Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

My eyes squeezed closed at the sound of his voice, the deep, beautiful rumble of it in my ear. Just that one word made my cheeks flush and my heart pound.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Michael?”

He hesitated a second. “Dahlia?”

I stared up the street toward the ocean feeling stupid for calling him. Of course, he hadn’t taken a job in Hartwell. Now he would think I was nuts!

“Did you call for a reason?” His question was broken by the wind whistling through our connection, but I caught the gist.

“What are you doing right now?” I blurted out.

He gave a huff of laughter like he couldn’t believe I’d called him to randomly ask him what he was do

ing. And I didn’t blame him for his disbelief. “I’m about to start work.”

“I thought you were on night shift.” That suspicion crept in again. “Where are you about to start work?”

He was quiet, and then I heard, clear as day, not through the phone, but from behind me, “Hartwell.”

The breath expelled from my body, and for a moment I froze, afraid to turn around. I could feel him all around me. And like the magnets we were, I was forced to move, to turn, to face him.

He was as beautiful as I remembered.

The only difference was his unshaven face, his hair was slightly longer, and he wore a warmer coat than the one he’d worn in Boston. He kept it open, however, with a black scarf wrapped around his neck. I could see the police badge clipped to the belt threaded through his dark jeans.

Oh my God.

I took an involuntary step toward him. “Michael?”

His eyes were shadowed with a million emotions. “Sorry I took so long. Uprooting your life takes longer than you’d think.”

I shook my head, completely discombobulated. “What are you talking about?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You left me again. But this time I’m not letting you go.”

Fear, outrage, confusion, panic.

It all bristled through me as I stormed down Main Street toward the boardwalk. Michael’s arm brushed mine as he fell into step beside me. It was frustrating that my quick steps were matched by his longer, slower ones.

“Dahlia, talk to me.” His voice was as calm as his strides.

“I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll scream.”

“Then scream.”

I didn’t. I sped up.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” He grabbed my arm, halting me by the bandstand at the top of the street. Dawn had well and truly broken, and people were making their way to work. We were not alone, and I did not want to cause a scene. “Talk to me.”

Realizing if this man was determined enough to uproot his whole goddamn life (oh my God, I couldn’t even think about it!), then he was stubborn enough to keep at me until I talked. “Not here.” I yanked my hand out of his grasp. “And no touchy, no feely!”

A smirk curled the corners of his mouth, and I narrowed my eyes. Please tell me he did not find this amusing! If he found anything remotely funny about this, I would kill him.

With a growl of annoyance, I spun away and marched toward the boardwalk path that would lead to my gift store. Michael fell easily into step beside me again.

I hated how alive I felt. The truth was I must have been sleepwalking through life all this time because whenever Michael appeared, I was suddenly wide awake. My skin tingled, my heart raced, and no matter how I felt toward him in the moment, there was always this hum of anticipation in the air.