These women had probably done all of her studies. They had far more claim to her, far more in common with her, than he did.
He employed the exit strategy her sister had recommended,and Gen separated from her admirers with three times as many good-byes and hugs as necessary.
He walked her to her car.
“That was a sophisticated extraction maneuver you just pulled,” she commented.
“Your sister’s idea. I don’t think I was as subtle about it as she would have been.”
“You were even better at it because you buttered everyone up ahead of time with scones and picture taking. The scones, especially, were a very nice touch.”
He thrust his hands into his jeans.
“Thanks for stepping in and helping out,” she said.
“No worries.”
They reached her car and he waited, then waited some more while she rooted around in her gigantic purse for her keys. He considered the top of her bent head. The part was perfect, her hair beautiful and thick. Her fans hadn’t caught her in sweatpants because, as usual, she was dressed well. Shirt ironed, makeup done, nail polish shining.
Her beach-scented perfume drifted to him, and he tried to draw more of it into his lungs so that he could memorize it. Whenever she was this close to him, his grief and regret loosened their hold on his chest.
She glanced up, smiling, and her eyes informed him that she might be interested in him as more than a landlord. More than a friend.
He wasn’t naïve. Women had given him that look—and continued to give him that look—often enough to recognize it.
But it had been a very long time since he’d experienced a physical response to a look like that.
Need—simple, instinctive—overtook his body.
He forced himself to step back. “Catch you around.”
“Do you have a second?” she asked. “I wanted to talk with you about the Fall Fun—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t right now. I’ve got to get back to the restaurant.” He thrust a hand through his hair as he strode back to The Kitchen. Sitting at the desk in his office, he opened his email and stared sightlessly at it. He’d run from Gen to escape from this feeling. But it hadn’t worked.
The need had followed him here. And it wouldn’t let go.
Sebastian
My head is killing me. Even so, I’ve been letting the two blond girls and the African-American kid scream for help because we need help.
“Stop it,” I finally rasp because I can’t stand their screaming anymore.
They’ve been yelling so long their voices are getting hoarse. Not one time has anyone answered. Everyone else in this building and all the buildings around us is probably dead.
“Nobody can hear you,” I say into the silence, furious at them for thinking that someone might be able to hear. Stupid, naïve, hopeful kids. They don’t know anything. They’re as dumb as babies. “Does anyone have a cell phone?”
The people in charge of this trip told us over and over that cell phones were against the rules, which wouldn’t have stopped me from bringing one. But I’m not rich enough to have one.
There’s a pause.
Then Luke, face hard and streaked with dirt, pulls a cell phone from his pocket.
Chapter Nine
Let’s talk about how you were feeling in the months leading up to breaking your ankle,” Dr. Quinley suggested.
Three days had passed since Genevieve’s eye-opening trip to Athens. In that amount of time, the weather had turned from sunny to gray and rumbly. Beyond the psychologist’s large picture window, rain tumbled from the sky, light but steady.
