“I hope not,” he had said.
She lifted her chin, blinked away her tears and said, “I haven’t heard from you in two years. I have a guy in my life now who isn’t going to bolt on me if times get hard.”
“Really?” he asked. “Rich didn’t say anything…”
“Rich hasn’t met him yet. I’ll probably be engaged in a year. I guess that means I’m not game. You might have to come up with something more compelling if you want a second chance.”
She had been vindicated by the expression of shock and disbelief on his face. Did he really think he could screw up that bad, walk back into her life with some lame apology and wipe out the pain and loneliness she’d suffered for two whole years?
He did. He said, “Well, I really blew that one. I’m sorry, Becca. I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.”
And then he had left. Again. Left her, left San Diego. Rich said he’d gone to some little town in Northern California in search of his biological father and a new beginning.
She had lied about the other guy, about the imminent engagement, out of hurt and anger. So Becca, who hadn’t been dating because she’d been grieving, said yes to a date with a guy she met on the beach—Doug Carey, down from UCLA Law School. And what she found was a guy who wasn’t very complicated. He had a list of commendable qualities—brains, education, money, confidence and looks. The thought of being with him forever should have lit up Becca’s world. Her mother, Beverly, was thrilled.
But it was as if Denny had left a hole in her heart. She knew she should dive at the chance to marry Doug, but instead, it scared her to death. She needed to get over that if she was ever to be happy again.
Now here they were, Denny and Becca, both twenty-five, six years older than the day they met. The past few years had been really rough. Then Rich started talking about a guys’ hunting trip with Denny coming up, and she began to wonder—is this a chance to face him and figure out why I can’t let go?
Then she was suddenly jobless. Doug was tied up at UCLA with finals and study and was flying home for a quick Thanksgiving with his family. He had invited her along, but her mind was made up—she wanted to go hunting with Rich. She didn’t exactly lie to her mother, but she did say “Don’t worry about me for Thanksgiving. Doug invited me to Cape Cod with him.” So her parents had planned a last-minute trip to Cabo, since their kids would be away. Becca went to a sportsman’s store for clothes and gear, packed a big suitcase, showed up on Rich’s doorstep in the predawn and insisted on going along. Once and for all, I’m confronting this!
And here she and Denny stood, on the porch at Jack’s Bar, staring each other down. Trying to get a grip on this strange reunion.
“We’re going to have to go back in there, have a drink and some laughs, eat Preacher’s dinner,” Denny said to her. “We’re going to have to call a truce. Let bygones be bygones. Whatever.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m not the one acting like there’s a problem.”
“You took me by surprise,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been so rude. Sorry. But it was a guys’ trip and you are definitely not a guy.”
Well. At least he noticed that. Because she was noticing him—that square, unshaven jaw, crazy hair that looked so thick it should probably be thinned, dark brown eyes, wide shoulders. The way his jeans fit over his narrow hips and long legs. It made her feel warm. Note to self, remember this reaction. There’s no logical reason for this, but it’s still happening. I feel him all over me. Damn it all.
“I kind of insisted, and Rich thought it would be okay, if I wasn’t any trouble. I can hold my own in outdoor sports.”
“You pressured him,” Denny said.
“I’m the oldest—he can’t say no to me. I told him I really wanted a break and that I’d fit in fine.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Is this how you call a truce? By needling me and trying to make me feel like I’m invading your territory? The other guys seem to be okay with it.”
“Look, Becca, we should have talked first, all right? Obviously there are some hard feelings between us.”
She stuffed her hands back in her pockets. “Well, I was the one who got dumped and I’m not holding a grudge.”
“I said I was sorry and you dumped me right back. You have to admit, I apologized.”
She smirked and shook her head sadly. “That you did. That you did.”
“What else could I have done?”
“Well, I wonder,” she said. “Did it ever occur to you that you might have to do more than apologize? You could’ve tried twice, I guess. Or, hey—maybe even three times. You could’ve sent flowers or something. You could’ve tried to get the point across that you really were sorry and that you weren’t out of your mind anymore. But you were on the next train out of San Diego. Now, I’m cold. I’m going back in by the fire. I’m going to drink my wine, have a good meal, laugh with my new friends. If you want to be miserable, have at it. I really couldn’t care less.” She turned and went back into the bar.
And Denny thought, I could have changed everything with flowers?
They had a little camaraderie over dinner; some reminiscing among the guys, some jokes. The subject of Denny and Becca was strictly avoided. Denny was just a little more quiet than usual, but no one seemed to notice. Probably because Becca was adorable, funny and just slightly flirtatious.
Denny wanted to shake her.
No one was more relieved than Denny when it was time for everyone to say good-night and retire to their respective rooms. This event was not shaping up the way he expected.
Troy and Dirk went off to their cabin by the river and Denny and Rich went with Becca down the street to Denny’s efficiency over the Fitchs’ garage. “I’ll show Becca the room and pack a few things,” Denny said. “I can give her my keys and leave her my truck just in case, but she won’t need it.”
“Sure,” Rich said. “I’ll wait here. But let’s move it, huh? I’ve been up since before four….”
“Five minutes,” he said, heading inside.
Becca was already halfway up the stairs, struggling with a very large suitcase. He took the stairs two at a time and said, “I’ll get that.”
“No, please. I insist on pulling my own weight.”
“Come on, gimme,” he said, grabbing the suitcase out of her hand.
He nearly toppled down the stairs. It weighed a ton. “Jesus,” he swore. “What have you got in this thing?”
“Clothes. Warm clothes. A couple of jackets. Boots.”
“And bricks?”
“I was doing fine,” she said. “Let me have it.”
“No, I’ve got it,” he insisted. He winced
