“I don’t think we’ve settled anything,” he replied, taking two steps toward her. “There are still some issues we should discuss.”
She eyed him warily. “I don’t see any need to rehash a couple of mistakes. It’s not as if it’s going to happen again.”
“Won’t it?” Another step brought Shane to within a foot of her. “Are you so sure about that?”
She pushed her hands in her pockets and lifted her chin in a show of bravado. “I’m sure. Neither of us wants to risk—”
“Don’t speak for me, Kelly.”
She blinked in surprise at his uncharacteristically curt tone. “I’m not....”
“I want to kiss you again. Right now, as a matter of fact.”
She looked quickly toward the kitchen doorway, relieved that Molly was still on the phone in the other room. “Shane, please.”
“Please what? Please pretend that nothing happened? Please lie about the way I feel? I’m afraid I can’t do that anymore,”
“We can’t talk about this now,” she whispered, worried that Molly would overhear.
“No,” he agreed. “Not now. But soon.”
“I...”
“Hey, guys, guess what?” Molly skipped through the door in cheerful obliviousness to the tension between the adults. “Kristin told Amy and Lacy that she thought they were real jerks to me, and if they ever say anything like that again, she’s going to tell everyone at school that they’re jealous losers. Kristin thinks they’re going to apologize to me tomorrow.”
“And you will accept their apologies very graciously,” Kelly instructed. “That makes you look even more superior to them.”
Molly smiled. “Then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Turning away from Kelly, Shane once again demonstrated his ability to completely mask his emotions. “If those girls start in on you again, tell me and I’ll pound them for you,” he offered, his tone only half-teasing.
Molly giggled. “No, you wouldn’t. But thanks for offering.”
Kelly took advantage of the opportunity to escape while Molly was there to distract Shane. Molly tried to talk her into staying a little longer, but Kelly was able to convince her that she really had to go. “Just remember everything I told you earlier, okay?”
Molly smiled and gave her a hug. “I’ll remember. Bye, Kelly. Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” She paused. “Goodbye, Shane.”
“Drive carefully.”
“Yes, I will.” She left quickly, escaping to her car. She turned the radio up to a high volume during the drive home in a futile attempt to drown out her painful thoughts.
One question was uppermost in her mind during that drive—and the near sleepless night that followed. Why had Shane ruined everything?
When someone rang Kelly’s doorbell later that week, she briefly considered not answering. She had her last semester final the next day, and she had been studying for hours—both because she wanted to do well on the test and because she wanted to distract herself from thoughts of Shane. She was afraid she would find him on the other side of her door, and she didn’t know if she was up to another disturbing confrontation.
The doorbell rang again and she sighed. Giving in to the inevitable, she forced herself to move to the door and check the peephole.
It wasn’t Shane on her doorstep. She blinked in surprise as she realized that it was one of his uncles instead. She opened the door slowly, trying to put a name to him. After more than a year of socializing with them at Walker family gatherings, Kelly still had a hard time telling the twins apart. They were identical, both lean and handsome in their early forties, with golden-brown hair and light blue eyes that could change instantly from warm to frosty. One of them—Ryan, she believed—had a faint, faded scar at his right temple from an old accident. Seeing no scar now, she hazarded, “Joe?”
He nodded, smiling faintly. His manner, too, helped her identify him. Joe Walker was the more serious-natured twin, Ryan the more ebullient. Kelly probably hadn’t exchanged more than two dozen words with Joe since she’d met him. All she really knew about him was that he, like his twin, worked for Tony D’Alessandro’s private investigation agency, and that he adored his accountant wife, Lauren, and their ten-year-old son, Casey.
She couldn’t imagine why Joe Walker was calling on her at six o’clock on a Thursday evening, but she smiled and opened the door wider “Please, come in.”
He was carrying a leather portfolio, she noted as he passed her into the living room. It made the visit seem more official somehow. “Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Coffee?”
He declined politely. “I need to talk to you about something.”