Page 29

After dancing through an entire set of songs, we join the precious older couple at their table for dessert and a nightcap, and then one last trip to the dance floor where we swap dates for the last song.

"Your young man is quite taken with you," Arthur says.

I open my mouth to correct the elderly man that Sully is anything but mine, but I don't have the heart—or the ability when the thought of Sully being mine sends my pulse racing once more.

For a moment, I allow myself to believe it. To see it. Us. Until the image of Sully taking me in his arms and kissing me goes further and turns into a dark daydream where he's the one shoving me into the granite countertop that haunts my dreams and scars my body.

"Did I say something wrong?" Arthur asks.

The question jerks me back into the here and now, and I suck in a breath, pushing the memories down deep once more. "No, nothing," I say, forcing a smile that probably isn't very convincing.

Arthur's gaze seems to read me because it turns serious.

"You know," he says, "Genny was briefly married to someone else before we met."

My gaze shoots to his. "Oh?"

"Yes. I was a part-time professor at the university, and she worked at the library on campus. Every time I tried to talk to her, she ran away. It broke my heart." He huffs out a soft laugh. "I might be an old man now, but back in the day, I could turn a few heads. I was considered a catch," he says with a wink.

I smile again, because who couldn't smile at that?

"The worst thing was…I could tell she wanted to talk to me," he says, "but she wouldn't, and I didn't understand."

"What happened?" I ask. "You obviously did something right because you got her to marry you."

"I brought flowers to surprise her," he says with a smile that fades. "But I did it all wrong. I snuck up on her in the stacks because I thought that way she'd have to talk to me." His voice trembles and breaks, and his eyes take on a faraway look as he says, "I burst around the corner and down the aisle, and…the fear on her sweet face..."

Arthur sniffles suddenly and shakes his head, and I have to swallow the sudden lump of emotion clogging my own throat.

I know that fear. Lived that fear.

"It was like those old cartoons where the lightbulb goes off above the character's head because, all of a sudden, I understood, and I knew someone had hurt and mistreated her."

I meet Arthur's gaze and find him looking back at me with grandfatherly concern. Hot tears sting my eyes at the discernment I see in his. I stiffen, and my breathing turns shallow.

"You have that same look, my dear," he says softly. "Please correct me if I'm wrong. But I don't think I am?"

I swallow hard, and I can't look at him. I stare at the knot of his tie, silent.

Arthur pats my waist where his hand rests, and the other squeezes my fingers gently.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he says gruffly. "And I hope you know not all men are like that."

My steps falter, and I look down before I manage to right myself and meet his gaze once again. "I know. But maybe I'm not willing to take the chance to find out. I might not be as strong as Genevieve," I whisper. And then to try to lighten the mood, I say, "Or maybe Sully isn't as persuasive as you were with her."

Arthur chuckles at my praise but shakes his head. I blink a time or two and manage a forced smile because, despite my desire to end this conversation, I can't be rude to Arthur. I just can't. "Am I so obvious?"

"Only to someone who has seen it many times in my practice, my dear. I counseled warriors for many years."

"Warriors?"

"I refuse to call them victims. If they are in my office seeking help, they are warriors."

Warriors. I like the sound of that.

"Something I have learned in life is that pain can either bring clarity or isolation."

"I'm afraid I'm not following," I tell him, still swaying in time to the music even though I don't really hear it. Haven't heard it since this conversation began.