“Why do you say that? He was perfectly civil at the wedding.”
“Well, yeah. You weren’t dating him then. Trust me, Sajan will be easier. And better in the long run. No big cultural divide. Remember, Steven’s one redeeming quality was that he was a lawyer. Daniel is an NP, not going to help.” She raised her eyebrows at Annika. “Where did dear Daniel run off to anyway?”
“He went to see his ex-wife.” The words fell out of her mouth before she could filter them. She could have told Naya that Daniel was part Indian, but that really shouldn’t make a difference.
“He’sdivorced?” Naya said it like it was a bad word.
Annika shrugged. “So?”
“So get out before you get in too deep. You’ll never sell him to your parents. Especially not after Steven.”
That could be true. Naya had a compelling argument. After all the drama with Steven, Sajan would be...comfortable, easy. He was a good man. Her feelings for him would grow. Just like her father said.
Daniel offered more questions than answers. Her parents’ imminent disapproval rang in her ears. Her attraction to Daniel aside, it didn’t really make any sense for her to get more involved with him with all these mysteries surrounding him. It was as if she was being given fair warning about trouble ahead.
Too bad her heart did a rapid fire every time she thought of Daniel.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DANIEL
DANIELMOUNTEDHISbike and drove away from Annika, his body heavy with regret. Every part of him had longed to kiss her, but if he had, he’d still be up there with her. And he couldn’t bail on Sheila. She asked for very little.
Annika had been completely comfortable around his family. By the time they’d left, she had even succeeded in getting a smile from his dad, when she told the story about how a child had cut a chunk of her hair when she was an intern. She had simply offered the left-handed boy a pair of left-handed scissors.
“What happened when you told the parents?” his father had asked.
Annika had shaken her head, tossing those gorgeous curls. “Well, it turns out that the parents were trying to get him to do everything right-handed. They were trying to get him to be something he wasn’t. So, when I asked him to use the left-handed scissors, he was confused.”
His mother had smiled at her. “And he cut your hair.”
Annika had shrugged. She had hit a nerve and was completely unaware. His father had gone quiet. It didn’t matter. Ned Bliant could not understand why his son was unable to let go of the past and move forward.“That’s what men do, son. You take care of your wife. Pay the bills, work overtime, cook if you need to. Men don’t wallow in themselves. Just take care of business. You’ll be fine soon enough.”
His father would never forgive him for divorcing Sheila, even though it had been Sheila’s idea. Somehow, Ned saw the divorce as Daniel shirking his responsibilities. And that was just as unforgivable as being in pain.
Daniel shook thoughts of his father from his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand. Sheila’s text was perplexing. They had parted amiably, if not quite friends, and Daniel had even attended her wedding. Jim was a good guy, and he treated Sheila well. In fact, under different circumstances, he and Jim might have been friends. There was no ill will between him and his ex-wife, just the shared bond of belonging to a club no one really wanted to be a part of. Stranger things had bonded people together.
They certainly did not hang out together. He knew it was hard for Sheila to look at him. Sara had had his smile, with both dimples. Hell, there were days he couldn’t look in the mirror. Basically, Daniel tried not to force her to see him.
He pulled into the older neighborhood, the acrid, sweet scent of burning leaves taking him back to a time of what should have been domestic bliss. Anger swelled in his chest as he thought about how all that was ripped away from him because someone with a vendetta had access to a gun.
He parked in front of his old house and sat on his bike, listening to trash cans being dragged to the curb, whistles calling dogs back in and the low chatter of neighbors conversing as they passed one another. The mundane sounds of a life he would never have again. He breathed deeply of the cool autumn air and calmed his anger before trying to face Sheila.
They’d argued about gun control, as well. At the time, Sheila was too wounded to feel the outrage, but outrage was all Daniel allowed himself to feel.
He took in the small home he had shared with his little family. A small front porch, carport at the side, small front yard with the same azaleas he’d planted. Someone was doing the upkeep: everything looked neat and in its place.
For some reason, Sheila had kept the house, even though Sara had lived in it. Or maybe she kept itbecauseSara had lived in it. Maybe the house was how she hung on to Sara.
Daniel stared straight ahead and focused on the door even as dread grew steadily in his stomach. He approached the door purposefully, putting one foot in front of the other, taking in the chipped white paint, the grain of the wood, the weight of the door knocker. The house seemed to close in around him, reminding him that a beautiful little girl used to live here, and that she didn’t anymore. The less he saw, the better. He picked up the door knocker, letting it fall with a squeak and thud. He could almost hear her little feet rush to open the door.
“It’s open.” Daniel heard Sheila call from inside. He turned the knob and forced himself to step into a house that was no longer his.
The familiar smell hit him first. It was a mixture of whatever had been made for dinner last night and whatever candle Sheila had burned after. But Daniel swore that Sara’s scent still clung to the air. Maybe he imagined it, but what did that matter? “Hey, Sheila. It’s me.”
“In the kitchen, Daniel.”
Daniel stood in his old foyer. The house was small. A starter house, their agent had called it. Something they would grow out of one day. He hadn’t thought they’d grow out of it in quite the way they had.
