Chapter 3
By the time Aubrey slid back into Gallant’s Tesla, she was trembling.
He took one look at her and frowned. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She hunkered into the seat, hoping it would do her the favor of swallowing her up. “Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just . . .
ran into Nick in there.”
Gallant’s lips compressed. He started to reach out, then dropped his hand onto the gearshift without making contact. “You
look like you saw a ghost.”
She scrubbed her palms against her tailored pants, which did nothing to relieve the clamminess there. “Yeah, well. I hadn’t
seen him since we were kids. I honestly didn’t think he lived here anymore.”
Gallant nodded.
Her fingers curled, seemingly by themselves. God, how could this possibly feel so real, still? So fresh? She and Nick had broken up nearly twenty years ago. Maybe she’d thought about him on occasion—okay, many occasions—but she was over it. She’d been over it. “Sorry. I think I just need a second.”
Gallant’s neon-blue gaze held hers, steady and unblinking. In the silence, she forced her hands to relax and her serrated
breathing to even.
Whatever he saw in her face must have reassured him, because he eased into a smile. “Take all the time you need. I’m just
going to load up your things, okay? Then we’ll go.”
She blinked, then glanced out the window to her still-packed cart, which stood ten feet away. In her haste, she’d simply left
it. She’d been that desperate to put a layer of steel between herself and Nick. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
Gallant slid out and loaded her things into the trunk. Aubrey narrowed her focus to the clatter of firewood, to Gallant’s
labored breaths.
Nick probably wouldn’t have broken a sweat.
She groaned, her head falling back against the seat. Nope. She wouldn’t think about him. It was over and done with and had
been for years.
By the time Gallant pulled out of the parking lot, Aubrey had mostly regained her composure. He drove in silence, his expression
contemplative, though there wasn’t much to concentrate on. The road was arrow-straight. There was no traffic to dodge. She
searched for a way to break the silence and came up empty-handed.
“I always wondered what you saw in him,” he finally said.
Her breath hitched. Of course she wouldn’t escape that easily. “In Nick?”
“Yeah. I mean, to be fair, I didn’t know him that well. But you were always so outgoing, and he was so quiet. Or angry. Or . . .
something. I never really figured it out.”
She studied his profile, searching for some veiled meaning. Had Gallant forgotten the way he’d instigated Nick in high school?
The two black eyes he’d earned for his trouble?
It seemed so. His expression was neutral, as if age truly had mellowed him. Meanwhile, the years had honed Nick into something beautiful and cutting, something that sliced beneath her skin and dredged up hurts long since buried.
Gallant glanced over. “I think the whole school wondered, actually. How the two of you ended up together.”
She cleared her throat. The encounter in the store had clearly stripped her of her defenses, because she didn’t even try to
deflect. “That’s easy. Because he wrote me love letters. Every day. I’d never read anything like them. Still haven’t, actually.”
“Really?” Gallant seemed taken aback. “Nick Thacker wooed a cheerleader with . . . poetry?”
In any other circumstances, she would’ve laughed. Trust cheerleading to be what he remembered about her. “Not poetry. Just
these raw, heartfelt letters that convinced me we’d be together forever.”
“Huh.”
She spun one of her bangle bracelets around her wrist. Honesty welled up, bitter on her tongue. “The truth is, I always thought
I’d find another guy who’d write me letters like that, someday. But it never happened. I just ended up dating coworkers. Friends
of coworkers. Math people. None of them had the kind of . . . depth Nick did.” Mist slicked her eyes, and she angled her face
away. Gallant would probably think she was about to cry.
She wasn’t. It had just been a long day, and she was tired, and her ankle throbbed, and she’d lost the job she’d loved so
dearly and . . . All she wanted was to curl up with some hot tea and an even hotter fire and figure out how to fix it.
Gallant seemed to sense her mental retreat, because he didn’t press.
Two minutes later, he pulled into her cul-de-sac, then her driveway.
Her old house loomed, dark and imposing, but the Victorian didn’t look nearly as run-down as she’d expected.
Scarlet leaves littered the yard, but there were no cobwebs, no climbing vines, no peeling paint or broken shutters.
Gallant sucked in a long breath. “I owe you an apology.”
Aubrey swiveled. “An apology? For?”
He flashed a rueful smile. “For high school. I know I hit on you way too much. And I was a complete jerk about it. But it
wasn’t because I was trying to carve another notch on my bedpost, I swear. I just had no idea how to tell you how much I liked
you.”
Her chest hitched. That sounded . . . unlikely. “You carved notches on your bedpost with half the girls in school, Gallant.”
“Yeah. I know.” Something flickered in his too-blue eyes. “But there was only one girl I actually wanted. Turns out I should’ve
been writing to her instead of screwing around with everything that moved. I just thought . . . I don’t know. I thought it
made me a stud, or something. I thought it would make her like me.”
Aubrey’s breath grew harsh in her ears. She had no idea what to make of that. “Gallant, I—”
“It’s fine. I’m not asking for anything, except forgiveness. Unless maybe you’d consider letting me take you to dinner sometime.”
She gave him a level look.
“Okay, I guess I am asking for something.” He grinned, again with those bright white teeth. “But I don’t have any expectations.”
She hesitated, but the earnestness of his smile softened something inside her. He had changed, it seemed, and she of all people could appreciate the value of second chances, considering all she wanted was one
for herself.
Not to mention she’d probably need weeks to work her way back into her ex-boss’s good graces.
A distraction might help. Dating Gallant probably wouldn’t lead to anything, but if it did, it wasn’t like he would ask her to stay.
He was headed to New York, same as her. “I guess we could give it a shot.”
“No pressure,” he said. “We’d just be two old friends, catching up and seeing what happens.”
She weighed that. “Okay.”
His smile widened. “Saturday, then? There’s this great little seafood place that opened up last year. I could pick you up
at seven?”
“Sure.”
He punched her number into his phone. By the time he’d helped her bring her groceries to the kitchen, Aubrey’s ankle felt
ready to give out. She smiled gamely and waved to him from the front stoop.
When the Tesla’s taillights faded, she limped back inside and went the frosty living room. Hulking white shapes populated
the space—her mother had left sheets draped over everything, apparently.
Aubrey whisked the makeshift slipcover from the couch, grateful for a dust-free surface to lie down on. The thing was a long,
low chesterfield, its blue velvet worn to a well-loved shine. It offered all the comfort she remembered, and she huddled into
the cushions, hunting for warmth.
God, she was tired. Cold, too, but building a fire would require more energy than she had. Maybe she’d just lie here, gather
her strength . . .
Within seconds, fatigue won out, and Aubrey closed her eyes.
When the dreams came, they dragged her down into memory.