“I never knew his proper name was Gerald. I didn’t know Trey was a nickname because he’s a third. And he’s gone to a great deal of trouble to avoid any face-to-face time with me since he began investing here.”
“So, what, after nearly thirty years, he just up and invites you to dinner?”
“It wasn’t about me.” Why should that sting so much? As he’d said, she’d made her choice, though it hadn’t been the one he imagined. She’d lived with it.
“Then what the hell was it about?”
“He was with Norah when she found out a tree fell on the church. He wants to help make sure the wedding still happens.”
“I heard about that,
bless her heart. Mitzi Culpepper was in here, saying it might be some kind of an omen. I set her straight.” Adele rose and opened the bottom drawer of the desk, pulling out the top shelf scotch she kept hidden there for emergencies. “Anyway, that’s nice of him and all, but that’s not what I really want to hear right now. You haven’t seen this guy in thirty years. What was that like? What’s he like?” She splashed two fingers of the scotch into a low ball and handed it over.
“Still gorgeous.” He’d grown from boyish to full manhood. The years looked good on him. But as impressed as she was by the man he’d become, it was the boy she’d seen when she looked at him. The earnest, fiercely protective friend she’d fallen in love with. The one she’d nearly changed everything for.
She couldn’t help but wonder how she looked to him. She’d put weight back on since her cancer went into remission, and her hair had grown back. She was acutely aware of every flaw, every imperfection, every year she carried that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him. “Seeing him again makes me feel both nineteen again and utterly ancient.” Like she needed more of a reminder that she was knocking on the back door of fifty.
“So, did you tell him?”
“Tell him?”
“About what really happened with Waylan. Why you didn’t meet him that night.”
“I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate. And anyway, we didn’t talk about the past at all.” Not really. “He wanted to talk about the kids.”
Adele arched a dark brow. “Are you seriously telling me you spent an hour or more having a meal with this guy and all y’all talked about was Cam and Norah’s wedding?”
Sandy shrugged, because reality defied expectation. “He was all business.” She’d been very conscious she was having dinner with the billionaire he’d become, not the man she remembered. And yet he’d made arrangements for the chef to prepare a pineapple upside down cheesecake. Just like they used to share at the Hoka back in college. What did that mean?
“So, how are you feeling about all of this?”
She lifted her hands, let them fall. “I hardly know. But seeing him again is stirring up all kinds of feelings I thought were long dead and buried. I put him out of my mind years ago. I had to, to survive things with Waylan.” And she hadn’t let herself think of Trey after the divorce, hadn’t let herself even consider the what ifs or regrets.
“And after Waylan?” Adele prodded.
“I had Cam to raise.”
“He’s raised now. Thanks to you and the rest of the clan, he grew into a fine man. So, you don’t have him as an excuse anymore.”
“An excuse?” Sandy frowned.
“For avoiding men. Don’t even deny it.”
“Why would I? You’ve been with me on that train for a very long time.”
“Yeah, well, maybe we’ve done that long enough.”
Sandy stared at her. “You can’t seriously be saying I should go after Trey Peyton.”
“Are you actually letting him help with the kids’ wedding?”
“At this point, I’m open to anybody’s help to make sure this wedding still happens.”
“Then I imagine you’re going to be working closely together to pull it off. If you’ve got unresolved feelings, he may too.”
Did he? Sandy wanted to believe there’d been something more than the echo of memory between them, that she wasn’t just someone he shared an awkward history with. But he’d been so cool and businesslike. Maybe she was foolish to think that anything he’d felt for her could’ve survived the past thirty years.
Adele nudged the glass, and Sandy automatically took a sip, wincing at the burn of it down her throat. She never had liked scotch.