“Bennett! Sorry to interrupt—” Mr. Rayburn sidles up with the guy from the bar and launches into hockey talk. I’m torn between engaging with the season ticket holder or stepping between the women.
Not that I have much choice, with Rayburn already asking about the season.
Hockey talk it is.
CHAPTER 8
TORI
Istay calm. I don’t flinch. I take Eleanor MacDonald’s pointed jab in stride.
Never let them see you sweat.
“Excuse me for a moment.” I spin and leave the ballroom behind me, hands shaking more the further away I get.
Depositing my empty glass on a side table, I keep walking, heels clicking loudly on the wide wood plank floor. I want to put as much distance between me and Eleanor as I can right now.
Halfway down the hall, I spot an escape route. An empty oceanfront terrace. I shove the door open and slip out into the quiet night.
The air’s chilly, but my face still flames from Eleanor’s comment:After everything that didn’t happen.
Bitch.
Leaning against the railing, I gaze out at the dark ocean and focus on my breath. I try to sync my staccato inhaleswith the lapping of the white-capped waves against the shore.
In, out. In, out.
“Hey — you okay?” Bennett’s deep voice startles me, breaking my trance.
I give him a tight nod but don’t turn around. I’m not ready to face him quite yet.
“I’m fine.” I force out the words and don’t sound at all convincing.
“Wanna talk about it?” His shoulder brushes against mine as he joins me at the railing. His large hands grip the wood, our fingers almost touching.
Almost.
Warm body heat rolls off him, along with the heady cedar scent of his cologne. He stares out at the Atlantic and stays quiet, giving me space to breathe.
After several minutes, I finally answer. “Eleanor MacDonald was nearly my mother-in-law.”
I don’t know why I just said that.
The words just tumbled out.
Bennett rocks back on his feet and blows out a loud breath, then cuts his eyes at me. “You dodged a bullet, huh?”
I laugh, relaxing for the first time all night.
“Yeah, I really did. She’s as warm as I remember.”
“You dated her son then?”
“For three years.”
“Damn. That’s longer than some marriages.”
“It felt like one.” I swallow, my chest tight talking about Preston. I haven’t talked about him in months.
