door hinge creaked and immediately he turned. “Hannah—” She wasn’t alone. Her grandfather stood beside her, creating a chill in the air just by his presence. “Mr. Lansing.”
Dorian didn’t bother to acknowledge him.
“I couldn’t come sooner. Rachel had a boy. She’s fine—they’re both fine.” He stopped talking. Hannah looked as if she might be ill—or exhausted. There was a bruised, fragile look to her eyes, and she had trouble meeting his gaze. His breath left him in a whoosh of disappointment. She wasn’t speaking. That was what the problem was. She’d had her hopes up so high. Too high.
He started toward her—not quite sure what to do, what to say. He wasn’t exactly the “cry on my shoulder” type, but he had to do something.
She stiffened, clearly erecting an invisible barrier between them.
He stopped, curling his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her, whether to hug her or shake her, he wasn’t sure. Hadn’t he told her it was a long shot? Hadn’t he warned her not to get her hopes up? “It didn’t work,” he said flatly.
She looked down to the slab of white marble at her feet.
He’d bet two shiploads of gold that she’d done this because of Dorian. The man steadfastly refused to learn the sign language. Over and over, Hannah put herself through agony because she wanted to communicate with him, and all the while Dorian didn’t even try to understand.
A body couldn’t keep warding off disappointment time after time without growing bitter.
Finally, she met his gaze. I can’t see you anymore, Caleb.
That wasn’t what he expected. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head, a pained expression on her face.
Suddenly worried, he stepped toward her. “Did something happen at the hypnotist? Did he hurt you?”
She moved away until her back flattened against the great oak door. No. I’m fine.
Well, that was a lie. He waited for her to go on.
Things have changed since I saw you last.
It had to be that kiss. He darted a look at Dorian, a few feet away. It wasn’t hard to figure that the ocean would turn red before that man would give them a sliver of privacy.
She twisted a handkerchief in her hand.
“I’ll come back in a few days—when you are feeling better.”
No. Don’t come. I can’t see you anymore, Caleb. Not ever.
He tightened his jaw. “You’re not makin’ sense. If it’s the kiss that’s botherin’ you...”
You shouldn’t have done that.
A slow burn started in his gut. “As I recall, you were the one doing most of the asking.”
No. I’m sure you are wrong.
So that was how things stood. She couldn’t own up to her actions. She was embarrassed about being forward, and instead of admitting it or dealing with it, she was trying to put the blame firmly in his lap.
He glanced at Dorian, wishing the man would disappear so he could talk easier with Hannah. Now, that was a fantasy. He swallowed. “This is how you want it?”
She nodded, not quite meeting his gaze.
He took one last considering look. They both knew she was twisting the facts, but she’d made her choice. He should have been ready for it. People he cared about had been leavin’ him his entire life—first his mother, then his father, and then Rachel. This was just one more time.
“Have it your way, then.” Slow and deliberate, he turned and strode down the front steps. Behind him, he heard the door quietly click shut.
Five years later
“I’m sorry, miss. I’ll need payment up front for that.”
Hannah stared at the thin, pimply-faced boy behind the counter for a full ten seconds. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking at any corner of the Cigar Emporium rather than back at her. He was new and hopelessly awkward in his new position. “You must be mistaken,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“No mistake. I’ll lose my job if I extend more credit.”
She stiffened, at the same time glancing over her shoulder to make sure no customers had heard. Across the room two men stood before a display of chewing tobacco and debated the merits of the three different brands. They appeared unaware of her situation, and she’d like to keep it that way. Only moments before she’d been thinking how she enjoyed the fragrance of the cherrywood tobacco that permeated the small shop as a respite from the brine-laden air outside. Now she could barely think through her embarrassment.
Forcing a calm demeanor, she asked, “Is this a new policy? If so, I’m sure it doesn’t pertain to my family.” She pushed the hand-carved ivory pipe across the counter. “Please. I’d like it wrapped.”
Still the boy hesitated, wiping his hands on his white apron.
“You do know who I am?”
He gulped audibly and fidgeted with the corners of the massive account book in front of him. “Yes, Miss Lansing. Your family has done business here for years.”
“And half of the items in this shop arrived here by way of my grandfather’s ships.” She softened her voice. “This pipe is for his birthday. You wouldn’t deny him his present, would you?”
“I...I... Your total has reached the limit.”
“My grandfather pays the bill monthly. There must be a mistake.” The ledger would prove her point. She reached for it to see for herself when a beefy hand splayed over the page, blocking her view.
“I’ll take it from here, Toby. Go see to the other customers.” The shop’s owner, Mr. O’Connell, a heavyset Irish man with a handlebar mustache, turned the book back toward himself as the new clerk scurried away with a look of relief on his young face. “Can’t have my other customers’ tabs becoming general knowledge, now, can I? I’m sure, given your family’s business, you understand, Miss Lansing.”
What he implied stung. She wasn’t one to manipulate such knowledge to her own advantage, though she knew those who would. She was only interested in the accounting of the Lansing total.
The two customers had stopped their discussion and listened intently now. Good gracious, but this was getting uncomfortable! Her cheeks heated. She never carried much money on her. According to Grandfather, it was unladylike. There had never been any problems in the past with putting items on a tab. Her gloved hands shook slightly as she loosened the blue ribbon cinching her purse and counted out enough money
