What was she doing here? Why was she here?
Mo executed a crisp about-face and slapped Carpenter on the back. “I do believe the lady spoke to me. Why don’t you go on and find us a seat?”
“I’d rather stay here and talk to ...” Carpenter paused and looked over Mo’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Bronwyn Pierce. And I’d rather you left so I can talk to Mo.”
Mo had to fight to stay standing. Why was it hard to breathe? What was this?
“Now you don’t want to do that.” Carpenter leered at Bronwyn. “This fool’s shipping out tomorrow, but I’ll be in town for thenext four months.” The idiot waggled his eyebrows in some kind of villainous move that was so over-the-top, Mo half expected Bronwyn to laugh.
Mo still hadn’t faced her, but he could imagine the look on her face when she replied with a heavier-than-usual Southern accent that somehow coated the blade of her words in silk. “I don’t take kindly to men telling me what I do or don’t want to do. Why don’t you run on now?”
Carpenter laughed and mock punched Mo’s arm. “Good luck, brother. Call me if plans change.” He winked at Bronwyn and disappeared from Mo’s line of sight.
A long beat later, Bronwyn cleared her throat. “You have interesting friends.”
Translation: What are you doing hanging around with a moron like that?
Mo turned the final few degrees required to see her, and an emotional tsunami crashed over him. He had never been a fan of drowning. And the last time he’d felt this way was the day he got home from a two-month summer trip out West to find that the most important person in his world had run away from home with a Hollywood producer who was twenty years, two divorces, and a million light years away from the innocence that was Bronwyn’s sixteen-year-old self.
He’d been so in love with her it hurt.
She’d been in love too. Just not enough.
He’d dreamed of this moment for six long years. Imagined every possible scenario. And never, not in one of them, had it taken place on a busy street. It also hadn’t included her acting like she had the right to speak to him as if they were still friends.
Because they most definitely were not.
“Ms. Pierce.” The spark in her eyes dimmed at his formal response. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t disparage my friends.Carpenter’s a good man.” A man Mo frequently wanted to strangle, but he had no plans to share that with Bronwyn. “He’s just trying to take me out before I leave the country, and I can assure you, he didn’t need to be hassled by someone who wouldn’t understand loyalty if it slapped her upside the head with a frying pan.”
Bronwyn took a step back. She dropped her gaze to the ground, and a pang of guilt zinged through Mo’s gut. He shoved it aside. Because, really? Six years pass and she shows up like this? No phone call. No warning. Just ambushing him on the sidewalk?
“I’m sorry, Mo.” She audibly gulped in a lungful of air. “I should have started with that. I’m so very sorry.”
Mo crossed his arms and waited.
“I should have called. But I found out you were here and that you’re leaving. And ... I had to see you.”
Bronwyn tightened her hand on her purse strap. “I had hoped we could maybe get coffee and talk, but”—she gestured toward the restaurant Carpenter had entered—“I don’t want to take time away from your friends.”
“I appreciate that.” The edge in his voice could have sliced a redwood to ribbons, but he couldn’t find the strength to be gracious.
She closed her eyes. “You aren’t going to make this easy on me.”
He didn’t respond.
She opened her eyes, caught his, and gave him a grim nod. “I know I don’t deserve easy.” She looked at the restaurant again. “But I had hoped.”
“Yeah. My easy button broke a long time ago. I don’t put up with anything from anyone anymore. And right now, I’m going to need you to hurry this along. We have reservations, but I don’t know how long they’ll hold them if the entire party isn’t present.”
Bronwyn’s spine went straight. “Right. Okay. Look, I screwed up.”
Mo doubted anything could top that for understatement.
“I hurt you and I’m so very sorry.”
His brain swirled with years of pain, hurt, confusion, and yes, righteous anger. He fought to keep his response measured and to hide the turmoil her appearance had caused. He wasn’t going to tell her he forgave her, because he didn’t, and he wasn’t sure that he ever would.
