Added to all this was a steady flow of Gwen texts that only added to EJ’s guilt. Not that EJ should feel like the guilty one. That was all on Gwen. But when Gwen texted for the third time asking why EJ hadn’t responded, she knew she’d finally have to bite the bullet and tell her what she’d done. Ignoring her wasn’t helping anything.
“Sorry, been busy today,” she typed.
Delaying was wise. Because how could she say what she really felt? Especially to this woman who EJ had hoped would help smooth the way for Dream Match. Saying something likeActually, I didn’t want Ericreaching me, and I feel like my privacy has been invaded, so I’m not responding to his messagewould sure go well. Not.
More than that, the feeling that people didn’t respect her enough to observe her personal boundaries was what really hurt. She’d worked so hard for so long to reach this point, to be considered a businesswoman deserving respect, and the fact that people didn’t seem to care enough not to cross those lines kind of hurt. Even Jordan, well intentioned as he was, didn’t seem to have a clue.
Her heart chafed. How could he imply she wasn’t pretty—again? Didn’t he know just how fragile a woman’s ego was?
He might say he was sorry, and tried to make amends with his “you’re really pretty” comment, but she could tell he didn’t mean it. She pressed her lips together as memories flashed of that high school party where she’d been made to feel second-rate, ugly, dressed in secondhand clothes. People eyeing her, whispering about her, while she desperately tried to fit in. All the while knowing she would never be one of the cool kids, one of the populars, but instead the nerdy, ultrasmart, Jesus-freak geek. And yes, she knew that made her like a walking cliché ofevery high school movie ever, but it didn’t change the fact that here, all these years later, she still felt that way.
Jordan hadn’t been invited to the party of her nightmares, so he would never know just how much her soul had been branded by that incident, how much his comments about her looks resonated within. Words weren’t like water you could wash off. They had the power to brand forever. And words about someone’s looks, which were so closely tied to one’s identity, seemed to sting the worst. Hence why Dream Match didn’t emphasise looks with its no photo policy, at least to begin with, forcing people to really get to know each other.
She studied herself in the mirror. The sharp angles of her haircut weren’t as defined as before, so she probably needed to revisit the hairdresser. And was that—she peered closer—another grey hair? She pulled it out. No way was she going to look a second older than she was.
Another shift in the looking glass showed a red blemish, her usual precursor to a pimple. Great. Grey hairandpimples? She couldn’t win.
A knock came at the door. Huh. Had Jordan decided to chase her down and apologise? Well, it was only right he did. She attached a pimple patch over the blemish and hurried to the door. Jordan had seen her looking worse, so it wouldn’t matter.
But when she peered through the apartment door’s peephole, she spied a deliveryman holding flowers. He’d sent flowers? Okay then. A real apology. She smiled. Good. She flung the door open.
“Miss Bennett?” The deliveryman jumped as Charlie scooted by. “Whoa. That was a cat.”
“It’s fine. Yes, I’m EJ Bennett.”
The man shifted the giant bouquet and handed her an envelope. She accepted it, then gestured for him to come inside and place the flowers on the dining table. “Thanks.”
Impatience bit to read the message. Especially as, now that she thought about it, sending apology flowers wasn’t Jordan’s style. He’d be much more likely to call in person and say it outright. So who had sent them?
After he fussed a moment, ensuring they were placed just right, he glanced out the window, whistling. “Great view.”
“Yes.” She smiled, feeling the need to explain. “My aunt’s place. Her parents did well choosing to live here decades ago.”
He nodded, lingering. Was she supposed to tip him?
She drew out a ten-dollar note, apologised that it wasn’t more, but he shrugged and said it was fine, then wished her a good day.
As soon as he left, she ripped open the envelope, pulled out the card with its Ken Done print of Sydney Harbour on the front. Who had sent it? This didn’t seem like Jordan’s handiwork.
I hope these flowers brighten your day.
Huh. That was sweet. And unexpected.
But not as unexpected as the stomach-clenching name at the bottom. The name that wasn’t Jordan’s. It wasn’t Dean or Lionel either. It was, in fact, someone who she didn’t think knew where she lived. How had he gotten her address? Was it Gwen—again? The fact that he had was actually kind of unnerving. And exciting.
Eric Churchill.
Chapter 7
“Jordan! It’s good to see you.”
“And you.” He hugged Elizabeth Bennett as the church congregation members chatted and drank tea and ate biscuits after the morning service.
“Have you seen that daughter of mine lately?” she demanded.
“Yesterday. She’s doing well.” He hoped.In Jesus’ name.
“Tell me, honestly. Do you think she was wise to quit her job?”
