“Thanks for showing me the messages. If you see anything else—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Mick stopped just as he’d pulled his coat off the hook. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to hint at all that juiciness and thenleave?”
He opened and closed his mouth, studying her. She had to realize that he wasn’t the only one who’d offered a tantalizing tidbit that warranted more discussion. “I’m not sure what you’re saying here.”
“You’ve just admitted that you were a lousy guy. At least that your ex thought so. I’m sure there’s a story there.”
“I was talking about the guy she was having the affair with.” His throat tightened. Why couldn’t he just shut up and head back out into the snow? Did he want her to know his whole pitiful story?
Rachel gestured to the chair where he’d been seated before and headed into the kitchen. From the other room she called, “I think this conversation calls for wine.”
Mick bypassed the chair and followed her but stopped in the doorway. At the counter, Rachel rustled in a drawer and produced a corkscrew. Then she reached for a bottle of red on the countertop.
His chest tightened the way it always did lately when he allowed himself to think about those subjects where innocence and guilt were anything but clear. “We don’t need to talk about all of that. And, anyway, you’ve already said you’re behind on your work.”
“I’ll catch up tomorrow.” She used the tip of the corkscrew to slice the foil seal around the bottle. “I could use the distraction.”
“Then could you make it tea instead? At least for me. I don’t drink.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.” She pushed the bottle back against the wall. “That’s why you said all those things about alcohol the night I met you.”
“I’m not—”
“I usually don’t— Well, anyway. Do you like Earl Grey? Or I also have herbal tea. I rarely drink that myself since I need caffeine to work at night.”
“Anything’s fine,” he said to stop her nervous babbling.
She flitted back and forth, flipping on an electric kettle and grabbing bags of regular black tea and mugs. Eventually, she slid past him, sideways so they wouldn’t brush, and set a sugar bowl, spoons and napkins on the table.
“Rachel,” he said, as she scooted past him again. “Like I started to say, I’mnotan alcoholic. It’s my dad.”
She stepped back to the kettle just as it started beeping. Soon she followed him to the table, carrying two steaming mugs.
“Guess there are a lot of things I don’t know about you,” she said, as he took his first sip.
Mick closed his eyes, his tongue burning, the too-hot liquid singeing all the way down. There were a lot of things she didn’t know about him, too, but she would probably like him a whole lot less when she learned more.
Chapter 9
“Why don’t we start with the affair?”
Rachel pasted on a grin but rubbed her sweaty palms on her pajama bottoms as Mick coughed into his napkin. Though his story was no funnier than hers, it was easier to make light of the heavy information he’d dumped on her dining room table than to ask herself why she’d invited him to stay longer. And why she needed to hear more.
Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d agreed to involve him in her search? She had plenty of her own problems without nosing into his. Still, no matter how reluctant she was to admit she could have anything in common with the interloper working Riley’s job, she couldn’t deny that Mick’s life had been no more of a cakewalk than hers. Unless the batter was laced with glass.
“I guess that’s one way to dive into it,” he said with a tight chuckle.
“I’m a rip-the-bandage-off kind of girl.”
“Remind me not to let you anywhere near the hospital if I’m injured at work.”
Gooseflesh surprised her by peppering her arms. As a family member of first responders, she’d hated the backpack of borrowed trouble she’d always carried, dreading the call that could come. Why was she expanding those pesky worries to include Mick?
“We can start with something else if you prefer,” she said, continuing the joke that had fallen flat. “Like your parents—”
