He crossed to the corner of the kitchen and chose one of the two spindly honey wood chairs at the matching circular table. “That I can do.”
“Good. And you can also tell me the real reason you decided to quit your job and come home.”
Ean tensed. He hadn’t expected that question, at least not this soon. He didn’t know if he could answer. He opened his mouth to try, when they were interrupted.
“Who are you talking to?” The feminine voice was filled with laughter. It floated into the room just moments before its speaker.
Ean gingerly rose fr
om the decorative chair and turned toward the threshold.
The woman was tall, perhaps five inches shorter than his own six-foot-three. Her warm honey skin glowed under the harsh lights of the industrial kitchen. Thick dark hair fell in waves to her shoulders. She had a runner’s build, with long, slender limbs draped in a brown pantsuit. The suit’s style was nice, though the color was less than flattering. A wide matching brown belt cinched her tight waist.
She carried herself with a grace and confidence that fascinated Ean. And when she turned her startled chocolate gaze toward him, everything in the room receded, except her and the drowning sensation crashing over him.
Without a word or a movement, she’d pinned him in place. His heart slammed against his chest, again and again and again. Her eyes seemed to target the farthest corners of his heart and soul, searching for his secrets. He had an irresistible urge to share them with her.
Who was this woman?
“Meggie?” The question croaked from his dry throat.
She gave him a long, slow blink. “Megan.”
He studied her features, looking for the skittish girl in this confident woman. “You’ve grown up.”
“So have you.” Her voice was somber, different but familiar.
She’d always been so serious. More often than not, her face had been buried in a book recently purchased from her grandparents’ shop. Now Ean couldn’t take his eyes from the delicate features once hidden behind those pages.
How long had it been since he’d last seen her? “The last time I saw you, you were about fourteen. I was leaving for college.”
“Actually, I’d attended your father’s funeral in February. But it’s understandable that you wouldn’t remember.”
Stunned, Ean glanced at his mother. Doreen’s nearly imperceptible nod made him feel worse. “Thank you for attending.”
Megan forced herself not to fidget. Making polite conversation with a childhood crush should rank as one of the top ten worst things an adult would ever have to do. Ean’s olive green eyes locked with hers. The awkward fourteen-year-old who still lived inside her wanted to run and hide. The slightly-less-awkward twenty-eight-year-old she’d become stiffened her knees and held his gaze.
She took a calming breath. “I was sorry when your father died. He was one of my favorite people.”
Ean’s eyes never wavered from hers. “I hadn’t realized you’d known him that well.”
“He’d been my grandparents’ financial advisor and then mine. But he was also a good neighbor. He looked out for me after my grandparents died. I miss him.”
“Thank you. So do I.” Ean looked away.
Had she said something wrong?
Megan turned to Doreen, who was blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Doreen wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “No, dear. Don’t mind us. You said exactly the right thing.”
“Mom’s right.” Ean’s voice was kind. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The approval in his gaze went a long way toward relieving Megan’s concerns.
He’d certainly grown up in the almost fourteen years since he’d left town. He now carried in spades the appeal he’d had as a young man, an appeal that had tempted and tortured the young Megan. Her eyes traced the chiseled features beneath his copper skin, the wide forehead and square jaw that warned strangers of his stubborn personality. Yet his full lips always seemed on the verge of a wicked smile.
His body also had matured from the lanky student-athlete who had quarterbacked the high school football team to a man who wasn’t a stranger to a weight room.