“Well, I agree with the true part. But pure?” She nudges me with her elbow. “There were a couple of times out behind the gym and another out at the swamp house that IknowFather Fitzharris would have something to say about.”
I grin because she expects it of me. And then for a while, we both fall silent.
Glancing at the picture frame on the mantel, I think back to who we once were. Those crazy kids running around all wild and free. We thought we had it all. Thought weknewit all.
What I wouldn’t give to be those kids again.
Her brow is creased when she asks, “Were you truly kidding when you said you wanted to take back the ‘just friends’ thing?”
I forget how to breathe. And when I remember, the air I suck into my lungs feels sharp and cold. “Would it make a difference if I wasn’t?”
She glances down at her lap, absently fanning the edges of the catalog. A slew of emotions passes over her face, but by the time she turns her angel eyes toward me, the only ones left are regret and confusion.
“I don’t know,” she admits honestly. “For so long, all I wanted was you. For you to come back. But now that you have, life has twisted around on me, and what I thought I wanted doesn’t make much sense. You’re right, Cash. What once was can’t stay the same. No matter how much we wish it could. It’s best to appreciate it for what it was and not try to make it something it isn’t. Besides, wearegood as friends, aren’t we? Wedomake sense this way, don’t we?”
Her gaze darts to the photo on the mantel. She doesn’t need to add,And then there’s Luc.Because it’s there in her eyes, pulsing in the air between us.
My heart cracks in two. One side is consolation. The other is torment. And the line between the halves feels sharp and jagged.
Chapter Seventy-seven
______________________________________
Maggie
It’s impossible to follow your heart when it’s more confused than your head.
Considering my head is all sorts of flustered and flummoxed? Well…enough said.
Luc has been his usual straight-shooting, thoughtful, and charismatic self throughout the interview with the pretty blond reporter fromThe Times-Picayune. Anyone looking in from the outside wouldn’t know a darned thing was wrong with him—including the reporter who, I swear, keeps fluttering her lashes every time he turns his soulful brown eyes on her—butIknow.
It was there in the coolhellohe gave me when he walked into Café Du Monde forty-five minutes ago and grabbed the seat next to Abelman instead of the one next to me. It’s there in the expression on his face whenever he glances at me—which isn’t often. And now that the reporter has finished her questions, it’s definitely there in the way he checks the time like he can’t wait to skedaddle on out of here as fast as his size twelves will carry him.
“I appreciate your candor this morning,” the reporter says, including both me and Luc in her gratitude even though her eyes linger on me for only a split second before returning to Luc. “The article will run in the Sunday edition. Be sure to look for it.”
Yeah. The article that should have me jumping for joy. The article that will do what I’ve been longing to do for over a decade, which is shout the truth of that night from a hilltop in a loud, clear voice. And yet…with Luc playing the part of Oscar the Grouch, the most I can manage is a vague sense of accomplishment.
It’s done. It’s out there. Or it will be on Sunday.
After the reporter leaves, Abelman says, “That went about as well as it could have. I think the two of you can officially put all of this bad business behind you.”
Luc shakes the lawyer’s hand and makes a joke about the check being in the mail. Then he watches sullenly as Abelman heads for the door. When the waitress comes to clear away the empty cups, she asks if either of us would like a refill.
“I’ll have another,” I say at the same time Luc says, “Just the check, please.”
The waitress glances back and forth between us. She’s too young to play off the obvious tension with a joke. Instead, she stands there, fidgeting uncomfortably.
After I give Luc a sharp look that says,Not so fast, mister,I turn a wide smile on her and say sweetly, “He’ll have another too.” She scurries off to fetch our refills, and I turn to him, my smile curving into a frown. “Are you planning to tell me why you keep looking at me like I’m last week’s tuna salad sandwich, or what?”
“Think I’ll go withor what,” he mutters.
I shake my head in confusion. “I don’t get it, Luc. First you kiss me and tell me you’re going to seduce me. Then you get the news that you’re off the hook for Sullivan, and suddenly you’re treating me like—”
“This doesn’t have a damned thing to do with Sullivan,” he says, the bitterness in his tone making me blink.
“Okay,” I say exasperatedly. “Then whodoesit have to do with?”
He regards me silently for a minute. I can see him debating with himself. Eventually, he says, “You sure you wanna do this here? Now?”
