dark and rugged isn’t my type.” Brianna put down her book, gathered up her empty plate, fork and tea things. She may as well clear her own table and save her twin a little bit of work.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Max. Apparently the woman wasn’t Alice, but he had ordered a beverage anyway and had retreated to the only empty table in the bakery, which happened to be in the far corner. Totally her luck. He had pulled a book out of his jacket pocket—not that she was watching or anything, but she couldn’t help noticing.
And so did the blond woman who was not Alice. She sat at a table alone, too, but across the aisle from Max. Not Alice kept making eye contact and smiling at him.
Of course, Bree didn’t blame the woman one bit. They made a handsome couple. His dark good looks and her golden ones. The woman was perfect. She had a delicate beauty and impeccable accessorizing skills. Her shoes, hose and purse matched her designer-label outfit. She was probably exactly what Max went for. Good for her.
“I thought that was exactly the kind of man you were looking for.” Her sister wasn’t easily fooled.
“Maybe I should leave the looking to God.”
“You’re right, but it’s hard to wait.”
Waiting was the story of her life. She said goodbye to her twin and slipped into her coat. It was March and while the day had been sunny, the dusk was approaching and with it the chilly night. She slung her pink plaid backpack over one shoulder, bussed her dishes and headed out. She kept her eyes on the door and then on the parking lot. She didn’t want to catch accidental sight of Max.
Ever since the robbery last summer when she’d very nearly lost her life, she’d had a hard time feeling anything. Sometimes it was as if her heart had simply turned off. Other times, she felt too much, like now.
Some days it was best to be numb. Her shoes tapped against the concrete sidewalk and the wind pressed like ice against her face and bare hands. She hated walking alone. It didn’t matter that the parking lot was well lit or in perfect view of the bakery. She fished her keys out of her coat pocket and held them ready. She tucked the mini can of pepper spray attached to her key ring in her palm. Probably totally unnecessary in this small city, but she felt better, stronger, as she tapped through the fading daylight.
See, she was safe. The deep-seated dread squeezing her was from the posttraumatic stress, that was all. She was fine. She stepped off the curb, and a car door slammed. The sound rattled through her like a gunshot. A guy emerged from between the cars wearing a Montana State University sweatshirt and a backpack. He walked toward her.
She swallowed hard. She was fine. Nothing was going to happen. Good thing the sun hadn’t gone all the way down. She was in full view of the bakery’s wide picture windows where all sorts of people could see her. She trembled, unable to shake the fear that had taken root in her bones.
Nothing bad is going to happen, she reminded herself, fighting for calm. The counselor had warned this would simply take time. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. She needed only to have the courage to face it. One day, the fear and the residual trauma would be gone.
That was the plan, anyway. She cut between a pickup and an SUV and froze at the empty parking spot. Where had her car gone? This was the correct place, right? She turned around, scanning the small lot, already knowing the truth in her gut. Someone had stolen her car. She shivered deep inside.
It’s just a car, she told herself. No one was hurt. She was safe.
Then why was adrenaline crackling through her? She trembled, fighting the pull of fear. The past was right there—the trauma she hadn’t completely dealt with—and she wasn’t going to let it pull her down. There wasn’t a gunman holding a semi-automatic to her temple. There wasn’t anyone critically hurt and crying out with terror echoing in her memory. She gave thanks that this wasn’t the same at all.
“Do you always hang out in parking lots?” a familiar baritone rumbled behind her.
She whipped around, relieved to see Max standing in the golden slant of light. He appeared trustworthy standing there with his hands on his hips, emphasizing the dependable line of his shoulders. He looked like someone she could trust. “I left my car here, but I guess it took off without me.”
“You mean someone stole it?”
“Incredibly. I can’t imagine anyone would want it.” While she was grateful for a working car, the fourteen-year-old Chevy had seen better days. “I know I locked it. I’m compulsive about that sort of thing.”
“Locks won’t stop a car thief.” Max pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “I’ll get a uniform over here to take your statement.”
“The police?” Brianna gulped in air, fighting to keep calm. They would come with their flashing lights and their badges. It would remind her of that night. She shivered.
This wasn’t the same thing, she told herself. This was a case of a missing car, nothing more. It didn’t mean her foundation had to be rattled. It didn’t mean she had to be catapulted back in time.
“Brianna?” Max’s voice came as if from far away. “Hey, are you all right?”
“F-fine.” Any minute now he was probably going to think she was loony tunes. A real nut bar. Shame crashed through her like a cold wave. “I’m just a little shocked.”
“No, this is more than shock.” His palm curved over her shoulder, his grip strong and comforting. “You’re shaking. Come with me.”
His grip remained, holding her emotions steady as she put one foot in front of the other. She thought of all the ways this evening was different from the one her mind would not let go of. She carefully catalogued them. It was nearly sunset now and bold colors stained the sky. She was outside, breathing in the crisp evening breeze instead of the heated, food-scented air in the kitchen of the restaurant where she’d been working last summer. So much was different right now, but that didn’t seem to matter to her brain.
The images came anyway, flashes of chaos and agony and panic. She blinked away the pictures of violence and blood and concentrated on the pavement solid beneath her shoes, the traffic whipping by on the nearby street and the gleaming neon sign from the dry cleaner in the next building over.
Tonight was not the same, she thought as Max guided her down the row of parked cars. Her foundation hadn’t crumbled. She didn’t have to flash back to that terror-filled kitchen. The ground felt more solid beneath her feet with every step she took. Her shoes tapped on the blacktop and she concentrated on the straight broad line of Max’s back and his reassuring presence a half a step ahead of her. The past faded, she felt whole again. Thank heavens there had been no full-fledged panic attack.
Cool wind fanned her hot face. She waited while he opened the passenger door to a shiny white truck. It felt nice standing beside him. He towered over her, and for all his strength he felt kind, not intimidating. His grip on her elbow was firm and caring all at once as he helped her onto the comfy leather seat.
“Better?” He shrugged out of his coat.
She nodded. “And here you’re thinking, she looked so normal sitting in the bakery.”
“What you’re going through is normal.” He leaned close, bringing with him the scents of coffee and cake and the masculine
