Luke was good at that, at walls and facades, but never with me. I hadn’t seen his face last night—God, I miss his face—but I’d heard the catch in his voice, the dullness belying his anger. Perhaps I didn’t know what he needed anymore, but he needed something.
Another knock at the door startled me. “Bloody hell!”
I set my knife down and stormed to the back door, wrenching it open. There was no one there. I stepped back, seriously considering calling the police, and something on the step caught my eye before I could close the door. An envelope, and a small red box.
Stooping, I retrieved them and retreated inside. There was no writing on the envelope, but instinct—and logic—told me this delivery had nothing to do with Luke.
Unease turned my stomach. Nothing had happened since the break-in, leaving me to wonder if the concerns I’d shared with Gus about Laurent had been a figment of my imagination. Yeah, the dude was an arsehole, but was I really so important to him that he’d mess with me like this? He’d ditched me like I was nothing to him. Divorced and fleeced me like I was little more than inconvenient. The idea of him loitering around Rushmere didn’t make any sense.
But even as I thought it, flashes of how Laurent had treated his previous partners trickled into my brain. The derision with which he’d spoken of them, and the fury in his eyes when we’d stumbled across one once, living her best life.
He didn’t like people to be happy.
A laugh escaped me. Right, because you’re so damn happy, Mia.
The ridiculousness of my entire thought process gave me the courage to open the envelope. It was empty. The box was empty too, but a waft of something hit me when I opened it—cologne...expensive French cologne, and bile bubbled in my throat. It was him. It had to be.
But why?
And what the hell did he want?
* * *
I was no closer to figuring it out the next day, which was, thankfully, Friday, leaving me one more working day in a week that wouldn’t seem to end. The May Day bank holiday had gifted me two days off. I had zero plans of leaving the house and five p.m. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.
First, though, I had a double bill of weddings to prep for.
“You should hire some help,” Gus said through a mouthful of rustic twine.
“I thought you were helping me?” I replied sweetly. “I can’t think of any other reason for you to be hanging around.”
“Hilarious. I bring you lunch, you put me to work, and I still get grief?”
I rolled my eyes. “You brought me lunch because you miss Luke and you hate eating alone.”
He didn’t deny it, just flicked water at me, and our dance continued well into the evening. I was dead on my feet when I drove us home, and didn’t think to ask where Luke’s van was until the following morning, but Gus was still in bed, so I spent my entire Saturday wondering if Luke had come home.
At five o’clock, I downed tools and shut the shop, taking care to check all the windows locks before I left a Mia-shaped hole in the door in my hurry to escape. But when I got home, any relief I’d felt at finishing my working week was eclipsed by the suffocating silence of an empty house. Gus had left a box of fish fingers in the freezer and buggered off for the night.
I couldn’t face dinner for one with Captain Birdseye. I opened some cheap Chablis instead and got my drink on while I roamed the house, searching for something—anything—to keep my mind off the two men who seemed intent on making my life hell, though there was no comparison between Laurent and Luke. One had broken my teenaged heart, the other...nah. No fucking way was he grinding me down. And despite the creepy delivery I’d received a few days ago, Laurent didn’t stand a chance against Luke when it came to space in my brain. Age-old recklessness and renewed obsession with my one true love had seen to that.
One true love. It sounded trite even in my own head. Pathetic. I was sick of thinking about it, about him, and most of all, I was sick of myself.
Didn’t stop me playing an unhealthy game of chicken with my phone, though. Like Luke hanging up on me hadn’t made his feelings about talking to me perfectly clear. Yeah, because it’s all about you.
Not for the first time, my selfishness when it came to Luke reared its ugly head. For years, I’d cursed him, hated him, and blamed him for just about everything I could think of. The only hardship I hadn’t managed to pin on him was my mother’s death, and when the fog of grief had begun to clear, a moment of clarity had hit me hard. Had me packing my bags and fleeing to France...straight into the arms of a man the polar opposite of the one who’d left me. Luke’s light had been dimmed by loss and pain, but he was worth a million of Laurent.
So why did you push him away?
A week ago I’d been sure of my answer, but now that Luke had thrown up a wall of his own, doubt crept through every fibre of my being. The lines between love and hate were blurred and I was beginning to realise I’d never hated him at all.
Chapter Seventeen
Luke
I sipped warm beer from a tiny glass as my uncle droned in my ear about networking, free food, and an open bar.
“Take it while it’s there, son. The amount we pay the bloody council in business rates.”
“I pay the council,” I corrected mildly. “And nothing here is free. We paid for the tickets.”
A fact that was leaving an increasingly bad taste in my mouth. Why the fuck was I here? The local business gala was everything I hated—bad clothes, bad food, and bad company if Jon didn’t shut the hell up anytime soon. I fiddled with my collar. The Navy had conditioned me to ridiculous outfits, but it had been a while since I’d worn anything but jeans, and the shirt and tie combo Fran had forced me into was making me sweat. Or maybe it was the two hundred people crammed into the town hall, none of whom I had a single thing to say to.
“It’ll be fun,” Fran had said. “And you might get some business out of it.”
Fun. What the fuck ever. I’d say she needed to get out more, but she’d barely been home since Billy had politely—for him, at least—evicted us from his bedside. And I knew why. Social activity was her cure for rejection, whereas mine was to stay in my house and sulk.
I tuned Jon out and picked idly at the rubber chicken breast someone had dumped in front of me a while ago. It was probably the worst thing I’d eaten in recent memory, and after three days of McDonalds, that was saying something. I gave up, pushed it away, and surveyed the room instead. People watching had always been a thing of mine. I wasn’t a great talker, but I could observe other fuckers doing it for hours, wondering if the crap that came out of their mouths was anywhere close to the truth. If the heated gaze they sent across the room was to someone it shouldn’t have been. Fran said I had a gossipy old woman’s soul beneath my stoic facade, but in truth most people bored me, and I lacked the inclination to pretend otherwise.
I’d figured at least three couples to be having affairs by the time Jon nudged me.
“Off for a smoke,” he said. “You coming?”
It was tempting, but I’d packed it in a few weeks before Mia had come back, and regretted it ever since. Smoking calmed me, and gave me something to do with my jittery hands. Fuck it.
We abandoned our table and slipped outside. It had grown dark while we’d eaten crap food and got slowly pissed on weak lager. Navy life had taught me to tell time by following the sun, but my brain felt empty right now, at least of anything useful.
Jon passed me a fag. I sparked up and leaned against a wall while I blew smoke to the moon. The nicotine felt way too good as it burned a path to my lungs and I tried to savour it, but the cigarette went down far too fast. I considered poaching another, or dashing across the road to buy my own. Or even sacking the whole night off completely and chipping home. The last option held the most appeal, but I wasn’t drunk enough to get away with that just yet. Jon was worse than Fran whe
n he wanted me somewhere, and he wasn’t drunk enough to evade yet.
I smoked another cigarette, enjoying the buzz. Jon went back inside, but I remained slouched, poking around on my phone for something to do. A pleasant haze settled over me. I was half a world away when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end.
Startled, I froze, then glanced up to scan my surroundings. There was no one nearby save a couple of old geezers from the gala who weren’t paying me any heed, but the sensation of being watched crept over me until the cigarette between my fingers began to burn for real.
“Fuck.” I flicked it away, hoping my unease would go with it, but the creeping feeling remained. I pushed off the wall and took a few steps forward. A black Focus parked up the road caught my attention. It wasn’t an unusual car; there must’ve been dozens of them in Rushmere. But still. I stared at it, squinting to see if there was anyone behind the wheel, until it revved its engine and drove away.
Cheap beer bubbled in my stomach as I frowned after it. Logic told me I was drunk and paranoid, but despite spending most of my life angsting over shit I couldn’t change, I didn’t do dramatic. I didn’t get feelings and omens. If I thought some arsehole had been eyeballing me, they probably had. But why? I had no damn idea, and I drifted inside on autopilot, straight into the back of someone...hard enough to get a mouthful of their rose-scented, silky blond hair.
Mia.
Jesus Christ.
I caught her as she stumbled, my fingers digging into her slender forearms, all the while cursing my fucking existence. Seriously? She was here, of all places?
She’s a business owner, dickhead.
Yeah, for all of five fucking minutes.
I set her right and took a step back as she whirled around ready to deck whoever was manhandling her from behind. “Get the fuck—oh. It’s you.”
Of course it was me. No other fool would’ve missed her standing in their path. No other fool would be itching to walk away from her for the thousandth time. Especially when she was wearing that dress. Sometimes I wondered why I thought of her most often in old jeans and one of Gus’s T-shirts. Sometimes I just wondered why.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Sorry.”
“Luke—”
“Fuck’s sake, Mia. I said I was sorry.” I pushed past her and strode back to my table, throwing myself into my seat.
Jon eyed me. “I remember you squabbling with that one when you were a lanky scrote. You still not cracked her?”
I didn’t want to know what he meant by “cracked.” I necked the whisky he’d left next to my beer and turned slightly to block him with my shoulder. “Mind your own business.”
Thankfully, some old git from the council saved me from further conversation by standing up to make a speech.
I heard nothing but white noise, and every part of me vibrated with tension as I tried to locate Mia without giving away the fact that I was searching for her. A second sweep of the room found her two tables away, ten feet, if that. Had she been there all night? Damn it. I couldn’t figure out what was worse: the possibility that she’d been so close and I hadn’t noticed her, or that she’d seen me and chosen to ignore me.
Even though I’d legit told her to fuck off the last two times we’d spoken.
God, I was a walking ball of dick right now.
Like she’d heard my thoughts, Mia shifted in her seat and met my gaze. Her expression was unreadable. Filled with self-loathing, I looked away. The scrape of a chair and the click of high heels reached me a second later, and when I glanced back, she was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Mia
I weaved my way out of the gala room and into the crowded lobby. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stomach the mayor’s rambling ode to Rushmere’s booming economy.
Searching for the ladies’ room, I shouldered my way past the bar, only stopping to grab a glass of lukewarm Asti. It slipped down like water. I dumped the glass on a windowsill and kept walking, my body thrumming with a horrid mix of fury and the desperate need to cry.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
But it didn’t seem to matter how loudly I replayed the mantra in my head, I didn’t believe it. Because despite the fact that he was pushing me away more tangibly than he ever had, I couldn’t deny the truth.
I love him.
I hate him.
I love him.
Man, I was such a cliché. And such a bloody mess. Luke had barely glanced at me, but just a glance had been enough to have me shaking, crawling out of my own skin, and fleeing the room like a drunk bimbo.
I found the ladies’ room and slipped inside, grateful to find it empty and relatively nice. Guess that explained how Rushmere’s extortionate business rates were spent. Not that I cared. Money came into the shop and left again with a terrifying turnaround. I’d taken to paying little attention to where it actually went and had gifted my accounts to Gus.
“Cheers, sis. Love you too.”
Guilt threatened the Luke-fuelled meltdown I was teetering on the edge of. Gus had been working round the clock for Luke this week, on top of his futile attempts to keep me out of trouble. I’d left him at home with a pizza and Netflix, but I knew he’d pick me up the moment I was done.
And I was so bloody done. Done with this night, done with this town, and done breaking my heart over Luke.
Right?
Snorting, I dumped my handbag onto the counter and rummaged through it for my phone. I came up blank, but found my lipstick instead, and I was tipsy enough to think I was winning at life.
My reflection was less pleasing. With my red-rimmed eyes and smudged makeup, I looked like the walking dead. With a sigh, I set about fixing myself enough that Gus didn’t worry, but it didn’t seem to matter how thick the mask, my misery was plain to see.
Had Luke seen it? Was that why he’d glowered at me with thinly veiled disgust? And could I even blame him when he’d had the week from hell and I was making it all about me?
A prickle of shame lanced my heart. I’d worried about Luke all week, because I knew him. When things got tough, he turned inward. Stopped talking. Thinking. Taking care of himself. Years ago we’d been close enough for me to pull him to safety. To my knowledge, there was no one around to do that now. Not his mother or his brother. No one. How did someone become so skilled at pushing people away?
The irony of my inner monologue was ridiculous. A crazed chuckle escaped me, and I gave up on trying to make myself presentable. Gus would just have to deal with the fact that I was a high-maintenance sister right now. Or maybe he wouldn’t. I’d always been good at pretending. In that, Luke and I were the same.
The door opened behind me and Luke slipped into the bathroom.
“This is the ladies’,” I snapped, resisting the urge to press my palm into my chest, like I could push my stampeding heart back in. “If you can’t find the gents’, I suggest you piss outside.”
Luke leaned against the wall like walking sex in his slim-cut grey suit. “I came to see if you were okay.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You legged it out of the room.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you—” He stopped and shook his head. “Whatever. Just answer the question.”
I turned my gaze back to the mirror. “You didn’t ask me one.”
To anyone else, Luke’s expression would be inscrutable, but I recognised the flinty gaze staring down my reflection, his clenched hands. I was irritating him, something we’d often got around by fucking. And perhaps that was the problem—why he’d found it easier to leave me than talk to me. To tell me how he was feeling, instead of a brutal cut and run that had left nothing but pain and anger in its wake.
Not that he seemed particularly like he wanted to fuck me right now. Throttle me, maybe.
I dropp
ed my lipstick into my bag and turned around. “Why did you follow me?”
“I already told you that.”
“Yeah, but why do you care if I’m okay? We didn’t speak for ten years, and I’ve been a bitch to you since I came back.”
Luke’s eyebrow twitched. “Did you just admit to being a bitch?”
“Yes. But don’t get cocky. I can call myself whatever I like.”
“You’re not a bitch, Mia. You’re—”
“What?” I demanded.
A ghost of a smirk brightened Luke’s face. “Complicated.”
I snorted, couldn’t help it. “I’m complicated? Wow. That’s some statement coming from you.”
He didn’t deny it. Just pushed off the wall and stepped closer, igniting a war between my heart and my head. My body yearned to meet him halfway, to feel his solid warmth and melt into his arms, but my brain flashed danger signs. We’d already proved we couldn’t be physical without drama, and I had enough bullshit to deal with right now without setting fire to that trash pile again.
Luke licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to be with you anymore.”
“Be with me?”
“You know what I mean.”
Do I? But for once I kept my smart mouth shut and instead focussed on trying not to hyperventilate as he took another step forward.
He backed me into the counter, caging me without laying a hand on me. “Mia.”
“What?”
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t—” My stuttering heart cut me off. “Are we friends yet?”
Luke laughed quietly. “Not even close.”
“Why not?”
He shook his head, helplessness clouding the mirth in his eyes. “Because we never were, I guess.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered.
“No?” Luke towered over me, but he leaned down so his lips were inches away. “I can’t get my head around it. Maybe you really were the best friend I’d ever had, and I’m the selfish git who threw it away.”
Forgiven--A Second Chance Romance Page 10
