“Visiting?”
He frowned. “Yeah, visiting. Tory.”
She swallowed. He watched her pale skin flush redder. “Oh, I’m not visiting. I . . . uh . . . live here now.”
He blinked at her. “Come again?”
“Yeah, I accepted a job with my father’s firm as their publicity director.”
He was going to guess that had to do with the recent lawsuit that had been splashed all over the papers. Dylan MacMillan and MacMillan Investments had been sued by a former employee who claimed they fired her when they found out she was pregnant. They won the case, but Dylan’s reputation—along with the company’s—had taken a hit in the community. Brent had thoroughly enjoyed reading letters to the editor, railing against the company. He used fake voices when he read, which even Cal had to admit was pretty funny.
When Cal just stared at her, she kept talking. “I was in New York, working for publicity at a women’s magazine but . . . I don’t mind being back.” She laughed nervously. “I’d rather raise a family here.”
It was taking him a while to catch up. “You’re living in Tory now.” He had to make sure he had his facts straight.
She bit her lip and nodded.
So this wasn’t temporary. He wasn’t going to give her back her brother’s car and be able to tell himself this was the last time he’d see her. He’d know she was here now, in town, where he could run into her at the grocery store or while getting gas or—fuck—on a date with some suit from her father’s firm.
Fuck.
He turned around and took a step toward the counter, needing to get her out of here, needing time to process this, get it straight in his head, so then he could fasten all his armor in place. This was okay; he’d be okay. She was just a girl from high school—
“Is that okay?” Her voice shook a little from behind him.
He stopped and gripped her car keys so tightly, he knew the imprint would be in his palm.
He faced her. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“I don’t know. I . . . ”
“I don’t own this town, Jenna.”
She pursed her lips. “I know that. Never mind. Forget I asked that.”
“Why would you think it wouldn’t be okay?”
She held his gaze. “Because no matter how much time has gone by, we still have a past. I thought we had closure, but the way you look at me, I’m not so sure of that. And I’m thinking I look at you the same way.”
Eighteen-year-old Jenna had been bold but unsure what to do with it, like she couldn’t harness her confidence.
Close-to-thirty-year-old Jenna, apparently, had grown into her boldness.
It was a major fucking turn-on.
He stepped closer, careful not to touch any of her fancy clothes but close enough that he could if he wanted to. The heat rolled off her body, and for a moment he wanted to melt into her. “How do I look at you, Sunshine?” he asked softly. He’d given her the nickname back in high school because everything about her was bright, from her clothes to her smile to her personality. Everything was better when she was around, like she was his own personal vitamin-D provider.
She rolled her lips between her teeth and let them out. He wanted to cup her face, rub some grease on her cheek, and swipe his thumb across those lipstick-coated lips. A trade.
“Like we’re still at River’s Edge.” She spoke hesitantly, haltingly, like each word was an effort. “Sometimes, I close my eyes, and I hear the leaves rustle above us. I can see the glow of the moon on the water, and I can smell the cigarette smoke from your clothes. You still smoke?”
She’d only said a couple of sentences, but he was right back at River’s Edge, holding her warm body in his arms, rubbing his stubbled chin in her hair while she drank a can of Bud Light he’d stolen from his father’s fridge.
Those nights were some of the best of his life. Until he fucked it up. And she’d let him go. “I still smoke sometimes.”
Her arm moved, like she was going to touch him, but then she flinched back. “They’ll kill you.”
“Why do you think I keep buying my dad cigarettes?”
She barked out a harsh laugh and then clapped her hand over her mouth. “That was so mean, Cal Payton,” she said around her fingers.
He smirked, glad the moment was broken. He didn’t want to see her hazel eyes wistful. Going down memory lane was not on his life agenda.
He took a step back. Her body swayed, like she wanted to follow, but she kept her feet planted. He held out the keys, and she took them. “Car’s out front. Brent got your payment over the phone and e-mailed you the receipt, right?”