incredulous eyes.
Posy lost her balance for a moment, then righted herself. She found it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.
She stared at the man, sure she was hallucinating. A name—the name—from her past echoed in her ears, along with the pounding of her suddenly out-of-control pulse.
Liam.
No. It couldn’t be. It looked like him—same charmingly rumpled dark hair, same broad shoulders, same chiseled jaw. Except now those shoulders seemed even broader, the jaw more finely sculpted and covered with a dark shadow of masculine stubble. Six years was a long time. Long enough to change a boy into a man, apparently.
“Posy?” he said, the shock she felt down to her core mirrored in his expression.
And for the briefest of moments she was eighteen again, living in a snow-globe world of young love, cozy Alaskan winters and wild-heartbeat romance. Laughter. Long walks among snow-laden evergreens. The thrill of her frosty first kiss while swirling snowflakes gathered in her hair.
She swallowed. “Liam.”
His name felt somehow both familiar and foreign on her tongue. Like a favorite thick, cozy cardigan sweater that looked the same as it always had, but no longer seemed to fit once you slipped it on.
“Posy,” he said again, a coldness creeping into his voice.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then Liam’s gaze dropped lower. To her foot. And the ugly anchor attached to it—her plaster cast.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Without even realizing what she was doing, she closed her eyes. Only five days had passed since her injury, but that was long enough for Posy to grow more than weary of the looks of pity that the chunk of plaster elicited from people who knew she was a ballerina. It was like walking around with your biggest inadequacy on display for all the world to see.
If Liam looked at her with even the smallest amount of pity in his gaze, the brave front she’d been putting on for the past five days just might crumble to pieces. Dancing had taught her a lot of things—determination, discipline, how to tolerate pain. But it hadn’t prepared her for this: coming face-to-face with her past.
With Liam Blake. The last person in Alaska she wanted to see.
Truth be told, she much preferred the idea of a run-in with a grizzly.
* * *
Posy Sutton.
Liam blinked. His eyes burned like a wildfire, and his vision was still a bit fuzzy, but even through the fog of hair spray he could see that familiar swan neck, those long, graceful limbs, those huge, haunted eyes.
Posy Sutton.
With a cast on her foot.
She was injured. Of course. Why else would she have come back? She’d danced away from Alaska as quickly as she could. He should have known there was a reason she’d returned. A reason that had nothing whatsoever to do with the past. With him.
Get over yourself. It was six years ago. She’s moved on. You’ve moved on.
He ground his teeth. He might have moved on, but that didn’t mean he had to ask about her foot. Or how it was affecting her dancing. If he so much as uttered the word ballet, he might sound like a jealous lover. Posy may have been his first love, but dance had been hers.
Her first love. Her only love. She’d sacrificed everything for it.
He’d never stood a chance.
He forced his gaze away from the cast. He’d seen a cast on the very same foot before. That first cast had been what started it all. The beginning of the end. He’d felt sorry for her then, which was how he’d let things get so out of hand. In the end, he’d done the right thing, and she’d never forgiven him. In a single bittersweet moment, he’d saved her and lost her at the same time.
If she expected sympathy from him now, she was in for a big disappointment. He’d been down that road before and had no intention of traveling that way again. He jammed his hands on his hips and paid no attention to the cast or the crutches she seemed to be struggling to keep from sliding out from under her.
The injury must be recent.
He chastised himself for wondering about it, pretended not to notice the foot and refocused on her face. Her eyes were closed for some strange reason. He pretended not to notice that, as well. “You thought my dog was a bear?”
“I did.” Her lashes fluttered open, and she met his gaze. Full-on eye contact.
Those eyes. Those luminous eyes, the exact color of a stormy winter sea. Misty gray. He’d never forgotten those eyes, no matter how hard he’d tried.
He cleared his throat. “Well, he’s not. He’s a dog.”
As if on cue, Sundog abandoned chasing his tail and bounded over to the two of them. Posy’s eyes grew wide, and she teetered backward on her crutches. By the look on her face, anyone would have thought the dog was about to rise up on its hind legs, grizzly-style, and tear her limb from limb.
Liam reached out to keep her from falling. Again. “Careful there.”
“I’m fine.” She wiggled out of his reach. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Fine.
She was fine. He was fine. They were all fine.
Except not really. This whole encounter was as awkward as it could be, and it somehow seemed to be getting worse by the minute.
“What kind of dog is he, anyway? He’s as big as a...”
“Bear?” Liam asked, grinning despite himself.
She offered him a hesitant smile in return. “I was going to say ‘house,’ but ‘bear’ works. Obviously.”
“He’s a Newfoundland.” He watched Posy reach out a tentative hand and stroke Sundog’s head.
Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he’d one day be standing in church while a very adult Posy Sutton petted his dog. It didn’t seem real. He almost felt as if he was watching a movie about someone else’s life.
And what if it had been someone else? What would Liam say to the man standing there with puffy eyes? The man who suddenly had the beginnings of a smile on his face?
Don’t be an idiot. What’s past is past.
That was precisely what he would say.
He cleared his throat. “It’s the dead of winter. Bears are hibernating.”
“What?” Posy’s hand paused over Sundog’s massive head.
“You thought you saw a bear.” Liam shrugged. “Not possible. They’re all tucked in for winter.”
Her
