Peter’s green-eyed gaze flashed to her.
Holly drew a shaky breath and willed herself not to flinch beneath his knowing stare.
“Why is that?” Peter asked softly.
“I wanted to be sure I was handling the situation fairly.” Given my history with you and Debra, and Aidan.
Debra rolled her eyes.
“I appreciate it,” Peter said.
The warmth in his tone caressed her back. Holly’s jaw tightened against the tendrils of nervous tension coiling through her stomach.
Debra shot Peter a furious glare.
He did not even spare her a glance in response.
Debra looked down at the floor, and for a moment, Holly had a striking impression of Aidan staring down at his feet, like a creature trapped between impossible choices. Debra looked as despairing, as miserable.
Holly clenched her hands into fists. I must be going crazy. Why would I feel sorry for my ex-best friend who got pregnant with my ex-fiancé’s child? She blamed Debra and Peter equally; it took two people to get a woman pregnant. The town of Havre de Grace, however, had preferred pointing fingers at Debra. Peter, after all, was just a man—as if his indiscretion was somehow forgivable because he had a penis in lieu of a brain.
Debra cleared her throat. “How long will Aidan have to see a psychologist?”
“It’ll be for the psychologist to determine,” James said.
“And the sessions…” Debra wrung her fingers. Her eyes darted among the other three people in the room. “Who’s going to pay for them?”
“The school will pay for the first session. Any subsequent sessions can be partially funded through insurance or Medicaid.”
Debra’s shoulders slumped. “And the alternative?”
James released his breath in a silent sigh. “Ms. Richardson, Ms. Langford and I are trying to help Aidan, not punish him. He needs to be in class to learn and to socialize with others, but he also needs to manage his emotions in a healthy way. The psychologist, I believe, can help.”
Debra’s throat worked as she swallowed. “All right. Fine.” Her mouth was set in a hard line. “When is his first session with the shrink?”
“Tomorrow, after class. The psychologist will want to meet with you after the session to give you his evaluation and recommendation for treatment.”
“I don’t know if I can take time off work—”
“Aw, hell, Debra,” Peter cut in. “This is our son we’re talking about.”
Debra shot to her feet. “Don’t you dare curse me out. I’m the one taking care of him twenty-four-seven. You just sashay into town when it suits you and call it parenting? It’s not.” She clutched her handbag to her chest like armor and looked at James. “Can I take Aidan home now?”
“Yes, of course.”
Worried for Aidan, Holly followed Debra to the door. Anger radiated out of the other woman, but her expression softened the moment she set eyes on her son. She beckoned to him, and the arm she slipped around Aidan’s trembling shoulders was gentle as she guided him out of the reception area.
She loves him.
Somehow, that thought gave Holly comfort.
She turned and bumped into solid muscle. The scent of Peter’s aftershave shot straight into her head. She would have recognized it in a darkened room, and that fact bothered her; he was still in her blood.
“Excuse me.” She stepped away from him and tried to will her heart into a steady rhythm.
“Thank you for the care and consideration you’ve shown Aidan,” Peter said. He shot an angry glance at Debra’s back. “It’s certainly more than his own mother has done.”
“And his father.” It wasn’t exactly a question.
“Me?” Peter touched his hand to his chest. “I don’t know what lies Debra spreads about me in my absence.”
“I wouldn’t know. Debra and I don’t talk much anymore.”
“I suppose not.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “You and I don’t either.”
“For good reason. Turns out we didn’t have that much in common after all.”
“I bet we do.” His voice softened into a caress. “Can we talk?”
Holly forced a chuckle, but it was a humorless sound. “We’re talking.”
“You know what I mean. You never gave me a chance to explain.”
“Words wouldn’t have made a difference.” Holly prayed he wouldn’t hear the lie in her words. Eight years ago, it had taken everything in Holly to hold her head high, turn around, and walk away. She had wanted, so badly, to know if he loved her. If he had said yes, would she have stayed?
She didn’t know. She knew only that she continued to dream of him—not every night, but often enough to keep the memory fresh and painful. His betrayal had broken something in her. After Peter, she had never believed in the constancy or certainty of love. How could she when the man she was about to marry had gotten her best friend, her maid of honor, pregnant?
Holly walked past Peter, but he grabbed her right hand. “Have dinner with me tonight, please. For old time’s sake.”
She should have immediately pulled her hand from his, but the contact jolted through her. It felt—she bit down on her lower lip—it felt right. “Don’t you have to see Debra?”
“I came to town to see Aidan, not Debra, and Debra doesn’t let me see him at night; she puts him to bed early. Please, Holly. There’s so much we have to talk about.”
“Why would you waste your time?”
“Friendship isn’t a waste of time. Eight years have passed, Holly.” He stared at her hand, her fingers once graced by the engagement ring he had given her. His fingers tightened against hers. “Please, one meal, and you can decide if you want to give me another chance.”
“Another chance for what?”
His jaw tightened. In that moment, he seemed older. The light fled his eyes, revealing regret and sorrow. “Just one meal together, please? For old time’s sake.”
She stared down at their joined hands. Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she could scarcely think over the roaring it set up in her brain. “7 p.m.”
Peter sucked in a deep breath. A gleam leapt into his eyes, and he straightened as if that single word from her had rejuvenated him. “I’ll pick you up at your place. You’re still living at home, right?”
She nodded. Where else would she go in a town as small as Havre de Grace?
“Tonight, then. I’ll see you at seven.” Peter leaned in and brushed a light, quick kiss upon her cheek.
Shocks of pleasure bounced through her and shot into her fingertips. Her breath quivering, Holly watched him turn and stride down the corridor. Oh, God. Peter had not lost his ability to stun her senses. Little jolts were still shivering down her spine when she raised her head and saw James standing outside his office, silently watching her.
The jolt transformed into a hard-hitting emotional punch that stole her breath entirely.
What the—? Her brain scrambling for nonexistent answers, Holly scurried down the hallway and back into the safety of the teachers’ common room.
The orange glow of dusk had spread across the sky by the time Holly walked out of the school building. Even with James and her other colleagues covering her classes, taking several days off to attend her aunt’s funeral had set her back on work, especially the end-of-semester report cards due at the end of the week. She had worked in the common room until the buzz of her cell phone reminded her of her date that evening.
Date.
The word sounded foreign. It had been months…no, years—Holly frowned—since her last date, and it had been with a cousin of a high school classmate who had been passing through town. He hadn’t wanted to feel like a third wheel when hanging out with his married cousin. It had been a pity date for both parties; not exactly the kind of date to boost a woman’s ego. That said, there had been no reason to boost it; Havre de Grace was desperately short on eligible bachelors. The most eligible of the bunch, Dr. Connor Bradley, had just
married Holly’s younger sister, Noelle.
Holly stifled a sigh. She was thrilled at Noelle and Connor’s newly wedded bliss, but it drove home the fact that she was alone—partly by circumstance, but mostly by choice.
Peter hadn’t just broken her heart; he had crushed her faith in men and in love.
Perhaps she needed to meet with Peter after all. Perhaps there was something to be said for closure and coming a full circle.
She tugged her jacket around her and climbed into her old Chevy. The car spluttered and rumbled when she turned the key in the ignition, but did not roar to life. Holly scowled at the dashboard. Not the gas, surely; she had filled her car up that morning. She thumped the steering wheel gently. “Please don’t die on me.”
She looked up at the tapping on her window. Sighing, she opened the door. “James.”
“Are you all right? I was crossing the parking lot when I heard something rattle like a dying whale.”
Holly laughed. “That would be my car.”
James took a step back, his gaze flashing over the rust-spotted Chevy. “Do you want a ride back?”
She frowned slightly. “I thought you were going to offer to open up the hood, splice a couple of wires together, and kick start the engine.”
“Despite what popular media may tell you, XY chromosomes do not come with an innate understanding of vehicles. The only thing I really know about cars is where to insert the gas pump and my key.” James grinned. “I can wait with you until the mechanic gets here, or give you a ride back, or both. Your call.”
“I’m late as it is. I’ll take the ride back.” Holly grabbed her book bag from the passenger seat and followed James to his dark blue Honda Accord.
He held the passenger door open for her and waited until she had seated herself before closing the door and striding over to the driver’s seat. He reached into the backseat of his car and grabbed a box of chocolates—still factory-sealed—from atop his files. “Want one?”
“Sure.” Holly unwrapped the box. She stared at the selection—all her favorites—in an agony of indecision, and finally picked out a dark chocolate truffle before handing the box back to James. “None for you?” she asked as he closed it and set it down.
He shook his head.
She chuckled. “You buy lots of chocolate for someone who doesn’t actually eat much of it.”
“Why don’t you take it? You’ll be doing me a favor.” He gave the box back to her, buckled his seat belt, and pulled out of school parking lot. “Has your car been giving you trouble?”
“A bit more than usual. It’s an old clunker, overdue for a massive overhaul. I’ve put it off for a while now, probably longer than I should have.”
“Why?”
Holly tugged her gaze from the passing scenery to stare at James’s profile. She considered him a close friend but she’d never felt comfortable talking about her money issues, even with close friends. At that moment, though, raw from the loss of her aunt and the approaching anniversary of her father’s death, she desperately needed a sympathetic ear. She drew a deep breath before allowing the words to pour out of her. “Daddy left me the house after he died. I thought it was paid off, but as it turns out, he’d taken out a huge home equity loan. I’ve been paying it down as much as possible, but it’ll be eight years before I’m done. Maybe more.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “It is just what it is, you know? I’d thought about leaving town several times in the past few years. After Daddy passed away, I contemplated it much more seriously, and then I found out about the house. It’s not just a money sink. It’s a trap.”
“Have you thought about selling it and using the money to pay off the loan?”
Holly rolled her eyes. “It’s Havre de Grace. The real estate market here moves slower than a glacier, and my house is badly in need of repairs. The combination isn’t good. My house is effectively unsalable. The pet shop Daddy left to Noelle was heavily leveraged, too, but at least it’s a going concern, plus Connor’s income keeps them above water.”
“I’m sure it helps.”
“Meanwhile, I’m stuck with my old car until I can free up enough money to upgrade.”
“My mechanic’s a reliable, more-or-less trustworthy sort, if you’d like a referral.”
“Larry Leech from A1 Auto?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s on my speed dial. He’s even got a key to my car.”
James chuckled. “You’re all set, then.”
“I’ll call him tonight or first thing tomorrow. He might have a loaner for me.”
“I can give you a ride to work tomorrow. Did you want to stop by my place to pick up Mojo?”
Holly glanced at her watch. “Sure, it’ll be tight, but I’ve got time.”
Two dogs met James and Holly at the door of James’s home, a neat townhouse in a nice part of town. One dog was a well-trained and polite chocolate Labrador called Lucy. The other was a walking white mop called Mojo, who made up for his lack of manners with an exuberant attitude and a determination to love the whole world. Holly had concluded that Mojo, a mutt, was the rather unfortunate result of a sexual encounter between a Puli and a shag rug. The dog rose on his hind feet to plant his forefeet on her chest—a large shag rug, Holly amended—and slurped a wet kiss on her nose.
Holly hugged her dog, who wriggled his hindquarters with ecstasy. The vigorously fanning tail created a gust of air that made Holly’s dark hair sway. “Oh, you did miss me.” Laughing, she nuzzled noses with Mojo. “Shall we go back home?”
Mojo romped back and forth between James’s house and the car, obviously eager to be on the move.
James opened the back door, and Mojo leaped into the car. Holly followed with Mojo’s water and food bowl. Mojo’s large head filled the space between James and Holly as James pulled away from the curb, but she pushed aside Mojo’s white dreadlocks to look at James. “What did you think of the conversation today with Debra?”
“It went about as well as could be expected.” James sighed. “She has it tough. There’s something to be said for the anonymity of crowds; it’s definitely harder to escape the judgment of a small town.”
Holly pressed her lips together. Did James think she was judgmental, too?
James slid her a sideway glance. “I didn’t realize Peter was going to show up, or I could have found a way to keep you out of that meeting.”
She looked at him askance. “Why would you keep me out of my meeting? Aidan’s in my class. I should be at that meeting—regardless of who else attends it.”
“I know. I just…”
“Just what?”
He shook his head. “The way you looked when you saw him. I wish I could have spared you that.”
“I certainly could have used a bit more warning.” Like several months. “He asked if we could talk over dinner.”
“So I heard.”
Holly inhaled. “I said yes.”
James nodded, but said nothing.
She stared at him. “You don’t think it was a good idea.”
He shrugged. “What I think isn’t relevant.”
“But I value your opinion,” she said, and was startled by how deeply she meant it. “This…fiasco…happened before you moved to Havre de Grace, didn’t it?”
“People talk, though. I certainly heard about it.”
“I want to know what you think. You were the only neutral party in the room this afternoon.”
“I doubt it.”
The self-mocking tone in his voice surprised her enough to send her instinctively backpedaling. She refocused the conversation on Peter. At that moment, it seemed the safer topic. “Do you think I should give him a second chance?”
James drew a deep breath. “I think you’re not settled over what happened. If a conversation with him helps you—”
“Find closure,” Holly supplied eagerly.
He glanced at her. A muscle ticked in his smooth cheek. “If that’s wha
t you’re looking for, then you should talk to him or to whoever else can help you find that closure.” He was briefly silent. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
She stared at him. He kept his eyes on the road, and she found himself staring at his profile. His dark hair was subtly streaked with gray strands, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with laugh lines, but at that moment, his expression gave nothing away. It rarely did. At forty-five, James was least fifteen years older than she was, and age, it appeared, had brought with it a maturity and serenity that she found herself lacking, even at thirty.
He had his act together. He had even weathered his divorce two years earlier with zero fuss.
She, on the other hand, clearly didn’t have her act together. The unexpected appearance of her ex-fiancé had wrecked her equilibrium like a stone shattering glass.
Is closure what you’re looking for?
James’s question nagged at her as she hurried through her shower and preparations for her date, no, dinner, with Peter. A date had all kinds of romantic implications attached to it. Holly stared at her reflection in the mirror as she smoothed her navy blue dress.
Her jaw tensed. No, it was not a date. It was not romance. She was done with both romance and love; Peter had seen to it eight years earlier.
Chapter 3
Mojo’s barking storm escalated into frantic howls before Holly managed to make it down the stairs. “Hush, Mojo.” She grabbed her dog’s collar with one hand and flung the front door open with the other.
“Hello, Holly.” Peter’s rich tenor rippled over her. His smile was warm and sincere, and because of it, that much more devastating. He wore a glossy leather jacket over a dark blue sweater and denim jeans. In that aspect, he hadn’t changed much; he had always been the wholesome, good-looking kid-next-door.
She met his eyes steadily and kept her smile slight lest it betray the quiver of her lips.
“And who is this?” Peter bent to pet Mojo’s head.
Haunted: A Love Letters Novel Page 2
