assistant Jillian entered the exhibit through the side door, a five-gallon bucket of fish in her hand. The penguins waddled toward her on cue. Huey and Gumbo fought for position on the slippery rocks, and a little girl in the hallway laughed.
Gracie brushed some feathers from a boulder near the pond and perched on the edge as Jillian settled beside her, notebook balanced on her knees. “These are African penguins, and as you can tell, they’re just a little hungry.”
The adults smiled and the children pressed their hands against the window as if hoping to reach right through and touch the birds.
“As I tell you about my friends here, Jillian will record the data of each penguin’s feeding habits. These records help us determine which penguins are sick, and which species of fish each bird prefers.”
Gracie plucked a slimy squid from the bucket at her feet and offered it to Ernie. He mashed it in his beak once, then tossed up his head in approval. The fish slid down his throat, with a little help from his tight neck muscles. Jillian jotted the note in her record book.
“Most of you probably know penguins can’t fly.” Gracie tossed a fish to Gumbo and glanced at the group gathered around the glass as she reached for another. As she continued to expand on the many wonders of her feathered friends, she let her gaze wander over the gathered crowd. She stopped mid-sentence when she saw a familiar mop of curly brown hair and a pair of broad shoulders.
Her heartbeat quickened. That hair, that stance…No, it couldn’t be, not here in New Orleans. She’d left him—no, actually, he’d left her—seven years ago on his parents’ private dock on Cypress Black Bayou Lake. Walked away with that guitar pick he was always fiddling with, a curt nod of his head…and her heart. But regardless how much time had passed, there was no mistaking the dimple in his chin or that square jaw.
Gracie’s heart pounded in her chest, and she was sure the crowd could hear it on the other side of the glass. No, no, it can’t be him. But the truth refused to be denied.
The sleeves of his rust-colored sweater were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the muscular lines of his forearms. She couldn’t help staring through a foggy lens of memory. Those strong, tanned arms that once hoisted her from the murky waters of the Black Bayou onto the pier, that wrapped around her shoulders in comforting side-hugs, that arm-wrestled her for a week’s worth of chewing gum, now were crossed firmly over his chest—a much wider, broader chest. Laugh lines softened the once hard planes of his face, and a layer of dark stubble clung to his lower jaw. Time had been awfully fair to Carter—which was a lot more than he deserved.
Anger choked in Gracie’s throat and a headache sprang to life behind her eyes. She stumbled over the rest of her speech. “Penguins can’t fly because their bones are solid, n-not hollow like other birds.”
Did he recognize her? It had been so long…and in some ways, not nearly long enough. Her traitorous gaze darted in his direction again, and their eyes met. His thick eyebrows rose in slight acknowledgment, and her stomach gave a telltale leap.
Her emotions might not remember Carter’s betrayal, but her heart did. It remembered every labored, bruised beat.
After seven years, Carter Morgan Alexander was back.
Carter Alexander stared into the penguin exhibit, reeling from shock. He had no idea when he dropped his suitcases at his friend Andy’s apartment and headed to the aquarium for an afternoon of sightseeing that he’d run into her. When had Gracie left Benton, LA, and moved South? It’d been, what—about seven years now?
Mouth dry, he struggled to keep a poker face as Gracie’s piercing blue-green gaze settled on his. It was full of questions, accusations—and more than a little anger.
Something unfamiliar and tight stirred in his stomach, and he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Good thing, since his knees were starting to feel less than sturdy.
Gracie finally lowered those arresting eyes, and a slight blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she reached forward with a fish. She looked the same—the elegance that always clung to her persona like a robe of righteousness still seemed to fit. And that long red hair…she hadn’t cut it. It cascaded over her shoulders like a flaming liquid waterfall.
Much like it had the night he broke both their hearts.
Carter briefly squeezed his eyes shut against the memory and tried to focus on the penguins darting about the tank. Gracie might not have changed much since that starry summer night on the lake, but he sure had experienced a transformation. The problem was, judging by the stiffness in those slim shoulders, she wasn’t planning on giving him a chance to prove it. He should have tried years ago—then again, fresh anger wasn’t any easier to handle than stale.
Carter shifted his weight against the wall. He deserved her ire. Let Gracie remember him the way he was—the arrogant jerk with a guitar and a dozen girlfriends, the lead singer of the band Cajun Friday who was too big for his britches, his faith…and his best friend.
Gracie’s musical voice sounded over the speakers, just as soft and clear as the regret that haunted his mind these last several years. “It’s a common misconception that all penguins require an arctic atmosphere. Many people are shocked that we have such a large exhibit here in this sultry part of the South—and it might surprise you that we keep the air in this tank regulated to seventy degrees.”
She stroked the back of one of the birds, who seemed determined to creep closer to the bucket of fish. Jillian nudged the barrel out of reach with her foot.
Gracie’s eyes found Carter’s and then flitted away. “I’ve learned that everything isn’t always what you might expect.”
She finished her presentation, but it was nothing more than a blur of statistics and red hair gleaming under the aquarium lights. Carter’s throat tightened and he applauded with the rest of the crowd. The penguins preened, as if they knew they were the real stars of the show.
“Are there any questions Jillian or I can answer?” Gracie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled, though her eyebrow quivered in the way it always used to when she had a headache.
“What’s that penguin’s name?” One blond kid raised his hand and then pointed to the bird standing alone at the edge of the water.
“This is Garth.” Gracie moved toward the penguin and he brayed up at her. “Sorry, Garth, the fish are all gone.”
The kids giggled. An elderly man in suspenders hooked his thumbs through the straps and called out, “Any baby penguins around right now?”
Gracie shook her head. “No, but we’re hopefully bringing in a new colony soon, and we have high hopes for eggs then.”
Carter felt his hand rise of its own accord. Gracie’s eyes landed on him and she sucked in a sharp breath, audible through the speaker system. “Yes, you in the back?”
Demoted to a curt you. He lowered his hand. “How long have you worked here?”
Gracie smoothed the front of her polo shirt over her pants. “A little over two years. Anyone else?”
A kid started to shout a question but Carter interrupted, louder. “Where did you get your education to work with the penguins?” Might as well find as many answers as he could, while she was forced to talk with him. Because afterward…
“A
