“He’s here. He came back. And the first thing he did after buying his house was come looking for you.”
She glances away, blinking rapidly.
“If they were such good men, why didn’t any of ’em stick?” I circle back around to our original topic because I can see what the subject of Cash is doing to her.
She swallows, getting herself in hand, and then shrugs. “Some because we just weren’t compatible. Others because there was something missing. None of them were…” She trails off.
“Cash?” I ask. So much for getting away from that topic.
Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything.
“You know, you never did answer him when he asked if you were seeing someone,” I remind her, wondering just how much work Cash has in store for himself.
“Not at the moment,” she admits. “Lamentably, I don’t have your game.”
I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re back in town a few days and already you have someone.”
“I do?” I rack my brain and come up empty. “Who?”
“That leggy blonde from the other night. The one you took home with you.”
“Oh. Her. I didn’t take her—”
“What leggy blonde?” Cash asks from behind me.
I brace myself. He’s fifteen minutes late, and when I left him last night, he was three king-size sheets to the wind. I expect bloodshot eyes and two days of beard growth, so I’m relieved when he grabs the extra chair and I find him clear-eyed and freshly shaved. Hell, it even looks like his standard-issue getup of jeans and a flannel shirt have just come out of the wash.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “This dude I know got a bead on some discount marble for my kitchen countertops, but I had to take a look at it this morning and let him know if I liked it because he has another buyer interested if I didn’t.”
I narrow my eyes and wonder if he’s lying to cover for a morning spent nursing a hangover. Not that Cash is one for dishonesty. Then again, ever since the suicide bomber, he’s changed.
Constant pain has a way of transforming a man, whittling him down to his lowest common denominator.
I feel like an ass for testing him, but I can’t stop myself. “And? What d’ya think? You like it or not?”
If his plan is to win back Maggie, she needs to know what she’s in for.Ineed to know what she’s in for so I can help her navigate what’s sure to be one hell of a bumpy road.
“I do.” He nods. “But I want you and Maggie to come take a look after we finish here.”
I blow out a covert breath, hating that I doubted him.
“Me?” Maggie looks genuinely surprised. “Who cares what I think? It’s your house.”
“Icare what you think,” Cash says, and something sparks in Maggie’s eyes.
She’s still hurting after all these years, still wondering what went wrong and needing more answers than the one he gave her. But that doesn’t mean she’s not already halfway to forgiving him.
“And besides, everyone knows I have no taste.” He points to his worn jeans and even more worn work boots. “I need a second opinion.”
She hesitates but eventually makes a motion like someone has taken hold of her arm. “Okay, twist my arm.”
Cash smiles at her. Then he transfers his grin to the waitress who appears with a plate of warm beignets and two cups of café au lait.
“And for you, sir?” the server asks him. She’s wearing the iconic paper hat. When he orders a straight-up black coffee, she bats her lashes seductively.
Cash has always had a way with the ladies. I used to think it was his arrogance and swagger that attracted them. Now I think it’s the slightly broken quality about him. There’s a weariness that lives under his skin, giving him the haunting pallor of a man who’s seen too much and who needs the soothing touch of a tender hand.
