She regarded him with regret. “Trust is such a fragile thing, especially for me these days. It’s ironic really because I used to see the good in everyone. I trusted everyone.” She sighed heavily. “Not anymore.”
There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. “I’m sorry, Aidan. I like you. Maybe it’s even more than that, though I’ve fought incredibly hard to make sure nothing happens between us. I don’t want to fall in love ever again, but you’ve still managed to slip past my defenses. I can’t deny that, but I just don’t see it turning out well.”
She stood up, her hands visibly shaking. He knew if he reached for them, they’d be ice-cold.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice little more than a whisper. Her shoulders squared, her back stiff with pride, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him shaken.
Aidan stared after her, debating whether he should follow. He needed a minute, though, to think first. He needed to come up with an argument to counter her very real fears, but how could he do that when even now he so clearly didn’t know the whole story?
His imagination ran wild, trying to piece together what might have happened to her. It obviously went way beyond losing her husband in a tragic accident. Being grief-stricken was one thing. What he sensed pouring out of her, weighing her down with such pain, was so much worse. Whatever had happened seemed not only to have stolen her ability to trust another man, but had shattered her faith in her own judgment.
As he thought about what might have happened and how best to handle it, he busied himself cleaning up the dishes, washing them and putting them back into their lonely spots in the cupboards. He was still trying to make sense of what she’d said when he heard her coming back. He stilled as he waited, not knowing what to expect.
“I thought you’d leave,” she said.
He couldn’t tell with certainty if that note he heard in her voice was regret that he’d stayed or relief. He turned to face her and discovered that, while she’d dried her tears and seemed more composed, the old distance was back in her eyes. That barely banked distrust with which she’d viewed him almost from the day they’d met had returned, not because of anything he’d actually done, but because she’d lumped him in with her husband and apparently all males. Her wounds clearly ran a lot deeper than he’d ever imagined.
“I apologize again for the outburst,” she said stiffly. “Maybe it would be for the best if we just forgot all about this, Aidan.”
“For tonight?”
“For good,” she said flatly. “I’m obviously not ready for a relationship. I thought maybe, if I opened up...” She shook her head. “It’s not going to happen. I may never be ready.”
He drew in a deep breath and came to a decision. He stepped closer and risked a light caress of her cheek, just a tiny reminder of the undeniable sparks that shouldn’t be dismissed so easily. He felt her skin heat, proving his unspoken point.
“Then you need to explain to me why,” he said softly. “Please, Liz. You can take your time, but I need to know. This is too important.”
Then he did the only thing he could think of to do. He sat back down, kept his gaze on hers steady and unrelenting, and waited.
* * *
Liz studied Aidan with dismay. It was evident he wasn’t going anywhere. That stillness and patience should have been annoying, but a part of her admired it. On some level she saw it as proof that his emotions were honest, his feelings for her real, if barely tested.
She didn’t want to talk about the past. No matter what promises she’d made to Aidan earlier, she didn’t want to revisit that time in her life. And yet, with Aidan regarding her with such compassion, how could she remain silent?
To buy time, she poured herself another glass of sweet tea, then finally, knowing she couldn’t put him off forever, she sat across from him at the scarred kitchen table that reminded her of her life, a little battered and bruised, but—at least she hoped so—strong enough to survive.
When she still didn’t speak, she sensed Aidan’s growing impatience. He was studying her with that same confused expression she’d seen too often when family members hadn’t understood the way she’d handled herself after Josh’s death. They’d been even more shocked than Aidan when she’d removed every trace of the years she’d spent with her husband.
“Liz, talk to me,” Aidan said at last, breaking the silence. “Your husband died in an accident. Let’s start with that. It’s a terrible loss for anyone to face, but plenty of people do fall in love again after a tragedy.”
She took a deep breath and forced herself to respond. “It wasn’t that simple and straightforward,” she told him, regretting more than she could say that it hadn’t been. There were whole books on coping with grief. Surely one of them would have struck a chord and given her the skills to move on. Instead, that night’s tragedy was all tangled up with a whole slew of complex emotions. Outrage, anger and disillusionment were just a few.
Aidan turned his chair to face her and took her hands in his. “Then tell me how it was,” he pleaded. “I really want to understand. Maybe it will even help you if you get it out in the open.”
His gentleness touched her in a way nothing else
