Page 83 of The Second Dance
“No reason?”
“Not as of right now.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “I have a feeling you two will work it out.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you two can’t seem to stay away from each other.”
I frown. Those were the exact words Chad used.
Do those two talk to each other, after all?
Heather waves at someone over my shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind. I invited Evan here. He wanted to meet the woman who brought the two of us together.”
“Me?”
She clicks her tongue, swatting my arm playfully. “As if you don’t know. You helped me get my groove back.”
I wonder how Bo would feel about that.
Would he thank me for supporting his mom through a tough time? Or blame me for putting the final nail in the coffin?
47.
Bo
I park my truck on the curb and glance up at the house. Whitney lives on a quiet cobblestone street. I climb out of the truck and slowly circle around it.
The sidewalk is only a few feet long, but it feels like a mile-long stretch. The grass is greening up on either side, water pools in low spots from last night’s rainstorm.
I knock on the door, holding the manilla envelope in front of me.
After a few moments, I raise my hand to knock again, and it swings open.
Whit’s gaze lands on my chest and slowly rises to my face. “She’s not here.”
Disappointment lances through me. I knew that was a very distinct possibility, but hope is a silly thing.
“Like, not at the moment? Or she’s moved back to Lincoln?”
“The latter.”
“Oh. I had some paperwork for her.”
Whit crosses her arms, leaning on the doorframe. She gives me a long, surveying stare. This is a new look for her. She’s always come across as so meek and mild. It’s like she took the mask off.
She pushes upright. “You might as well come in.”
I don’t want to come in.
But she leaves the door hanging open and disappears without waiting for an answer. Glancing back at my truck, I shrug, following her inside.
She points at the counter. “You can sit if you want.”
I warily ease down onto a stool, watching her pour coffee into two mugs. She slides one in front of me and clutches the other in her hands. “Why didn’t you just text her?”
Why didn’t I? Good question. Because I didn’t think I would survive the sting of another rejection. If I stuck strictly to the Birdsong channel of communication, I could operate under the guise of needing to know about the wildlife habitat.
