she let Latke drink. The Shar-Pei’s heavy jowls flapped as she slurped with the grace of a hippo sipping from a martini glass.
During the summer that she and Nate had been a couple, Izzy had never truly confronted him. How could she? She had been so besotted, so damn grateful that the high school heartthrob had chosen her, a girl with an embarrassing family and no prospects for a decent future. Now, when her dog was finished drinking, she stood and met Nate’s gaze with challenge in her own. “Latke says thanks.”
He addressed her dog. “You’re welcome.”
Wearing the same clothes he’d had on in the deli—J.Crew jeans and a sea-blue V-necked T-shirt that matched his eyes almost identically (yeah, she’d noticed), his hair still ridiculously thick and shiny—he shrugged. “I only brought the one bottle. Come back to my room. There’s more water in the minibar.”
Izzy glanced in the direction from which Nate had come. The heavily shingled roof of the Eagle’s Crest Inn peeked through a grove of pine trees. “How did you even see me from the inn? ” she asked.
“My room faces the street. And my desk faces the window. When I saw you crawl by, I thought, ‘Well, what do you know? Fate must want us to have a reunion, even if Izzy doesn’t.’” His gaze narrowed. “It’s been a long time. You must have a few minutes to spare for an old friend.”
There it was, the liquid velvet voice that used to make her feel as if she were wrapped in the most comfortable blanket ever created.
“I haven’t, actually. I’m due back at the deli.” Shoving the empty bottle into the saddlebag on her bike, she climbed back on and tried to tug sixty pounds of wrinkled canine to a standing position. “Let’s go, girl.” No movement.
“I think she needs a nap.”
What her pet needed was a couple thousand volts. “She’s fine. She loves to run. Let’s go, Latke.” Izzy put her right foot on the bike pedal, intending to pull the dog into a standing position if she had to. She jerked with surprise when Nate clamped his fingers around the handlebars.
He leaned forward, his shadow looming over her. Humor fled his expression, replaced by curiosity and displeasure. “If I didn’t know better, Isabelle, I’d say you plan to avoid me until I leave town. Why?”
“That’s not my intention at all. I’m just very busy right now. I’m sure we’ll find time before you go. When did you say you’re leaving?”
“I didn’t say.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. And now I know where you’re staying, so...” She tried to back the bike up, but he was still holding her handlebars.
“So you’ll get in touch?” His voice grew quiet, penetrating. “I should expect a call? Like last time?”
“Last time.” Izzy’s stomach began to twist so hard she wanted to double over. “What do you mean?”
“When I went to Chicago, you and I agreed to talk once a week. Then suddenly you were gone, no forwarding address, no warning.”
Threads of anger wove through Izzy’s fear. “No warning? Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I should have told you all about my plans. Ten minutes once a week wasn’t a lot of time, though. I’d have to talk really fast.”
“I’m not following you.”
“You’re not? Every Sunday afternoon,” she reminded him, “from five to five ten Pacific Time? Nate Thayer’s obligatory check-in to the girl he’d knocked up back in Oregon. Very thoughtful, those calls, but you have to admit they didn’t leave a lot of time to talk about anything in depth.” Which, she had thought at the time, must have been the point.
Surprise hijacked Nate’s features, and Izzy took the opportunity to wrest the handlebars from his grip. He moved in front of the bike immediately. “That’s what you thought I was doing? Just fulfilling an obligation?”
“That is what you were doing. Look, Nate,” Izzy chided, “it’s ancient history, but let’s not rewrite it. When I got pregnant, you saw your college dreams flushing down the toilet. So, you and your parents came up with a solution—put the baby up for adoption and check in with the pregnant teenager once a week to make sure she’s still on board. Perfectly logical. Frankly, if I’d had a scholarship to a big university and parents who’d already picked out the frame for my diploma, I might have felt the same way.”
“You agreed that adoption seemed like the best solution.”
“I was seventeen, pregnant and dead broke. I wasn’t in a great position to argue.”
Nate’s brows swooped low. A muscle tensed in his jaw. “Are you saying you didn’t want to put the baby up for adoption?”
Her mind began to race like a machine that was out of control—couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop.
“You agreed we were both too young to be good parents,” he said, glancing at a car that whizzed by. “I don’t want to discuss this on the street. Why don’t you come up—”
“I don’t want to discuss this at all.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “I have to go.” When she tried to push the bike forward, however, Nate held on.
A sharp burning sensation rose behind Izzy’s eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry, not after all this time. But she remembered one occasion—just the one—when Nate had stopped being logical and reasonable about how they were too young and too uneducated and not financially able to raise a baby properly. On that single occasion, before he’d left for college, his brow had hitched in the middle like it was right now, worry muddying the usually clear and confident expression in his eyes, and he’d said, “Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”
In that one moment, they had felt like parents, not two kids who had made a colossal mistake.
She swallowed hard.
“You know what I remember, Nate? I remember what your mother and father said—that our relationship was ‘a lapse in good judgment.’ And that we’d be crazy to throw our futures away.” They had meant their son’s future, of course. There hadn’t been many people around at that time who’d held out much hope for her future. “We shouldn’t blame each other for anything. It might have been different if we’d loved each other, right? But we were just kids.” Her sad smile was the genuine article. “You’re lucky you had parents who were looking out for you.”
“Izzy—”
“I really do have to go now.”
Using the heel of her running shoe to flip the kickstand, Izzy climbed aboard her bike and pushed forward toward Latke, urging her to fall into step. Nate watched her every move but didn’t try to stop her this time as she checked for traffic and made a U-turn on Vista Road.
Traveling downhill, Izzy went as fast as she dared push her trotting dog, desperate to outrun worry and the tears that, finally, would not be denied. She swiped the back of her hand across her nose and used her palm to wipe her eyes. Determined to keep the details of her home life private when she was younger, she’d kept to herself in middle and high school, flying as far under the radar as possible and even earning the nickname “Loner Chick.” After a while, she’d been
