“I…I’ll wait…if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
I dig my hand into the corner of the couch, the soft fabric giving under my fingers. There must be something seriously wrong with this guy if she’s cutting him loose like this. Maybe he’s a nudist. Diedre dated a nudist for a while. She liked it at first, but then she said it got old real fast. She said it was like birthday presents without the wrapping paper. No fun.
“Can I have the keys to the jag?” The woman holds out her hand.
Well, she’s got balls, I’ll give her that.
“Why?”
“I just booked a flight in Charleston for this afternoon. I hired a car service for the trip down, but there isn’t enough time to call them back. I’ll drop the keys for you.”
“I can drive you.”
Embarrassment crawls up my neck. This guy doesn’t know when to quit.
“I booked the flight to get away from you.”
Gavin tugs the car keys from his pocket and drops them in her hand. His shoulders slump.
“Thanks. By the way, you should get cleaners in here. It smells like a garbage heap.”
I cringe and then bury my nose in my overalls and take a breath. That’s…yeah, that’s me she’s smelling.
The woman spins on her heels, and then seconds later, she’s revving the car’s engine and kicking up stones as she speeds down the drive, the backend of the car fishtailing on the gravel.
Gavin lifts his face to the ceiling, closes his eyes and lets out a long, defeated breath. I’ll give him this, he still manages to look like the sexiest man alive even when he’s miserable. He’s in an expensive-looking leather jacket, real nice jeans, leather boots, his sandy-brown hair is styled like he’s getting ready for his own photo shoot. Diedre would eat this up.
Gavin grasps the engagement ring in his hand and sighs. He looks sad, lonely, and…preoccupied. Now’s my chance to crawl past and out the door.
I’ll email about payment later.
After he gets over his broken heart.
Like, in a day or two.
I press my hands into the wood, rubbing my fingers over a knot, and slip out from behind the couch. The floor lets out a high whining squeak. I pause, one hand in the air, stretched out like a cat. I twist toward Gavin.
He’s not forlorn and preoccupied any longer.
Nope.
He’s staring at me.
His blue eyes are as wide and thunderous as the mountain sky before a storm.
“Who the devil are you?”
When Gavin was sad and pleading, like Elijah when he begs to go out and play baseball instead of doing his homework, I sorta felt sorry for him. But now, he’s looking at me like I’m a diseased rat that somehow, incomprehensibly ended up in his pristine world, and all my feeling sorry evaporates.
I stiffen, because honestly, I do have some pride.
“You have two seconds to answer me, or I’m calling the police.”
Not for nothing, but “the police” is Daryl Jones, my second cousin. That’s not going to help Gavin. All it’ll do is embarrass me. Daryl will get a good laugh out of this.
Gavin pulls a phone out of his pocket and holds it up threateningly.