She gaped at him, incredulous.“When?”
“The day of the shooting.I told him to leave town and lose your number.”
Vanessa busied herself by opening another box.She didn’t appreciate her brother’s meddling any more than she appreciated her father’s, but Paul wasn’t easily intimidated.He hadn’t stayed away because Jackson had told him to.He’d stayed away for her own good.“When did Mendez get arrested?”
“A few days ago.”
She continued unpacking, troubled by Jackson’s comments.Surely Paul knew about the arrest.Did he still care about her?He’d promised to wait for her forever.He’d said she’d ruined him for other women.He’d sounded sincere, but she didn’t trust romantic declarations.The men in her life hadn’t been faithful to the women they claimed to love.She’d learned to judge them on actions, rather than words.
Jackson left a few minutes later, after Vanessa insisted she didn’t need more help.She picked up her phone, sat down on the love seat, and scrolled through her list of contacts.Paul might have been keeping his distance out of caution.He might have been waiting on her.Had he expected her to call him?
Taking a deep breath, she called Paul’s number.
It was no longer in service.
She stared at the screen, frowning.Of course he hadn’t kept the phone number he’d used as Paul Murphy.Paul Murphy didn’t exist.
Irritated with herself, she tucked her phone into her pocket and kept working.She didn’t need to track Paul down.If he was really in love with her, like he claimed, he would come to her.She retreated to the bedroom, feeling melancholy.As she made the bed, she thought of the sheets Paul had bought for her, and the way he’d touched her.
Making a sound of frustration, she punched the pillow and left the room.The kitchen should have been safe, because it offered fewer reminders of Paul, but now he was in her head.Memories of their interactions flooded her.She couldn’t sniff a lemon, or a eucalyptus leaf, without thinking of him.He was in her blood.
A knock on the front door snapped her out of her reverie.She assumed it was Jackson with one last box.She glanced through the living room window to check.
It was Paul.
Her heart lodged in her throat.She lifted a hand to her messy ponytail.She was dressed for comfort in cut-off shorts, an old T-shirt and scuffed tennis shoes.Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
He seemed startled by her appearance, as if she was the one who’d showed up unannounced instead of him.His gray-blue gaze swept over her from head to toe.She didn’t get the impression that he found her lacking.If anything, his eyes looked hungry.Tortured, uncertain, and hungry.
His clothes were a cut above the usual.He wore a pale blue Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.His hair glinted with bronze highlights, neat and trimmed, and he smelled like aftershave, rather than pain-relief patches.She’d never seen him look so well put-together.
“Hello,” he said.
She moistened her lips, unsure how to respond.“Hi.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” she said, stepping aside.“I was just unpacking.”
He walked into the apartment, and she shut the door behind him.They shared an uncomfortable moment of silence.He glanced around at the open boxes.She tried to smooth her hair, self-consciously.
Paul turned his attention back to her.
“How did you know I was here?”she asked.
“Your dad told me.”
“You went to his house first?”
He nodded.“I saw Emily.She told me Penelope died.”
“Yes.She was very distraught.”
“She thought I’d died, too.”
Vanessa swallowed hard.“I told her you’d moved to Houston.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets.“How’ve you been?”
