Love by Association

“That’s already been left to Leslie to figure out.”

“She’s going to help us,” Julie said with an energy about her that seemed different. Or maybe just wishful thinking on Chantel’s part. Maybe guilt at using the other woman, lying to her about who she was and what she was doing there, was driving her to see things that weren’t there.

“She’ll have no problem keeping our secret. She’s had a lot of practice.”

She’d left Chantel another perfect opening, one she had to take. “Who do you think is hurting her?”

“Same person her son’s school thought was hurting her. Not that anyone did anything about it but sweep it under the proverbial rug. It’s her husband, Chantel. It has to be.”

She had confirmation of her truth.

But she wasn’t nearly as happy about that as she’d thought she’d be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

COLIN DIDN’T TRUST HAPPINESS.

Chantel Johnson had swept in and nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t recognize himself. He’d go out to eat. Order his usual. And think that it tasted better than he remembered. He heard himself laughing and thought it sounded strange. Julie hadn’t locked herself in her room since he’d been home from Japan—almost a whole week now. He noticed the way the roses smelled when Julie had them in a vase on the table in the dining room.

Sex was...like he was still a teenager. Only a hell of a lot better at it.

And at work—he’d found himself seeing sincerity in people. Taking them at face value.

And he knew better than that.

What was worse, when he was at work, any time he was apart from Chantel, he longed for her with the stuff poems were made of.

And none of it made him happy. With every day that passed, he grew more and more uncomfortable.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was falling in love.

In his worst moments, he knew he was.

And yet...he still didn’t trust her. Not completely.

He believed in her, though. Believed she meant well and knew she had Julie’s best interests at heart as she talked her sister into attending the library gala in spite of the fact that David Smyth Jr. was going to be there. He was forever indebted to her.

“You ever think about having kids?” he asked her one Monday, five days before their murder mystery debut. He’d read the script and hadn’t been thrilled about the flirtiness of her character, but he’d agreed that it, coupled with his greedy obsession with the valuables locked in the safe, added greater depth to the plot—and would, therefore, make for a much more successful evening.

“Every once in a while,” she said, answering his question about kids as she gazed out at the ocean.

They were on his boat—a small, fifty-foot yacht—anchored far enough offshore to be in a world of their own but close enough to be back to shore for an early night. She’d brought a bag and was staying at his place until morning. She stood at the rail on the back deck, watching the sun set.

She’d worn a jacket, as he’d advised, but only had it buttoned up halfway. Her blond hair lifted off her shoulders now and then as a small breeze picked up. Colin was pressed up against her back, holding her.

Didn’t matter what the woman was doing. How she looked. Where they were. He wanted her.

Lately he’d been thinking about wanting kids with her, too.

“How about you?” She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “You’re so good with Julie, so patient. You’d make a great dad.”

He didn’t think so. “I haven’t given it all that much thought,” he said out loud.

“Well, you must have thought of it some, since you brought it up.”

They weren’t drinking. While the boat was fully engine equipped, it was also valuable and always prey to the whims of the ocean. He didn’t consume alcohol when he was captaining it.

“I guess I have thought about it,” he said now. Dusk had fallen. “Just never in terms of doing something about it.”

As though he was thinking about it now? They were spending pretty much every night together—though sometimes not meeting up until late—but that was because their time was limited. She’d be leaving. Why was he talking about kids as though they had some kind of future together?

Because he wanted one?

He’d told himself, in the beginning, that he’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Surely he wasn’t thinking they’d come to it.

His thoughts skittered through the night. Bouncing off the truths he wasn’t ready to see?

“I don’t think I’d be good at parenting,” he told her. Just so she’d know he wasn’t moving in that direction on purpose.