“I won’t withhold my personal donation to Literacy Liaisons until our ‘breakup,’ if that’s what you’re worried about. The check will be on your desk the first business day after the holiday weekend.”
Waverly Enterprises’s check had been received not long after he’d left her office earlier in the day. Already, it had been deposited into the agency’s special bank account.
“I wasn’t worried.” She’d forgotten all about the check during the past couple of hours, but she would do well to remember that Thomas’s generous donation was the reason she was doing this. Even so, she nibbled her bottom lip and asked, “So, how long did it last?”
“What?”
“Your last relationship.”
“Oh.” He appeared to do some quick mental calculations. “I guess it was nearly two months.”
“Wow. A whole two months. And you managed to stay faithful the entire time.”
“Sarcasm. Hmm.” His expression turned bemused and he wagged a finger in her direction. “I wouldn’t have thought you capable of it.”
Elizabeth rarely resorted to sarcasm or to sarcastic humor. In fact, she found it a bit of a turnoff, one of the main reasons she didn’t watch many television sitcoms, which relied on it so heavily for their laughs.
“I apologize for the sarcasm.”
“No need.”
“There is,” she insisted. “My comment was rude”
Thomas’s smile was rueful. “But not completely unwarranted or off base. As I told you last night, I’m not interested in commitment. So, I tend to end relationships quickly with the women I date. I prefer for things not to get too …”
“Intimate?”
“Messy.”
“I see. And when was it that you ended things this last time?” she asked.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Three weeks ago.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to whistle through her teeth. She didn’t like the sound of that, though why it should matter she didn’t know. Still, there was no denying that it did. It made her feel only marginally better that he’d been the one to end it. No pining going on, apparently. But three weeks? The scent of the woman’s perfume was probably still lingering in his home. And on his linens.
“Is that a problem?” he asked.
“No. Why would it be?” Why, indeed?
“No hearts were broken, I can assure you,” he said.
She slowly turned the stem of her wineglass. Gaze affixed to the deep red liquid, she asked quietly, “Have you ever had your heart broken?”
“No. Not once, which has been my objective.” It was a curious thing to admit. Before she could question him on it, though, he said, “What about you?”
She thought about the guys she’d dated in the past. She wasn’t as prolific a dater as Thomas apparently was, but she’d enjoyed a couple of long-term relationships, including one that had lasted more than a year. Things had progressed at a normal pace, though they’d never gotten past the point of exchanging keys, much less making promises to spend a lifetime together. Her heart had been dinged up afterward, but broken? She’d thought so at the time, but now …
“No.”
“So, you’ve never been in love, either?”
“I guess not.” That came as a sad revelation. After all, Elizabeth was pushing thirty.
But Thomas looked pleased. “Good. It’s not worth it, you know.”
“How can you say that when you just admitted that you’ve never been in love yourself?”
“Let’s just say I know. I saw firsthand what it can do to people.” He shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t want to be that—”
“Vulnerable?”
“Foolish,” he clarified.
He saw love as foolish? Perhaps she should have expected that since here he was trying to pass off a woman he barely knew as his fiancée. Still, it seemed … sad.
Thinking back on her own relationships now, she said, “I think it would be nice to be deeply in love with someone.”
“In love? Yes. But you can’t stay there.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
“Why not? You don’t think love can last?” She had her parents’ example to prove otherwise. No marriage certificate bound them together, but their commitment was real.
But Thomas wasn’t disagreeing. Not exactly. “It lasts. Unfortunately, it lasts beyond the grave.”
“Should it have a time limit, an expiration date?”
“No. No.” He shook his head, looking both lost and resolute. “It shouldn’t, and it doesn’t end. It lasts forever. It’s a chronic condition, not a terminal one.”
“I’m not sure I understand your objection, then.”
“My dad loved my mother. Deeply.” His tone was barely above a whisper when he added, “Desperately.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Not when she was alive, it wasn’t.” Half of his mouth lifted briefly before his lips thinned into a straight line. “My parents and I were involved in an accident when I was eight. Our car skidded off the road in a rainstorm and wound up upside down in a water-filled ravine.”
His tone was flat, but his expression was haunted. So much so that it made Elizabeth ache for him. Ache for them all.
“Your mother didn’t make it,” Elizabeth guessed. Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. She didn’t like the picture that was emerging.
He shook his head slowly. “For my grandmother’s benefit, my father claimed that she died instantly. But I was there.”
Thomas said no more than that. He wasn’t trying to be evasive. He simply wasn’t capable of forcing the words past his lips and giving voice to a truth that had haunted him for more than two decades: Had the choice been left to his father, Hoyt would have saved his wife rather than his son.
But Thomas’s mother hadn’t given her husband the option. As murky water had gushed into the car through the broken windshield, and Hoyt had struggled to unbuckle her jammed seat belt, she’d batted his hands away and screamed, Don’t worry about me! Get Tommy out! Get Tommy out!
“Oh, Thomas. I’m so sorry.”
Elizabeth’s sincere sympathy wasn’t able to banish the hellish memories. Nothing was. He knew that from experience. But he couldn’t deny that he found her concern soothing, settling.
“It’s not something I like talking about it,” he admitted. Even with Nana Jo, he preferred to steer clear of the subject. It was just too damned painful, for her as well, he figured, since she’d lost her only child.
“I understand. Ordinarily, I would consider this none of my business, but, given our unique set of circumstances … how did your grandmother come to raise you if your father is still alive?”
“My father’s an alcoholic.” Another admission he rarely shared. “He was what I’d call a social drinker before the accident. Afterward.” Thomas set the wine he’d barely touched on the coffee table. “He could down a fifth of whiskey in a day and then stumble to the store for more. He tried rehab, more than once. But I don’t think his heart was in it. He was lost without my mother. He still is. And he’s still drinking. Of that much I’m sure, even though I rarely see him.”
Thomas