Chapter 4
T omas sat in the truck across the street from the entrance of Keeney Works. He knew she was still there; hers was the only car in the parking lot. He knew, because he’d done this before. Not often. He wasn’t a stalker; he didn’t follow her home. He just made sure she got into her car safely.
He shifted in his seat, not proud of his behavior. He’d treated her badly today, but injured pride would do that to a man.
Like he had every day for more than a year, he wondered what he’d done wrong.
He relived the kiss again because it was the brightest moment of his life. He’d known kissing her was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself. Her marriage was falling apart at the time, and she’s been strong and stoic and determined not to break.
He wanted her to know she didn’t need to maintain that cool, perfect exterior with him. That she could let go, be vulnerable. He wanted to remove the pins from her hair. He wanted to…he just wanted her.
He told himself she hadn’t called because the timing was wrong. That she had too much to deal with. He didn’t want to think that she didn’t want him.
A door slammed and he sat up. Fiona exited the building, walking rapidly to her car, a bulging tote bag over her shoulder.
Halfway to the car, the strap on the bag snapped, scattering the contents over the parking lot.
Tomas tensed, grabbing the door handle. When she dropped to her knees, hands over her face, he leaped out of the truck.
S he covered her face with her hands and gave in. Tears coursed down her cheeks, black with mascara. She didn’t care. She’d had enough. She’d had more than enough.
A shadow loomed over her, and she gasped, realizing she was a woman alone in the parking lot of an empty building. The bulky body was backlit by the sun, and she couldn’t make out any features. But she knew that scent.
“Why are you here? Are you documenting my most humiliating moments? Because you seem to be there each and every time! Here’s some more ammunition for you to use against me.
Today, my divorce became final, and I have to move back home with my parents.
I’m thirty-three.” Her voice rose shrilly, but she couldn’t stop herself.
It had been bottled up for too long. “I will sleep in my old bedroom and sit at the dining table, where my mother will recount my failures night after night.” She took a breath.
“So there you go. Broadcast that all over Keeney.” Fiona subsided and listlessly picked up her belongings.
“Take this.” Tomas thrust a handkerchief at her. When she didn’t take it, he picked up her hand and closed her fingers around it.
She stared at it. The scary ex-con carried a handkerchief. A neatly folded, clean, blue paisley handkerchief that—she sniffed it—smelled like lavender. Huh.
She mopped her face and blew her nose, not even attempting to be delicate.
While she had her moment, Tomas gathered everything together and stuffed it neatly into the tote bag. Holding it in one hand, he reached the other toward her.
Fiona stared at it. Tentatively, she took his hand, and he wrapped his fingers around her own.
The broad, calloused palm felt rough against hers, and the clean, blunt nails were in stark contrast to her perfectly polished pink manicure.
With little effort, he pulled her to her feet.
She stared at the top button of his shirt, not wanting to look into his eyes.
When he released her hand and stepped back, dismay engulfed her.
White knight moments happened in fairytales, and she didn’t need rescuing.
She needed—she had no idea what she needed.
Shoulders slumped, she watched him beep her car unlocked, open the door, and then toss her tote bag onto the passenger seat.
He handed her the keys and held the door open for her.
Fiona sidled around him, feeling the heat of his big body as she passed. He turned and strode across the parking lot.
“I should have called.”
Tomas halted, his head turned to the side.
“I…I was overwhelmed and wasn’t ready to…I wasn’t ready.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hand and finished lamely, “I’m sorry.”
He nodded and continued walking.
It was probably the sun in her eyes, but it looked like his shoulders were less stiff. She took a chance and asked, “Why are you here?” Her heart pounded. Who was this guy, and why was he present whenever she fell apart?
Turning to face her, he replied simply, “To pick you up.”
They stared at each other a moment before he nodded again and went to his truck.
Collapsing in the car seat, she watched him drive off, then banged her head softly against the steering wheel.
Sounds of the summer evening floated toward her.
A ballgame was in progress somewhere, a lawnmower droned, and close by, an insect buzzed.
Fiona opened her eyes to see a fat bumblebee hovering by the open car door as if it were checking her out.
Perhaps attracted by the scent of the crumpled-up handkerchief she still held in her hand.
It wandered off, and Fiona closed the car door.
She pulled into her driveway, turned off the car, and stared at the stark white garage door, imagining she could see Eddie’s accusatory word and her artistic response that had been painted over long ago.
Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would be like if she had not married Eddie McLeod.
They’d attended the same high school. Fiona, the mousy little brainiac everyone wanted for a science partner but no one invited to parties, and Eddie, the big man on campus, looking like the star of a teen movie, always suspected of causing trouble but never caught.
Their one and only interaction had been sharing a microscope in biology.
An interaction Eddie forgot, but Fiona remembered right down to the color of his polo shirt.
They were at the same charity luncheon four years ago, each representing their family’s business.
Fiona arrived early, found out where she was seated, then moved the place cards around to seat herself next to Eddie when she realized he was there, too.
At twenty-nine, with an MBA in her back pocket and wearing four-inch Manolos, she was ready to make an impression.
Eddie arrived smelling of vodka. He didn’t appear drunk, but he was far from sober.
He ignored the others seated at their table, slung his arm over Fiona’s chair, and made loud, smart-ass comments about the speakers during the meal.
She was mortified, far from impressed, and left as soon as she was able.
If capturing Eddie’s attention was her goal, she’d achieved it.
For the next week, he attempted to contact her.
When she refused to take his calls, he sent notes of apology.
When she ignored them, he sent flowers. When that didn’t work, he showed up at Han Family Holdings and waited in the reception area until she consented to see him.
Fiona shook her head at her naivete and climbed out of the car.
Eddie was the first man to pay any attention to her.
She fell hook, line, and sinker. And now she was adrift in the ocean.
What she hadn’t known was that he wasn’t interested in her, but her family’s business.
When marrying her didn’t earn him a seat at the table, his interest went elsewhere.
And now…Tomas. Big, rough, and slightly scary.
Rarely spoke and smiled even more rarely.
He confused her. She’d treated him like crap, yet he’d literally picked her up today.
Twice. She unlocked the door to the house, kicked off her shoes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
The kitchen she would soon be packing up and leaving.
The thought exhausted her. She dumped her tote bag on the island and mechanically emptied it, putting her lunch bag near the sink and plugging in her cellphone, all while imagining living under her mother’s roof again.
Under her mother’s rules. Her fingers closed around the soft fabric of Tomas’s handkerchief.
She pulled it out of her bag and smelled it again.
Washing it would lose the scent, but she’d used it to blow her nose.
It definitely needed washing. She might just keep it.
Or, perhaps, use it as an excuse to see him again…
. Who was she kidding? Other than crossing paths with him for work, she had no business seeing Tomas.
He was a good man. She sensed he was a man who didn’t date a woman but a man who committed to a woman.
And that woman wasn’t her. She’d done that once and wouldn’t do it again.
She shook her head, dropped the handkerchief into the kitchen garbage, and strode from the room.
Minutes later, she approached the garbage, retrieved the handkerchief, and took it to the laundry room.