Would it have been easier to talk with her if they’d been in love back then, or at least infatuated? Maybe they were awkward with each other because they’d shared so little. Back in college, they’d spent a few carefree nights listening to bands at a local pub. Their handful of dates had been more like hanging out. They’d spent a couple of chilly spring Sundays in his room in an apartment he shared with a couple of guys. Studying. Obviously doing more than that.
With all he’d said, he’d failed to mention another clue. Perrie Lynn had grown up in Minnesota. Where he and Lark had given up their baby. And, at the time, without even one other person in their lives aware of what they’d done.
* * *
SO AWKWARD. SHE hadn’t helped by more or less hanging up on him to end the call. But what was the protocol in situations like this? The etiquette? Silly question. She snickered to herself. Had she really used the words protocol and etiquette, as if this was a case of choosing the correct way to interact with Miles? The facts spoke for themselves. When they’d left the hospital, Miles had driven her back to her studio apartment in St. Paul and looked after her for a couple of days. Since then she’d seen him exactly twice, the first time two weeks after they’d given up their baby.
Miles had come home for the holiday break, too, and asked her to have dinner with him. She’d agreed to meet him at a local pub. He was just checking in, he’d said, concerned by the way he’d left her in her apartment after they’d turned over their baby girl.
She remembered their evening well, but not happily. They’d struggled to make conversation. She’d held back her tears, tried to be strong, but failed. As much as he’d shown concern for her, his relief bled through. He was free and clear. When they’d left the pub and walked to their cars, she’d told him her plan was to try her best to put what happened between them behind her. First, she didn’t want him worrying about her, but second, she didn’t want him to contact her ever again. Miles had started to respond, but apparently had nothing meaningful to say. He’d nodded tersely and they parted ways.
Sitting at her desk, Lark took a deep breath, hoping to chase away gathering hope mixed with fear. Yet she wanted—needed—to savor this moment, just in case it all turned out to be true. She opened her laptop and within seconds was staring at an image of Perrie Lynn Olson in a red sequined skating costume. She was exactly as Miles had described, right down to the same pronounced widow’s peak Lark saw in the mirror every day. The girl’s warm skin tone and her rich brown eyes reminded her of Miles—the Miles of years ago when he was twenty and she was nineteen. Not much older than their daughter was now.
Their daughter? “Get hold of yourself,” she said aloud. These similarities didn’t prove anything. She read on, following the highlights of Perrie Lynn’s skating life, including a newly added banner announcing the medal she’d just won. As a skater she was fresh and new, having spent the previous year on the senior circuit before bursting out of the pack during this, her second season, and surprising skating experts and fans alike.
“You look happy,” she whispered as she lightly brushed her fingertips across Perrie Lynn’s image on the screen. “That’s all I ever wanted.” It was the hope that overrode all the heartbreak in the walled-off part of Lark that remained isolated from the outside world. She’d longed—sometimes desperately—for her little girl to grow up loved and happy.
One photo on a website confirmed nothing. Still, Lark couldn’t help but think this beautiful young woman would go to sleep that night basking in her big win and happy with her life. “I hope it’s true,” Lark said, “and that one day soon you’ll tell me yourself.”
Reluctantly, she shut down the computer and left her desk to get ready for bed.
MILES ARRIVED FIRST, and after scanning the customers in the café, he waited for Lark inside near the front window. He studied the faces of women coming in to order to-go coffee or claim a table. He couldn’t be positive he’d immediately recognize her, even though he’d seen her pretty face on her website photo. And most coffee seekers entering Hugo’s were camouflaged in heavy coats and thick scarves, their hats pulled down over their ears as protection against the frigid December air.
He’d suggested Hugo’s because he’d been there before, the last time on a forgettable late-afternoon coffee date with a woman he’d met on a flight from Detroit to Green Bay. Pleasant enough conversation, but as so often happened in the past few years, nothing about the date compelled him to follow up. She hadn’t shown any enthusiasm for a second meeting, either. No matter. He’d lost nothing but a couple of hours.
Through the front window he spotted Lark walking toward the entrance. His whole body warmed at the sight of her. She appeared so young in a bright red jacket, jeans and knee-high black boots. A large leather bag hung from one shoulder. She gingerly stepped around patches of ice on the sidewalk, but then glanced up and caught him watching her. Her mouth turned up in a shy smile.
He walked closer to the door to greet her, wanting to lean over and kiss her cheek, maybe give her a quick hug. But she’d turned her face away to check out the café.
“How about that table in the corner?” She spoke in a businesslike tone, pointing to a small table for two.
“Fine,” he said, following her quick steps. Still not looking at him, she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair before she sat down. Then she pulled out a menu card from behind the napkin holder.
He also shed his coat and sat across from her. “Lark?”
She lifted her head, her expression quizzical.
“Hello.”
She snorted a laugh. “Don’t mind me, Miles. I’m nervous as can be.”
“Believe me, I understand.” He paused, but decided to acknowledge what they both knew to be true. “This is awkward.”
“No kidding.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and gave her head a quick shake. “But not as awful as bumping into you at the mall a few years ago.”
Oh, boy, she didn’t mince words. Neither would he. “True. That was excruciating.”
She swiped her hand across her forehead. “Whew. We got that out of the way.” She went back to studying the menu. “Let’s order right away. I’m starving. I usually eat much earlier than this.”
Right on cue, the waitress stopped at their table and took their identical orders of coffee and omelet platters with the cranberry-walnut muffin of the day. As if the intervening years had been wiped away, he recalled her big appetite, even the image of her shaking peanuts from a can into her palm. She’d snacked nonstop while they sat on his bed with open textbooks in front of them and unapologetically polished off huge plates of burgers and fries at the pub where they’d hung out.
“You’re grinning,” she said. “Are you shocked at my hearty breakfast order?”
“Not exactly,” he said with a snicker. “I was remembering how you ate me out of house and home.”
“And I haven’t slowed down a bit.” She peered into his face, as if really seeing him for the first time. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Neither have you,” he said. “Not on the outside, anyway.”
“Yes, the inside is another thing.” She leaned across the table, folding her hands in front of her. “Tell me about your daughter—and your wife, assuming you’re married.”
Since they hadn’t exchanged many details on the phone, he filled in the facts of his brief marriage to Andi. “Brooke is the light of my life, though, and her mother and I have managed to raise her together without too much conflict.”