Mystic Park (Finding Home 4)

“Maybe we could have lunch sometime. Together.” Her brown eyes wavered. “The two of us.”

She wasn’t asking him as a friend. Her deepening blush and white-knuckled grip told him that. Vaughn shifted on his chair. No one had ever asked him out before. He searched for gentle words to explain he wasn’t interested in a relationship—then his mind screeched to a halt.

Why not?

He didn’t have to consider Benita. They’d broken up and he didn’t harbor any hope of a reconciliation. The realization once again struck him like a blade through his chest. He’d loved her so hard for so long. When would this heartache end? Possibly never.

Vaughn breathed through the pain. “I’d like that.”

Clouds cleared from Olivia’s heart-shaped face. She gave him a smile brilliant with relief, excitement, and joy. It was humbling.

“Are you free Thursday?” Olivia rose. “I don’t have any afternoon classes.”

Vaughn stood as well. “Thursday works for me.” Why do I feel like a cheater?

“Maybe we can go someplace off campus. My treat.”

“You don’t have to pay.”

“I’ll pay because I asked you. You can pay next time, if you ask me.” With that, she turned and disappeared through his door.

Benita called him old fashioned. Some habits—standing when a woman entered a room, holding the door, and paying for your date—died hard.

Vaughn lowered himself onto his chair and stared at his computer. But he was too distracted to concentrate. The e-mail on his monitor was a blur. Superimposed on the unfocused words were Benita’s wide hazel gaze and full, parted lips. Dammit! Vaughn scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wasn’t cheating on her. They’d broken up. He was free to see other people now.

And so is she.

Dammit!

Benita caught a movement in her peripheral vision Wednesday morning. Ms. Helen was on the move. The modest heels of her cream pumps were silent as they carried her across her living room’s thick emerald carpet. Her great-aunt’s butter yellow skirt suit skimmed her thin figure. Its hem ended just past her knees. Her matching hat served as a decoration rather than a purpose.

Benita tuned back to her cellular phone and her client’s latest complaints against her recording company. “Electra, let me get started on the items you’ve already given me. Once the label has shown good faith in resolving those, we’ll give them the rest.”

But Electra Day, her chart-topping, pop-singing-sensation client, continued to list her label’s latest sins and transgressions. Benita listened, growing increasingly impatient. Her bronze Movado wristwatch showed it wasn’t quite nine o’clock in the morning in Trinity Falls. Benita clenched her teeth. From Los Angeles, Electra had called to enumerate her grievances well before six A.M. But Electra wasn’t an early riser. This meant the singer hadn’t been to bed yet. She was tired and not making much sense. Later, she might not even remember this call.

Benita only half listened to her client. She was more interested in the belongings her great-aunt was sorting. Ms. Helen dropped some items into her purse. Others, she packed into a tote bag.

What is she up to?

Benita marked the time again. Enough was enough. Electra had two minutes to wrap up her diatribe before Benita cut off the sleepy young woman. She wanted to serve her client’s interests, but she was anxious to learn where her great-aunt was going.

Time’s up.

“Electra, I’ve got to go. Get some sleep. I’ll e-mail you once I’ve heard back from Silas. Bye.” Benita closed her cell phone and turned to her great-aunt. “You look beautiful. Where are you going?”

“To Guiding Light.” Ms. Helen hoisted her tote bag and purse onto her shoulder.

“I’ll drive you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. You smell like you just ran five miles.” Ms. Helen gave her a pained look, taking in her running shoes, pants, and shirt.

Benita wasn’t offended. She had just run five miles, from her great-aunt’s house, through nearby Freedom Park, and back. She was growing chilled as her body cooled in her sopping wet clothes.

“It’ll take me fifteen minutes to shower and dress.”

“Are you going to the center?” Ms. Helen frowned in confusion.

“No, but it wouldn’t be any trouble for me to drive you there.”