had the misfortune of being born to two parents who were more interested in their social status and careers than raising their son. He’d spent most of his life in boarding school or away at camp. It made a person wonder why his parents had become ensnared in a bitter custody battle. And as was usually the case, he’d landed right in the middle.
Now he was so closed off, so afraid to trust, she feared it might be too late to salvage what little self-esteem he might have had left. Four weeks wasn’t nearly long enough to undo years of neglect and heartache, but she and the staff were going to give it a valiant effort.
“Mind if I join you?”
Abi looked up to find Will Bishop standing beside her table. Before she could even open her mouth to answer, he set down his plate and slid into the seat across from her. Even if she had intended to say no, he didn’t give her the option. She couldn’t help wondering why, of all the people in the retreat, he chose to sit with her.
Several times that day, during outdoor activities with the children, she’d had the odd sensation that someone was watching her and looked up to find him close by. He’d been engrossed in some activity and hadn’t appeared to notice her, and for some baffling reason, she found herself watching him. A few times he looked up, caught her staring, and she’d quickly looked away. She had no idea what it was about him that made her feel so…aware. She only knew that when he was around, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from looking at him, studying him.
A startling thought occurred to her. Maybe he’d sat down at her table because he thought she was interested in him.
“Busy day?” he asked, draping his napkin in his lap.
“The first week is always a little hectic,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to her plate. Why did she feel so nervous? She’d once defined her life by her ability to manipulate men. Now it unnerved her to sit three feet from one.
Maybe she was just out of practice. Although, never in her three years there had being around a male guest made her the least bit edgy.
“Are you enjoying your stay so far?” she asked, feigning great interest in the chicken on her plate.
“Is it my face?”
She was so startled by his words, her head shot up. “Your face?”
“My scars. Is that why you won’t look at me?” He said it casually, as if he’d just asked her about the weather, but something dark simmered in his eyes.
“No, of course not,” she said.
“It bothers some people. As if when they look directly at me, all they see are the scars.” He ran one large, tanned hand down the side of his face. “I guess they don’t know how to act. If they look too long, they’re staring, if they look away, they’re avoiding.”
She surprised herself by asking, “How did it happen?”
A smile lifted the left side of his mouth. “The direct approach. That’s different.”
She couldn’t tell if he was serious or being sarcastic. It wasn’t like her to be so direct—not anymore—and it set off a siren of warning in her head. “I’m sorry. If I’m being nosy—”
“Not at all,” he said. “It was a car accident—it caught fire. I’m lucky to be alive.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “No need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”
She looked down at her plate. How did she keep managing to say the wrong thing? The man was going to think she was a complete flake—if he didn’t already. Although maybe that would be best.
But he was a guest, so she couldn’t be rude.
Will was quiet for a minute, then he said, “If my being here makes you uncomfortable, I can move to a different table.”
“No! I’m not uncomfortable,” she lied because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And as badly as she did want him to get up and leave, she wanted him to stay just as much. The warning bell clanged louder. She didn’t want to want that. It was too dangerous. She’d done a pretty darned good job of numbing her emotions when it came to the opposite sex. What had once been like an addiction was now just an unpleasant memory. If she were ever to revert back to her old ways, would she have the strength to change back? And if she didn’t, what would become of her son?
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” she said, forcing a smile.
Two chatty guests—teenage sisters from her morning session named Cindy and Leanne—joined them a minute later, relieving them of the need to make small talk. Yet, as hard as she tried to concentrate on her food, her eyes kept straying up to Will. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that she found so fascinating. He was just so in-your-face bold. Maybe it reminded her a little bit of herself—the way she used to be. It could also be the deep hurt she saw in his eyes, a feeling she could identify with. It was second nature for her to want to heal him, to take away the pain.
Speaking of pain, she suddenly remembered Eric and looked up only to find he’d finished his dinner and was walking toward the door.
“He’s a rich snob,” Cindy was saying to her sister. “I don’t like him.”
Leanne, the younger and more reserved sister, got a dreamy look on her face. “I think he’s cute.”
Now this was a conversation Abi could sink her teeth into. “Who’s cute?” she asked.
Leanne’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She was the delicate, petite type, with long, straight brown hair she kept tucked behind her ears and she had a sweet, tranquil disposition.
“That Eric kid,” Cindy said with disdain. While both girls were pretty, she was more exotic-looking, with long, shiny black hair, sparkling violet eyes and a personality to match. She also had a chip large enough to fill the Grand Canyon resting on her shoulder and, according to her file, had been getting herself into quite a bit of trouble. The normal stuff teenage girls did to get attention from their estranged parents—ditching school, experimentation with drugs and alcohol, getting involved with the wrong crowd.
Abi had already instructed the staff to keep a close eye on her. Though they were fifteen miles from the nearest town, kids like her had a knack for finding trouble where adults didn’t think it existed.
“He is cute,” Abi agreed and asked Leanne, “He’s got that young Brad Pitt look, doesn’t he?”
Leanne bit her lip and nodded, her cheeks blushing even brighter.
“He thinks he’s better than everyone else,” Cindy snapped.
“Why do you say that?” Abi asked.
“He won’t talk to anyone! He’s a total snob.”
“Have you tried to talk to him?”
Cindy shrugged and said, “Why would I?”
If only she knew what Eric had been through, she might not be so quick to judge. Or maybe it wouldn’t have
