What were the odds of, out of the blue—hell, in the middle of the wild blue yonder—running into the biggest mistake of your life?
Whatever they were, Huck Cranshaw should’ve played ’em.
Head still down, the woman muttered, “If I say no, will you keep walking?”
He hadn’t been positive what with all her gorgeous dark hair chopped off. But that attitude—he was certain.
“Rory. C’mon. Look at me.”
Eyes the color of browned butter dragged up slowly. “Hi, Huck.”
Seeing her again felt like a bowling ball had landed on his diaphragm. A total gut punch. “Wow. I can’t believe it’s you. After all this time. You changed your hair.”
“It has been five years. Also? One of the traditional steps of dealing with a breakup, after ice cream and wine and crying until your pillowcase drips, is a drastic haircut.”
Ouch. Talk about not pulling any punches.
Yes, he’d broken up with Rory.
Yes, he’d been young and an insensitive idiot about it.
Yes. He regretted it. Deeply. And had for a very long time. So Huck would stand here and take any and everything she dished out. He deserved it.
He just craved so much more from her.
Pointing at her hair, he said, “It looks great. You look, um, spunky.”
No smile popped out at his compliment. A sneer did, though. “Just what every woman longs to hear. A description usually saved for the kid who sprains his ankle but manages to hit the game-winning homer anyway.”
“Jesus, Rory. You want a better word?” Huck threw his hands up, banging his knuckles against the overhead compartment. “You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. My throat’s clogged with all the things I want to say, all the places I want to kiss you. But I didn’t think you’d want to hear those words.”
After a long moment where he couldn’t tell what was going on in her head, Rory gave a sharp nod. “Fine. I’ll take spunky after all.”
Was that a truce? He stepped forward, arms moving slowly out from his hips. With the same caution he’d use around a wild animal. “Should we hug?”
“Not unless you want me to call an air marshal on you.”
Not a truce, then. His arms dropped. But he wasn’t giving up. This was an opportunity. Maybe his only one. Rory had nowhere to go. He could finally apologize, beg for forgiveness. Now that she’d processed the shock of seeing him, Huck backpedaled into polite formality.
“How are you?”
“I’m great. Peachy keen. Why are you on my plane?”
Wow. Two lions in heat were less combative than Rory. “Your plane? Funny, I thought that was Alitalia painted on the side of the fuselage. If I’m on a private flight, why’d I get a bone-dry chicken breast last night instead of champagne and filet?”
Ignoring his sarcasm, she restated, “Why are you going to Italy?”
“New job. What about you?”
“Same,” she bit out.
That was a shock. Her overly protective parents had practically stroked out when she’d gone to college in a different state. Hard to imagine them not fighting tooth and nail if she switched countries. “Really? You’re moving to Italy for work? Talk about cutting the umbilical cord.”
“No. This is a temporary gig. I’m still in Chicago.”
Where you should be.
Rory didn’t say the words out loud. She didn’t need to. He saw them in the rigid posture of her slight frame. The uplift to her pointed chin. The weight of all their years together pressed down so hard it was amazing the plane didn’t dip in the sky.
Back to the safety of formalities. “Nice town. I was in New York for a while, but now I’m back in San Francisco.”
“I know.” From the fast triple blink she gave, Rory hadn’t meant to let slip that she still had any awareness of Huck.
Interesting.
About the Author—
No comments:
Post a Comment