style="font-size:15px;"> “Julia!”
“Is there anything else I can bring in?”
She whirled at the sound of Ethan’s voice. He filled the doorway between the hall and the kitchen, a lock of hair falling across his dark eyes.
Once upon a time, she’d spent hours gazing at him, memorizing every bit of his face. Now she only wanted to forget. She tried to muster the anger she’d felt that morning but couldn’t find the energy for it.
“I don’t think so.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Just so you know, I got dog food.”
“I left a couple bags in the garage, too.”
“Excuse me?”
He stepped toward her then stopped and ran one hand through his hair, the same unconscious gesture he’d had since high school. “It’s important to Vera that you came. Buying a bag of kibble is easier than giving you grief about what you feed your dog.”
She could deal with anger from him, but not kindness. Kindness might melt her frozen heart, and Lainey couldn’t risk the heartbreak again. “Like I told you, she’s not exactly my dog.”
When he didn’t respond, she walked to the counter to continue unloading groceries. “So if you know of anyone who needs a new pet …”
“How long are you staying?”
Her hands stilled on a bag of mini-carrots. “Mom wants me to run the entire adoption fair.”
He nodded. “I figured as much. That weekend means the world to her.”
Lainey laughed. “Then it’s hard to believe she’d trust it with me. We’ll see. I’ve got a couple assignments I need to reschedule. A summer in Brevia wasn’t part of the plan.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I saw your feature in Outside Magazine on the volcanoes. And the pictures of Everest from National Geographic. Amazing.”
Never in a million years could Lainey have imagined this conversation. The life of a nomadic photographer was so different than the future she’d planned it was almost comical. But she knew Vera paraded the magazines with her pictorials by anyone who crossed her path.
Even though she shot for a number of national publications, every picture was personal. She put a piece of her soul into each photo and it made her uncomfortable knowing Ethan had seen them. Even stranger that he actually remembered her spreads.
She couldn’t put into words the way traveling had saved her, allowed her to escape from her mind and the constant pain of losing her baby and the man she’d loved. She hadn’t been able to talk about the tragedy ten years ago, and she certainly wouldn’t now. Instead she told him, “I’m lucky to have the job I do.”
He watched her for several seconds like he’d forgotten what she’d just said. “That’s cool,” he answered finally.
What were they talking about? Her work. Right.
“Cool,” she repeated. “That’s me.”
Not quite.
At this moment, she was unbelievably not cool. She felt off balance, not sure how to navigate this new water when she’d vowed to keep an ocean between her and the man standing across the room.
“You’ve taken Dad’s practice to the next level,” she said, groping for a topic that wasn’t so personal to her. As soon as the words were out, she realized her father’s legacy made it worse.
“I’m still grateful for the opportunity your father gave me,” Ethan answered, his voice so solemn it made her throat ache. “His reputation is the backbone of the clinic.”
This wasn’t right either. His words were too serious in the quiet intimacy of the kitchen. Lainey didn’t do intimacy anymore. If the past had taught her one thing, it was not to let emotional connections influence her life. That only ended in pain for everyone involved.
She cocked her head to one side, hoping to lighten the mood. “When did you become such a Boy Scout? What happened to badass Ethan Daniels?”
His back stiffened, his molten eyes going icy. “In case you’ve forgotten, me being a badass tore your family apart. I changed a lot after you left. I changed fast.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” she whispered. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” She didn’t realize how much she needed to say those words until they were out.
She’d come to see her miscarriage and the complications that resulted in her infertility as a sign that she was never meant to be a mother. A punishment for reaching for something she couldn’t have. The blame sat squarely on her shoulders. She suddenly needed Ethan to understand that. “I was the one—”
“Don’t go there.” His hand chopped through the air. “I didn’t come here to rehash ancient history.”
“So why are you here?”
The ten-million-dollar question, Ethan thought. He’d been surprised to run into her, but what shocked him more was how quickly his initial anger had disappeared. Because Lainey looked as miserable as he’d felt for so long, and despite how she’d hurt him, he didn’t think she deserved that.
He forced himself to remember how she’d run off when he’d put himself on the line for her. He’d had way too much experience with being deserted by the women he loved and had learned the hard way that he couldn’t rely on anyone else. He needed to keep his distance from her.
“I’m here for Vera.” Best to leave the past where it belonged. For everyone involved.
“Okay.” She gave him a tentative smile. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He forced himself to look away, glancing out the window where night had fallen in earnest. The kitchen glowed in comparison, creating a strange yet familiar sense of closeness between them.
Ethan cleared his throat. “I care …” he began but lost his train of thought for a moment as he watched her chest rise when she sucked in a deep breath.
“About?” she prompted, her green eyes turning dark.
“I care … about your mom,” he finished, keeping emotion out of his voice. “We’ve worked together for a long time. She and your dad were more a family to me than my own crazy father. Vera has always supported me. We’re friends, and I hate to see her in the hospital. It’s not right.”
Lainey jerked her head in agreement but didn’t speak so he continued. “I’ll do whatever I can to help her. The clinic has a big stake in the adoption fair.”
He paused, wondering if his convoluted thoughts made more sense spoken out loud. “This will be easier if things aren’t messed up between us. The way I see it, stuff happened. We were kids. It doesn’t matter now.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated, as if absorbing each word.
He nodded. “Water under the bridge.”
