He hadn’t even noticed. He set down the coffee. Grabbed his phone and stuck it in his pocket again. “I’ve never called the numbers that women leave for me to find.”
Her eyebrows rose. “So it’s a usual occurrence, then?”
The vise was still around his throat, only now he could feel his skin burning, too. “Not usual.” That wasn’t strictly true, either. Back in Buffalo at the bar he’d tended three nights a week in addition to his daytime gig working as a city employee, there’d been a running bet among his coworkers over how many women—or men—would leave a hopeful phone number for Adam to find each week.
“If you know I have a fiancé, why isn’t he here instead of you?”
Because Adam was a selfish man.
She’d responded to his picture. If Adam had suggested switching places with Eric, he figured the other man would have agreed. Adam could be with Linus. Eric could be with Laurel.
She leaned across the table and closed her fingers around his forearm. “And how do you even know I have a fiancé?” Her grip tightened. “Is he the one I’m running from?”
Adam froze. The only point of heat that existed in that moment came from the indent of her fingertips digging into his forearm. “Running?” Was that what this had all been about? She was afraid of Eric? Maybe so afraid that she’d been on her way out of the country for Canada when her accident occurred? “Are you afraid?”
She moistened her lips. Her eyes were wide and suddenly shined with tears. “I don’t—I don’t know. I have dreams—nightmares, really—and these, um—” she swallowed visibly “—p-panic attacks.”
Her fingers twisted in his and he realized he’d closed his hand around hers.
She swallowed visibly. “Why would I have panic attacks? Did I before?”
Cold sweat was collecting between his shoulder blades. His life felt twisted up with Eric’s because of Laurel and the baby. But what did he really know about the other guy? They’d spent only a handful of hours in each other’s company.
Just long enough for both of their worlds to crash and burn.
“Panic attacks?” He shook his head. “Not that I knew about.” If she did have cause to fear Eric, Adam would tear him apart with his bare hands.
The man would cease to exist.
He knew that deep down in his bones. Whatever price he had to pay would be worth it.
And Linus? What about Linus?
Swearing inwardly, he pushed off the bench. No matter what happened with Laurel, he was a father. He couldn’t afford to pay any sort of price.
He raked his shaking fingers through his hair, trying to rein in his racing mind.
Despite the volatile relationship she’d had with her parents—her mother most particularly—the only thing Laurel had ever tried to keep from them was him. It wouldn’t matter that he’d made arrangements for Laurel to have more time at Fresh Pine. Once Sylvia and Nelson learned where she was, learned what had happened to her, they’d whisk her back into the protective cocoon they’d always tried to keep around her.
He exhaled. Laurel’s expression was pinched. Her shoulders hunched. “You would have told your parents if you were afraid of Eric.” The words felt raw. He knew why he didn’t embrace their presence. But it would explain why Eric hadn’t, either. “They live in Virginia. Dr. Granger can call—”
“No!” She sprang off the bench just as abruptly as he had and knocked into her hibiscus tea, sending the cup and contents flying. “I told you. My mother’s dead. And my father—” She broke off, shaking her head so fiercely that her hair flung across her face.
“What about him?”
She threw out her arms again. “I don’t know,” she cried, sudden tears glittering in her eyes. “I don’t know! Do you know what this is like? You know more about my life than I do! And...and I’m sure I don’t even matter after all these years. You’re just here because Dr. Granger prevailed upon you and you felt sorry or someth—”
“Stop.” In two strides he’d rounded the table between them and closed his hands around her face. “Stop. Of course you matter.”
She shook her head, staring up at him with those great blue tear-filled eyes. “I’m alone,” she said hoarsely.
He closed his arms around her shaking body, pulling her against his chest. “You’re not alone,” he said against her hair. The scent was different—flowery instead of lemony—but the feel was as silky as it had always been. “I promise you’re not alone.”
Her hands came around him, too, fingertips digging through his shirt against his spine. “Tell me something about you,” she begged. “Something I should still know.”
That he’d loved her from the first moment he saw her?
That no matter what happened between them or how great the distance was or how many times she broke his heart, he was afraid he’d go to his grave still loving her?
He swiftly buried that.
“Like what?”
She lifted her head suddenly, shaking back her hair.
He was exactly six inches taller than her. She’d always fit perfectly against him. And when her head was tilted like it was now, he needed only to dip his head to capture those lips. To forget everything but the taste of her. To remind himself that every woman he’d known since her had only ever been a pale imitation.
“Like when were you born?”
He dragged his thoughts back from that bridge. “Three months before you.”
“That’s not—”
“Thirty-one years ago.”
“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“No, I’m just glad to see some fire in your eyes.”
Her face started to crumple again and he groaned. “Don’t cry. I never can stand to see you cry.”
“I’m so sorry you’re inconvenienced!”
Despite everything, he let out half a laugh. It was always that way. Just when she seemed as fragile as glass, she’d about-face. “What am I going to do with you, Laurel Hudson?”
Her hands clutched at his spine. She was breathing hard. “Take me home with you?”
His brain
