The air in the room was electric. I could practically see the sparks flying between us. But they weren’t the romantic, will-they-won’t-they sparks. These were the kind that burned things to the ground. The kind that destroyed everything in their wake.
Through my window, the late afternoon sun bathed his face in golden glow and shadows.
“How’s your mother?” he asked before turning back to the next piece of me that caught his eye.
“She’s fine.”
His expression shifted to irritated patience.
“She’s okay,” I amended. “I helped her go through some of Dad’s things yesterday after dress shopping and it was…” What? Excruciating? Heartbreaking? Even though we each set aside favorite pieces, boxing up his clothes added another layer of pain to our goodbye. “Difficult,” I decided.
“I was thinking the other day about Simon’s gardening T-shirt,” Lucian said. “From the one and only 5K he ever completed.”
I was relieved he was looking away from me because I had to bring my fingers to my mouth to keep the unexpected sob inside.
“Knockemout Runs for Breast Cancer,” I said when I’d regained my composure.
It was a hot-pink, double extra-large freebie T-shirt with cartoon breasts emblazoned across the chest. My father’s medium frame swam in it. But he’d been so proud of his accomplishment and the money he’d raised that he turned it into his gardening shirt, knotting it on his hip like he was a teenage girl. I’d spent years in agonized humiliation because of that shirt. It was the only item of his clothing I’d kept.
“The first time I saw him in it, he was attacking that bush in your backyard—the one with the red berries—with electric hedge trimmers and telling your mother that he was Simon Scissorhands.”
My laugh, watery though it was, surprised us both.
His lips curved, and for a moment, it felt like there was no desk between us, no ugly history. He used to make me laugh, and I used to make him smile.
“I don’t know how to react when you’re nice to me,” I announced.
“If you didn’t make it so difficult, I’d be civil more often,” he said dryly.
“It’s probably better this way. You might sprain something pretending to be human.”
The ghost of a smile remained on his mouth.
“About yesterday,” I prompted.
What about yesterday? What the hell was I thinking bringing it up? Again.
“What about it?” There was a dare in his question.
“I met Holly,” I blurted out, going for the first topic that didn’t involve us touching each other. “She seemed very grateful for the job. Lina told us how you hired her. Maybe you’re not a complete asshole.”
“No one gives a compliment like you, Pixie.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut up. I’m trying to be nice.”
“The only nice thing you can say about me is that I hired someone to do a job?”
“Maybe I’d have more to say if you’d tell me why my mother is so grateful to you,” I reminded him.
“Leave it alone, Sloane,” he said wearily.
The awkward truce between us was cracking, crumbling. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed.
Lucian turned his attention to the contents of the bookcase.
His gaze landed on the display case containing a bronzed softball. Those lips went flat again.
“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the acrylic case.
“It’s the ball from my last game. Maeve had it bronzed as a joke.” It had been my first real, fall-on-the-floor, couldn’t-catch-my-breath laugh after my injury. After finding out that my plans for a softball scholarship were officially over.
I didn’t know if the twinge in my wrist was real or just the echo of a memory. And I didn’t realize I was massaging it until Lucian looked down.
His eyes went storm cloud gray. He opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap.
“What?” I asked, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of my tone.
“I don’t have time for this. For you.”
“Like I said, no one asked you to play delivery boy.”
“And I didn’t ask you to get involved and end your softball career,” he said.
“Clearly, we’re even then,” I joked.
“As always, you’re infuriating, irresponsible, and immature.” His tone was flippant, as if I were barely worth the effort to insult.
“And you’re a mercurial pain in my ass,” I pointed out, feeling the sting.