“Rumor is that you broke up with her. If she’s got this much effect on you six months later, why’d you do it?”
He’d issued an ultimatum, and then he’d had to live with it. He’d demanded marriage, kids, living together, commitment and she’d opted for nothing. It had been a lonely six months, but faced with the same situation, he’d make the same demand. He wanted more than a long-term girlfriend. If she couldn’t give him that, someone else could.
Like Sophy.
“It’s complicated,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling her with him. Keeping hold of her hand, he went to the front door, where he snagged his jacket from the coat tree. After sliding it on, he wrapped his arms around Sophy and kissed her.
She tilted her head so the kiss fell on her cheek. “Are you still in love with her?”
Grimly he gave the best answer he could. “I’m trying not to be.”
Sophy studied him for a moment, then leaned forward and brushed her mouth across his. “You’re still welcome to spend the night. I know, not tonight. But maybe next time.”
“Sure.” Provided they didn’t go to the deli, and he didn’t see or think about Ellie all night. Yeah, then he might be good for someone else.
“It’s all right about her,” Sophy said. “I mean, I knew going in…”
Somehow that didn’t make him feel better. He said goodbye and brushed a kiss across her forehead, then opened the door to a blast of cold air. Closing it quickly behind him, he took the wooden steps two at a time, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and set off down the street.
It had been Sophy’s suggestion that they walk home from dinner. Between the canopies that covered the storefronts and the live oaks that shielded the path through the square, they’d arrived significantly drier than if they’d walked the block north with no cover to his SUV. Now, with everything closed up for the night and the streets empty, he wished for a closer parking space.
Tommy was passing the gazebo in the square when a rustle of movement caught his attention. Someone hunkered on one of the benches inside the structure. The dark coat could belong to anyone; the pale blond hair could only be Ellie’s. What the hell was she doing there?
He wanted to walk on. He should have, but he was a cop. He didn’t like things out of place, and Ellie alone in the square late at night was definitely out of place. She should have finished closing up the restaurant over an hour ago, should have been home in bed.
Should have been home in bed with him.
When his boot landed on the first step, she stiffened, then whirled around to face him. There was a moment of surprise on her face, then that blankness he’d come to associate with her. She sat straighter, pulled her coat tighter and something papery rustled.
He stopped halfway up the steps, on eye level with her, and allowed himself a moment to just look at her. Light blond hair falling past her chin, sleek and elegant like her. Skin the color of warm, dark honey. Brown eyes, a surprise on first sight, damned sexy every other time. She was shorter than his five feet eleven inches, slender, with great breasts and hips, but always lamenting that she enjoyed her own food too much.
He’d never agreed. Not from the very first time he’d seen her and thought damn. Damn, she was beautiful. Damn, she was hot. Damn, he was lost. Five years he’d been lost, and he’d hoped to stay that way forever.
His hands clenched inside his pockets. “You okay?”
“Of course.”
Of course. During all the rough patches they’d gone through, she’d never cried, pouted or moped. She’d never pleaded with him or shown a moment’s weakness. She’d always been stronger, less affected, than he. He admired her strength, but would it have killed her to need him even half as much as he’d needed her?
“What are you doing out here?”
“Enjoying the lovely evening. What are you doing?”
“I was at Sophy’s.”
If that news bothered her, she didn’t let it show. Was she the least bit jealous? He wished. Did she miss him? Maybe. Would she ever marry him? Doubtful. If she hadn’t loved him enough after five years, why should a sixth or eighth or tenth year make a difference?
“How is Sophy?” she asked.
“You could have come to the table and seen for yourself this evening.” He’d waited through the appetizers and the salads for her to do just that. By the time the main course had arrived, he’d accepted that she wasn’t going to.
“I was busy.”
“You’re always busy. Running things. Talking to customers.” Was it a good thing that she’d avoided his table? Had she not wanted to acknowledge him with Sophy?
He took another step up. “I saw you talking to that woman on the porch.” Stupid comment. Of course he’d seen them and she knew it; he’d passed within a few feet of them. “I didn’t recognize her.”
The thin light from the streetlamps showed her shrug, stiff and awkward. “She doesn’t live here.”
“An old friend?”
“No.”
“A relative?”
She was stiffer, more awkward. “Just someone who wanted something.”
He thought back to the woman. If asked, he would have said he hadn’t really paid much attention to her; he’d been too busy not paying attention to Ellie. But he’d seen enough. The woman had looked to be in her sixties, average height and weight. Gray hair, sallow complexion, a heavy smoker and on edge. Even when standing still, she hadn’t been still. Shifting her weight, her gaze darting about, her attention honed.
What had she wanted from Ellie? A handout? A favor? And why Ellie?
Because they shared a connection somewhere in their past? In the five years Ellie had lived in Copper Lake, she’d had little to say about her twenty-five years elsewhere. She was an only child, her parents were dead, and her only relatives were distant, figuratively and literally. He knew she’d had some unhappy times, but she’d never been open to discussing them.
A woman should be willing to discuss her hurts and disappointments with the man she’d been seeing for the better part of five years.
The wind gusted, scattering sodden dead leaves across the square, and it sent a chill through him. His jeans and leather jacket weren’t enough to stand up to the cold, but Ellie didn’t seem to notice the temperature. Granted, she wore a long wool coat, but there was an air of detachment about her. Anamaria would probably say her aura was the translucent shade of blue ice.
“Why don’t you go home?” he suggested, wanting very much to do the same.
“Are you going to continue harassing me if I don’t, Detective?”
“Come on, Ellie.” He wasn’t comfortable leaving her, or any other woman, alone in
