“Yeah.”
In his truck, Nick kept his hands at a perfect ten-and-two. Maybe if he forced his body into line, his mind would follow.
But without the distraction of work, his thoughts slipped the reins, his head filling with one wild fantasy after another. He imagined turning the truck around. Showing up on Aubrey’s doorstep, hoisting her over his shoulder, carrying her to the nearest bed, and showing her exactly how much the intervening years had lessened his love. Which was not at all. Even though it’d been ages for him, their second time together would prove even more transcendent than the first. He knew he could please her now in ways he hadn’t before.
His fists tightened around the steering wheel. The daydream beckoned to him with the power of a thousand blazing suns, but he would resist. He had to. After all, he’d done this before. Stared down the barrel of a future without her, knowing he had to pull the trigger himself.
He just wished it didn’t hurt even worse the second time around.
Aubrey had nothing to occupy herself with, and she hated it.
Yesterday, Gallant had texted to reschedule their Chicago date, saying work had gotten crazy and would keep him tied up all week.
Are you sure?she’d texted back.I could drive, and you could use that time to work. I’ve been looking forward to this.
I’m so sorry, had come the reply. I haven’t had time to write you another letter yet, and I know that was the deal.
Her chest had clenched, but she’d forced a breezy reply.It’s okay. Though you *could* just tell me those words instead of writing them.She’d hesitated, then added a grinning emoji to soften the suggestion.
A long pause. Then,Thisone will be worth the wait. Trust me.
At that, she’d sighed and tucked the phone away, then turned her attention to her manifesto, but the words had swum before her eyes. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, she flung herself down on the chesterfield with Gallant’s letters. She needed a distraction. Aletter.If not a new one, then an old one. Anything that might slam the door on the memories running laps in her mind, in which familiar fingers tangled in her hair, baring her neck to gleaming white teeth. In which lush dark lashes swept low against sculpted cheeks, and Nick made that hungry sound while her hands mapped one hard, heated muscle after another.
A ripple tore through her, and she reeled it in by focusing on the page. Her eyes scanned the same paragraph seven times, yet failed to relay a single word to her brain.
Okay, this wasn’t working. She lowered the paper, but her gaze strayed to the wall beside the window. A mere glance at that innocuous stretch of plaster rammed a brand-new lightning bolt down her throat.
She jumped up, scattering the letters across the cushions. In the kitchen, she brewed tea and confined herself to the breakfast table. Human contact. That should do it. She pulled out her phone. She hadn’t seen Megan since their coffee date two weeks ago, except in passing, and had been meaning to get in touch. Now was as good a time as any. Especially because she could not, under any circumstances, work with Nick out at the farm again. Her budding relationship with Gallant wouldn’t survive. Not to mention her sanity.
Hey, she tapped out.How have you been? Still glowing, I hope. I just wanted to say I’d love to get coffee again soon, and I think I need to switch volunteer groups. Working with Nick is... well, not working.
She hit Send. Bubbles popped up, followed by Megan’s reply.
Why, what happened? Are you okay?
Aubrey dragged a hand down her face. What had happened? Why, nothing. She’d only done her level best to seduce the ex-boyfriend she refused to sacrifice her career for, because apparently she was still violently attracted to him, even though she was dating someone else.
Nothing to see here at all.
Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, stiff with indecision, when the phone pinged again. The banner at the top gave her pause.
Paige Thacker.
She frowned. Why was Nick’s daughter texting her? She exited Megan’s message and clicked on Paige’s.
Hey, Aubrey, sorry for the last-minute notice, but could you possibly come speak to my math club tomorrow? It’d be at the end of the day, so around three.
Aubrey stared at the words. Something about the tone struck her as off. No emojis or exclamation points. Then again, maybe Paige texted differently than she talked. The girl hadn’t sent any messages before, so Aubrey had no way to gauge.
She rubbed at her eyes. She was being paranoid, probably. And she owed Paige some kind of explanation as to why they wouldn’t be building floats together anymore. Might as well roll that into the math club presentation. Besides, this would prevent her from staring at that stupid, blank, smug-as-hellwallagain. Which she desperately needed right now.
She crafted three separate messages before settling on something suitably neutral.
All right. I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.
On Friday afternoon, Aubrey chose a black plaid tweed skirt suit and the same skyscraper heels that had resulted in hersprained ankle, only this time, she had the foresight to stash the shoes in her purse and only swap them out once she’d made the two-and-a-half-mile walk to the high school in her ballet flats.
Mrs. Runge, a white-haired, bespectacled toothpick of a woman, welcomed her into the math room with a warm smile and a handshake more vigorous than anyone had a right to expect from a septuagenarian.
