She tuned in to her surroundings gradually, becoming conscious of a pleasant weight on her arms, the smell of Shane teasing her senses. Crickitt opened her eyes. Her upper half was covered by Shane’s suit jacket. Shrugging into a stretch, she pressed it against her nose and breathed in the smell of him.
Shane leaned back on the seat, arms crossed, his long body taking up the entire seat. His eyes were closed, but even in sleep a neat furrow dented the space between his brows. He wasn’t menacing with his tie loose and three buttons open on his shirt, and she fought the very powerful urge to slip onto the seat and curl into him.
Crickitt eased up as quietly as she could, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Maybe she should have pressed him to talk to her instead of assuming his mood was caused by Townsend.
Maybe something had happened in Georgia. Maybe the deal fell through. Or maybe something happened last night when he’d returned to his office. Being greeted with a week’s worth of messages and work would have been overwhelming enough without adding the bad Townsend news.
She finished her water bottle and dropped the empty container into the cup holder. At least she was feeling better. Whatever damage had been wrought by the fish dinner and her ex-husband, at least the former had worked its way through her system.
On some deep level she’d conveniently ignored, Crickitt knew she’d regret meeting with Ronald. He had a knack for needling her weak spot, and yesterday was no exception. Despondent, his voice wobbly, Ronald promised to be on his best behavior. His voice tight with emotion, he begged, I need you. I miss you.
While her gut cautioned her, her heart was far more magnanimous. “As friends, Crickitt,” he’d pleaded. “Remember how we used to be friends?”
They were friends. For almost all of the nine years they were married, and the two years they dated before that. In the end, she couldn’t justify refusing to see him. He was hurting. And if she were being honest she’d admit he wasn’t the only one to blame for their ending marriage. She hadn’t been a perfect spouse, either.
Dinner started innocently enough. Ronald gave her a polite peck on the cheek, and she’d struggled not to recoil. What used to be their favorite cabernet only tasted bitter as Crickitt found herself comparing it to the complex red wine Shane had introduced her to. She’d made painstaking strides to keep the conversation neutral, but Ronald grew suddenly serious.
“I love you,” he’d blurted.
She’d nearly choked on her baked cod.
Resting her glass on the table, she patted the napkin to her lips, considering her response carefully. “No, you don’t. According to you,” she reminded him, “you haven’t loved me for the last two years of our marriage.”
“That’s not true.” He held up a finger as if it gave his argument more credence. “And you know it.”
Casting a glance at the other diners, she’d leaned in and lowered her voice. “The last time we spoke, you said—”
“You found someone else.”
She snapped back in her chair as if slapped. “What?”
He tossed down his napkin. “You’ve given up already. I can see it in your face.”
She’d closed her eyes then, trying to make sense of how he could perceive that she’d given up when he’d been the one to turn his back on their marriage, and on her, in the first place.
Finishing off his wine, he stood from the table, raising his voice and attracting attention. “You know what? I take it back. You make it impossible for me to love you.”
Impossible to love. After he’d professed he loved her.
“Hey.”
She blinked and Shane’s face came into focus. She must have zoned out staring at him. At least he wasn’t scowling anymore. “Hi.”
He straightened against the limo seat and stretched. She admired the muscled length of his body, unable to dredge up even the pithy irritation from earlier.
Folding Shane’s jacket neatly, Crickitt leaned forward to hand it to him. “Thanks for the blanket.”
“You looked cold,” he said, accepting it. He took a breath before speaking again. “Earlier today, I didn’t mean to be…” He shook his head as if unable to settle on a word.
She had a few. Rude, brash, short. Or was that just her taking out her anger toward Ronald on Shane?
“You’re under a lot of pressure,” she murmured.
He gave her a small smile. “You do give me the benefit of the doubt, don’t you?”
One of her worst qualities, she thought, recalling last night’s disastrous dinner.