a bad interpersonal communicator and liked to hold things close to the vest. She’d been wrong about a lot of things, but right about that; he’d been raised to keep his chin up, no matter what.

“I don’t think anyone likes talking about painful stuff,” Phoebe said, softly, her eyes shimmering. “Especially grief.”

Before he could respond to Phoebe’s comment, Rebecca clapped her hands. The class quieted and all eyes looked her way.

“While you’re talking with your partner, please discuss why you’re here, all right?” Rebecca said. “That way, everyone will be on the same page, and no one will have to ask an insensitive question. And feel free to go somewhere more comfortable to talk. Class is over for tonight. See you all next week.”

Phoebe turned to him, her eyebrows raised. “You want to spill first?”

His throat burned. “Quite frankly, no.” Rebecca’s suggestion to share their history made sense, but he honestly didn’t know how he could even utter CJ’s name without crumbling.

Without reliving his failure.

“Yeah. Me, neither,” Phoebe said ruefully. “Looks like we’re at an impasse.”

Other members of the class began filing out, although a few stayed, talking in small groups. Rebecca, who’d been making the rounds, walked up.

“How’s it going, you two?” she asked.

“Not so good,” Phoebe said. “We both feel…awkward about sharing.”

That was putting it mildly.

“That’s natural, completely normal,” Rebecca replied. “This opening-up process frequently feels wrong and problematic at first.”

She had that right. Sharing his agony felt so not right, so against his natural instincts to keep everything within himself. His gut told him to clam up and ignore his feelings and hope they just went away.

Rebecca leaned against a desk. “Dealing with grief is difficult, no doubt about it.”

Exactly. Handling CJ’s death had been the hardest challenge Carson had ever come up against. And that was saying a lot, given his occupation.

Continuing on, Rebecca said, “But you guys came to the class to get help in that endeavor, right?”

He and Phoebe nodded.

“Well, then, if you’re ever going to heal, you’re going to need to get to a place where you can talk about what you’re going through, how you’re feeling.”

Her words echoed what Lily had told him at the coffee shop earlier today, and that, in turn, reminded him of why he was here—for Heidi. For her, he needed to man up in a way that felt foreign to him, and deal instead of doing his usual routine of burying his head in the sand. And that meant forcing himself to go through the process Rebecca was laying out before them.

He looked at Phoebe. “You game?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think you can tough it out for your mom’s sake? You made it through the door.”

“I did.” She twitched her lips. “Yeah, I can tough it out for her.”

“Okay, then.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “For Heidi?”

“For Heidi,” he said, even though he felt the walls of the small basement meeting room closing in on him, trapping him in a place akin to facing a lowlife with a gun, his own back against the wall.

Rebecca piped in. “You always have a choice. You just have to decide which choice is in your and your loved ones’ best interest. In short, which path will lead you to a better place?”

And more importantly, which path would help Heidi? Because acting in Heidi’s best interest was what he was all about. Always.

“Gotcha,” he said, then turned his attention to Phoebe. “I’ll give this discussion thing my best shot, but this place is getting claustrophobic. What do you say we go and talk over a cup of joe?”

Phoebe hesitated, her blue eyes reflecting what looked similar to the same unease he was feeling. After a few beats, she drew in a breath and said, “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”

They said goodbye to Rebecca and he followed his new discussion partner out into the cool evening, belatedly wondering how smart it was to spend any personal time with the lovely Phoebe Sellers.

Or to share his grief and pain when he suspected doing so would feel as if he was yanking his heart out all over again.

* * *

The Coffee Cabana was closing in half an hour, so it was deserted when Carson held the door open for Phoebe and she stepped inside the place.

Inhaling the scent of fresh ground coffee, she waved to Blake Stonely, the thirty-something owner who’d bought the place last year, and then grabbed the first table by the door, feeling the need to not be tucked away in some intimate corner with Mr. Cute Sheriff.

Carson took off his hat and set it on the extra chair at the table she’d chosen. “What can I get you?” he asked.

He’d insisted on paying for her coffee when they’d arrived on foot at The Coffee Cabana, Moonlight Cove’s own little version of coffee and pastry paradise.

Phoebe looked up at him and automatically said, “Coffee, black, thanks.” She was gonna need fortification to get through this meeting.

However…maybe the caffeine was a bad idea if she was actually planning on sleeping tonight. Which she was. “Actually, make that a decaf, would you?”

He nodded and headed up to the counter to order.

She watched him go, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and narrow waist, again noticing that he walked with a natural economy of movement she found attractive. Ripping her gaze away from him, she admonished herself for noticing anything about him at all. She had bigger things to focus on here.

Such as getting stuck with him as her discussion partner. Well, not stuck, exactly. He was a nice guy and all, and would probably make someone else an excellent sounding board. But did it have to be her?

She’d already promised herself to stay disengaged from the Winters family. This little situation hardly qualified. Carson would be privy to her untidy business before long, and he’d know all about Justin. And her personal heartbreak.

She unbuttoned her coat, telling herself to calm down, to keep perspective. This new development wasn’t the end of the world. She should know; she’d lived through the seeming end of her world when Justin had died. No contest here.

Okay. So. Everything was fine. She needed to relax and go with the flow and, as Rebecca had said, respect the process. To heal the wound on her heart, she had to make a choice that wasn’t comfortable—how true—but that would lead her to a better, more settled place. Eventually.

Besides, she’d already told Carson she was game if he was, and it wouldn’t be cool to ditch him now because she was an emotional wimp.

She straightened the sweetener holder, then jiggled her foot under the table, waiting for him to return, going over what she needed to do in the next twenty minutes.

Loosen up. She stopped shaking her foot.

Talk. She cleared her throat and opened her mind to sharing what had happened to her.

Listen. She steeled herself to hear about Carson’s story.

Deal. Tricky. But, hopefully, not impossible.

Carson came back with two cups of coffee and two apple tarts, complete with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. “Thought you might be interested in something sweet,” he said, putting her coffee and treat, along with some utensils, on the table before her.

She blinked, her mouth watering. “How did you know those are my favorite?”

“I didn’t.” He sat and grabbed a napkin from the napkin holder. “They just looked good.”