by Beth Andrews
Figured she’d rather castrate him.
And damn Mr. Bauchman, his freshman year science teacher, for showing them that video of what castration entailed. He seriously could’ve lived his entire life without ever knowing its definition, let alone witnessed how it was done to bulls.
Her head held high, she turned away again. He quickly scooped up his keys. Eyes on the ground, he wove between two pickups to his mom’s minivan. Unlocked and opened the door.
And made the mistake of glancing at her.
Before he could change his mind—or think better of it—he slammed the door shut and walked over to her.
She stiffened, her shoulders snapping back. “What?” she asked, the word practically dripping frost.
His mouth was dry. His palms damp. When he was a kid, his mom used to tell him that one magical day, he’d outgrow his shyness. It would thrill her if he suddenly started blabbering on about useless, stupid topics. If, even a few times, he struck up a conversation with strangers the way she did.
Why he should do that when he had no interest in doing so, he had no clue. But she still held out hope.
Because other people got nervous when he had nothing to say.
Which he didn’t get. He liked the quiet. Liked listening. Watching. Taking it all in. Even his friends thought he was too shy or scared to talk to girls. Not true. He simply preferred to take his time and think about what he wanted to say first, that was all.
And right now, he wanted her to look at him. Had no problem waiting in silence until she did so.
She huffed out a breath, whirled around. Her eyes were blue, light blue like the midday sky over the water. And right now she was rolling them so far back, she probably caught a glimpse of her brain.
“Okay,” she snapped, “the whole heavy-breathing, prank-phone-call thing is super freaky when you’re doing it in person.”
“You’re not in trouble.” He wasn’t breathing heavily so he saw no reason to respond to that part of her comment. “I told Josh not to report you to your manager.”
She looked at him as if she wanted to plant the thick heel of her shoe in his face. “My hero,” she said, saying hero in a tone usually reserved for slimy-Satan-loving-snake.
He scratched his cheek. “I just thought you should know,” he murmured, feeling like an idiot.
“Look, if you’re hoping to get off tonight, you’ll have to find some other girl.” She sneered, her gaze raking over him in a way that made his balls shrink. “Or you could always take matters into your own hands. I’m sure you have plenty of practice with that.”
He flushed so hard, sweat formed at the back of his neck, a drop of it sliding between his shoulder blades. She was pissed, obviously, and for good reason, but that didn’t mean he had to take shit from her.
Even if she was beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “for what happened back there.”
She studied him as is trying to decide if he meant it. But he only said things he meant. That was part of the reason he kept silent so often. He didn’t see any point in spouting a bunch of bullshit. It was so much easier to stick with the truth.
“You’re sorry your friend tried to pay me to have sex with you? Wasn’t it your idea?”
“No,” he told her, holding her gaze steadily. He would never treat a girl with such disrespect. But there was no point telling her that. Either she believed him or she didn’t.
She frowned. But even with her brows pinched, her mouth an angry line, she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. She had these two, tiny braids at her temple that were pulled back with the rest of her hair, which was so pale, it was almost white. Her eyebrows were two shades darker than her hair and heavily arched. Her neck was long; her lips all shiny like she’d licked them or slicked them up with gloss.
The breeze picked up, ruffled a loose, pale strand of hair by her ear. His fingers itched to touch it. To see if it was as soft as it looked.
“I didn’t tell Josh to talk to you for me, but I would like to ask you out.” Her expression turned suspicious. Wow, what had happened to her to make her so cynical? And why did he want to find out instead of writing her and her bad attitude off? “Just a date,” he continued. “We could go to the movies. Or out to eat.”
Watching him as if he was a shark in the water and she was fifty yards from shore, she slid off the table. “I don’t think so.”
Humiliation and rejection settled in his stomach. He nodded. “Okay. Good night.”
“Yeah,” she said, as if trying to figure him out. “’Night.”
He waited, watching the sway of her hips as she walked away. And when she reached the employee entrance to the restaurant, he got what he wanted.
She looked back at him.
Grinning, he headed toward the minivan. And started planning how to win her over.
* * *
GRIFFIN OPENED THE door to the Ludlow Street Café and went inside, stopping at the end of a long line of people waiting to be seated. Feeling more than one curious gaze on him, he put on his fiercest scowl and scanned the large dining room. The place was packed. Noisy. And smelled good, really good, like grilled meat and French fries and apple pie.
He wondered if he’d been missing out on some great food by staying far away from the place.
Customers talked and laughed and ate while waitresses and a busboy wove around the tables delivering food or collecting dirty plates and silverware. It was a Tuesday, for Christ’s sake. Didn’t they all have anything better to do than go out for lunch?
He edged to the side, his eyes narrowing when he spotted her. Ignoring the waitress who was taking names at the head of the line, he crossed the restaurant.
“You must be pretty damn proud of yourself,” he said softly, not letting his anger at her push him into raising his voice. He didn’t lose control. That would make him too much like his father.
If the youngest Sullivan was surprised to find him in the café, towering over her, she didn’t show it. “Hello, Griffin,” she said, cheery as you please. She bit into a huge burger, chewed, swallowed, then sipped what looked like iced tea through a straw before asking, “Would you like to join me?”
He’d like to throttle her. Do whatever it took to scare that welcoming smile off her pretty face. Put the fear of God in her so she left the past alone.
But it was too late. His father was in town. And it was all her fault.
His mother had called him not twenty minutes ago to tell him Dale had paid her a visit at the doctor’s office where she worked. That he’d given her some line about being back in town to help the police find out what happened to Valerie Sullivan. Then he’d hit her up for money.
And she’d refused.
Griffin could only imagine how the scene had gone down. Dale wasn’t a man to take being told no lightly. But his mom hadn’t sounded afraid on the phone, or worse, hurt. She’d sounded determined. Able to stand up for herself.
Too bad she hadn’t been that strong for the first twelve years of his life.
After he’d hung up with his mom, he’d driven straight to Nora’s office only to be told by the receptionist that Nora had gone out to lunch. His first instinct had been to search for her here.
“What kind of game were you playing yesterday?” he asked, laying his palms on the table, leaned down to speak close to her ear. “Had you already found him when you walked into the garage? Did you have him hidden away somewhere while you waited for your chance to spring him on everyone?”
Realization dawned in her blue eyes followed by guilt. “I didn’t—”
“Bullshit.”
She flinched.
“Everything okay here, Nora?” a round waitress with short, curly gray hair asked as she appeared by Griffin’s side.
“Everything’s f
ine, Sharon,” Nora said as she set her food down, her gaze never leaving his. “Though when you get a minute, we could use some coffee.”
Sharon glared at him as if she’d like to pour it over his head. Still, she left and came back a moment later with the coffeepot, poured two cups of it before leaving again.
“Is this about your father?” Nora asked when they were alone.
He straightened. “And here I thought playing dumb would be beneath someone of your superior intellect.”
Her brows drew together. “No need to get sarcastic.” She tipped her head from side to side. Exhaled heavily. “Could you sit down? I’m getting a stiff neck. Please,” she added, looking all innocent and sincere in a crisp black shirt that accentuated the fairness of her skin, her hair pulled back into the same tidy hairstyle she’d had yesterday.
Desire—pure, basic and heated—stirred in his gut.
Not going to happen, he assured himself and sat across from her.
She tore the paper off of a creamer, dumped it into the coffee closest to her. “I didn’t find your father.”
“No? So he, what…? Showed up in Mystic Point on his own?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
Holy shit. Could she be telling the truth?
He sat up. “You told me you were going to hire a P.I. to track him down.”
She opened a second creamer, added it to her coffee then picked up a third. “Dale showed up at my office yesterday afternoon before I even paid the retainer.”
“He sought you out?” Her lips thin, she nodded. “Why?”
“He said he wanted to convey his condolences on my mother’s death. But I think he was trying to play some sort of twisted psychological game with me. I reported his visit to Ross and Layne, but because Dale didn’t make any overt threats, there’s not much they can do.” She stirred her coffee, round and round and round. “He wanted me to tell my father he’d stopped by to see me,” she said in a rush.
That sounded like his old man. Manipulative bastard. “He wants to hurt you, or your dad.”
“Probably. But I think it was more than that. It was like he was trying to get to me, to scare me. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen,” she said in that prissy tone of hers that had bugged the hell out of him yesterday. “So I’m not telling Dad—or anyone—about that last part.”
“You told me,” he pointed out.
She shrugged. “I trust you.”
Feeling strangely unsettled, he pulled the other coffee cup toward him. Wrapped his hands around it. “You don’t even know me.”
Holding his gaze, she sipped her coffee. “I’m a good judge of character.”
She wasn’t. Couldn’t be. She was too soft. Too naive. Especially if she thought she could hold her own against his father and whatever game Dale was playing with her.
Griffin wanted to tell her to keep her distance from his father. Warn her about the consequences of playing with fire. If you touched a flame, you were bound to get burned.
He wanted to protect her.
Damn it.
“You going to eat those?” he asked roughly then took a handful of her fries.
“Please,” she said dryly, “help yourself.”
He’d already shoved several into his mouth. Better than saying something he’d regret later.
She picked up her burger. Set it down again without taking a bite. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Frowning, he washed the fries down with a gulp of coffee. “Hell, no.”
“Did you ever imagine what it would be like,” she continued, the fingers of her left hand rolling the wrapper from her straw into a tiny tube, “if your dad came back? I don’t mean under the current circumstances, of course. But if he’d come back sooner. If he’d wanted to be a part of your life.”
He almost didn’t answer her, wouldn’t have if she hadn’t looked so earnest, so interested.
“The last time I was in the same room with my father he broke my left arm and three of my ribs. So, no,” he said flatly, “I never imagined what it would be like if he came back. I already knew.”
Her eyes softened and she reached across the table as if to touch his fingers, offer her support. Her compassion.
And the last thing he needed was her pity. He set his hands in his lap.
She flushed. Curled her fingers. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. It’s just that…I used to think about it. My mom coming back. How different my life would’ve been with her in it.”
He didn’t care. Didn’t want to care. “Different good or different bad?”
“I’m not sure.” She shook her head as if ridding herself of any and all gloomy thoughts. Took a bite of her burger. “Anyway, all we can do is play the hand we’re dealt, right? Make the most of it.”
“Jesus, you’re like a walking, talking ray of sunshine.”
She batted her lashes. “Thank you.”
“You would take that as a compliment.” He stood and dug out his wallet. He needed to leave before she started spouting clichés about the golden rule and how things always worked out for the best and that, if he only believed hard enough, the cops would miraculously find irrefutable evidence of his father’s guilt and put him away for life.
He laid enough money to cover his coffee and her lunch on the table. But he couldn’t walk away. Not quite yet.
“My father’s a dangerous man,” he said. “A clever man. He returned to Mystic Point for a reason, and I doubt it has anything to do with admitting the truth about what happened between him and your mother. There’s something here he wants, and he won’t hesitate to take down anyone who stands between him and whatever that is. Do yourself a favor and stay out of his way.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“DO YOU like it?” Erin Sullivan, Nora’s cousin and lifelong best friend, asked excitedly as they sat at the kitchen table in Erin’s parents’ house Thursday evening.
Behind them, Aunt Astor snapped the ends off asparagus at the sink, a red chef’s apron covering her black slacks and black-and-white designer top. Out on the patio, Uncle Ken used a long set of tongs to turn ears of corn on the grill while Erin’s fiancé, Collin, pushed up his glasses, nodding at whatever advice or opinion his future father-in-law was imparting.
Uncle Ken did so love to share his wisdom.
Nora often had dinner there, had done so at least twice a week since she’d been old enough to walk. Tonight she, Erin and Astor were to go over arrangements for Erin and Collin’s engagement party.
But first, she had to get through the next few minutes.
Working to keep her face grimace-free, she looked at the bridesmaid’s dress on the laptop screen. “It’s very…bright.”
Bright. Yes. As in causing-mental-anguish-and-possibly-retinal-damage bright. A lemon-yellow bordering on fluorescent, it had an asymmetrical hemline and a double layer of ruffles across the angled bodice.
“I hadn’t realized you were thinking of picking a one shoulder dress,” Nora continued, her palms growing damp as she pictured herself stuffed in that dress at Erin’s wedding next June. Dear Lord, she’d look like a rounder, heavier version of Pam Anderson. Minus the tattoos, toned arms and rock-star exes. “You always said that style reminded you of Disney’s Pocahontas.”
Erin tucked her chin-length, honey-blond hair behind her ear as she studied the screen. “I’m willing to make an exception in this case.”
“Great,” Nora managed weakly.
A few months apart in age, she and Erin had been practically inseparable since birth. They’d weathered the elementary school playground, middle school hormones and high school drama together. After graduation, they’d attended Boston University, sharing a dorm and then an apartment in the city until Erin got her degree and moved back to Mystic Point
to accept a position as a kindergarten teacher.
Most days Nora didn’t think anyone knew her as well as Erin.
Today wasn’t one of those days.
“It’s a lovely dress,” she said, and hoped God didn’t strike her down for such a blatant lie. She’d shell out five hundred bucks on the damned thing if it was what Erin wanted.
But she wouldn’t be happy about it.
“Erin,” Aunt Astor said, putting a fair amount of warning in her daughter’s name.
“What?” Erin asked so sweetly, Nora’s shoulders relaxed.
Her cousin was yanking her chain. Thank God.
“You suck,” she said, smiling.
Erin laughed. “I can’t believe you fell for it. Or that you thought I’d pick a dress that ugly for my wedding. That hurts.”
“I thought maybe you’d taken a trip on the crazy train again.”
“What have I done that’s been so crazy?”
Nora tightened the back to the earring in her left ear. “Last week you wanted to rent fake British Royal Navy uniforms for your groomsmen to wear.”
“The day before yesterday,” Astor added, wiping her hands on her apron as she joined them at the table, “you told me you were going to call Westminster Abbey to see about flying the boys’ choir over here to sing during the ceremony.”
“But I didn’t call them.” Erin closed the laptop lid, her cheeks pink. “I was just brainstorming ideas.”
“You need to stop watching William and Kate’s wedding,” Nora said. “Don’t make us put you into some sort of twelve step program.”
Erin sighed dreamily, her eyes glazing over as if she had the entire royal affair playing in her head. “But it was so…perfect.”
“Yours will be just as perfect,” Astor assured her, running a hand over Erin’s hair. Though she’d recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday, Astor’s skin still glowed, her face showing the barest of wrinkles thanks to a healthy lifestyle, minimal sun exposure and a heavy hand with a very expensive line of anti-aging products. “Just on a smaller, more personal scale. After all, your father and I had a very simple, yet elegant wedding and it was—”