“How did you figure it out?” Alexa had told Griffin she was pregnant, keeping most of the details, including Chance’s name, to herself. She wasn’t sure why, other than saying his name would have brought back even more memories. And she’d been trying so hard to forget.
“Other than the sparks you two were striking off each other?” Griffin downed a fourth of his cheeseburger with one bite before adding, “After seeing the way you reacted, I did some quick online research on the guy. Turns out he was at that benefit in Santa Barbara, the same one where you met your mystery man.”
Alexa sighed, knowing Griffin had her cornered. “I still can’t believe he’s here. A part of me thought I’d never see him again.”
“Because you thought he’d been killed?” A hint of chiding filled Griffin’s voice that she hadn’t told him the whole story.
“You read the reports?”
“It was hard not to. Plug McClaren’s name into a search engine, and every headline touts how the guy came back from the dead.”
Alexa pushed the chopped tomatoes in her salad into a small pile. “I know. And I would have told you, but you were in the middle of those meetings with your father.” Meetings over Griffin’s trust and the stipulations that, so far, had kept him from obtaining the money. “And by the time you were home...”
“Chance was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Safe to say the two of you aren’t as finished as you made it seem.”
Alexa shook her head. “You’re wrong. It’s over.” She gave a half laugh. “It never really started. It was a weekend fling. Nothing more.”
“You don’t have weekend flings, Alexa.”
“I know!” She longed to cover her face with her hands at what had been such an out-of-character thing for her to do. She feared it wasn’t so out of character for Chance, yet another reason why things could never work out between them.
“So don’t you think that means something?”
“That I’ve become a desperate, lonely woman?”
“Okay, first, that’s not true. And second, there had to be something about Chance McClaren for you to sleep with him that first night.” His expression was wry as he pointed out, “I’ve seen you take longer before deciding on a pair of shoes.”
She refused to meet his gaze as she added a dash of pepper before spearing a quarter slice of hard-boiled egg. “Shoes are important.”
“Allie. Come on.”
Alexa swallowed. “It wouldn’t work between the two of us. We’re too different. We want such polar opposite things out of life. I told him that when he called. And that was before I even knew I was pregnant!”
“Wait.” Griffin pointed a thick-cut fry in accusation. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“What?”
“That he called...or that you were the one to call things off.”
“I didn’t. Not really.” Leaning forward, she stressed, “I hadn’t heard from him in five weeks, Griffin.”
“And what was Chance doing during those five weeks?”
“He—” Alexa cut herself off, realizing she hadn’t asked where Chance had been or what he’d been doing. “He was probably off in some desert or jungle or swamp, God knows where.”
“Which probably made it hard to make contact,” Griffin chimed in with a logic that had Alexa feeling very illogical.
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours. Always.” He leaned back in the booth before saying, “I found something else when I was looking around online. Something I should have remembered. It was the twenty-year anniversary of your parents’ deaths, wasn’t it? Not long after you and Chance met?”
The exact anniversary had been the very day he’d called. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Oh, come on, Allie. You can’t tell me you don’t see the similarities. But whatever your parents’ faults were, they were their own. Don’t hold Chance responsible for them.”
“What are you saying, Griffin?”
“What you already know. He has a right to know that he’s going to be a father.”
* * *
The last thing Chance wanted to do that evening was head into Clearville for dinner. The Victorian town held a certain appeal for visitors and for locals who made their money off those tourists, but the place had always struck Chance as too cute. And now, as smiling pumpkins and pilgrims battled with Santa and Rudolph for prime window display real estate, it was worse than he remembered.
Rory, of course, loved it.
“I can’t wait to start decorating Hillcrest for Christmas!” Wearing a thigh-length red coat, his sister already looked in the holiday spirit. She waved a hand at the glowing storefronts along Main Street. “I wanted to start putting up a few small touches here and there—just a wreath or two—but Evie insisted we wait until after Thanksgiving.”
“For once, Evie and I agree,” he said wryly.
“I’m so glad you’ll be here for the holidays. I don’t remember the last time we were all together at Christmas.”
Home for the holidays? Oh, hell, no. Christmas was several weeks away, which might as well be an eternity. He wouldn’t still be in Clearville then. He couldn’t be. But even as he opened his mouth to argue, he swallowed a curse as the toe of his shoe caught on an uneven spot on the sidewalk, and his full weight landed on his right leg.
Six months, his doctors and therapists had warned him, before he could expect full range of motion. Before he could walk without limping, without pain.
“Chance—”
“I’m fine.” He cut Rory off before she could ask the question he was already so sick of hearing.
“Are you sure you should be off your crutches so soon?” she pressed.
Pushing yourself won’t make your body heal any faster, his doctor had warned. You aren’t building up muscle. You’re regrowing bone, and that takes time.
Chance didn’t have time. He’d been riding a wave of success with recent recognition from the World Press along with nominations for international photography awards. While on the sidelines, several key assignments had been given to other photographers. He had to keep his name and his pictures out there. Whatever it took.
As they stepped inside Rolly’s diner, Chance came face-to-face with another reason why he needed to get out of there. Anywhere but Clearville.
“Oh, look, there’s Alexa and Griffin!” Rory announced as she sent the couple a quick wave.
Seated at a booth toward the back of the restaurant, Alexa lifted a weak hand in response while her golden boy fiancé was all smiles. As Chance’s gaze caught Alexa’s, as the distance between them—the crowded tables, the chattering waitresses, as the whole damn diner—disappeared in that powerful moment of memory, of connection, he could almost feel sorry for the poor SOB.
If Griffin James hadn’t been the one seated across from Alexa. If he hadn’t been the one holding her hand, hearing her voice, smelling the honey-lilac scent of her skin.
Sharing her hotel room...
Yeah, who was the poor SOB now?
“I didn’t expect to see them here,”