Page 162 of Our Little Secret
And the way he said those words caused her heart to freeze.
“Start over?” she repeated, slipping her hand into her jacket pocket, feeling the security of the knife—his knife. Just in case. “I don’t think we can.”
His smile was disarming. “It’s never too late.”
He took a step toward her.
Her breath caught and the look he sent her—so intense, so dangerous—made her heart nearly stop.
The door opened with a loud creak.
Leah stepped onto the porch. “There you are!” she said before spying Brooke. “What—what’s going on here?” She wrapped her arms around her body and shivered dramatically. “God, it’s cold.”
“Just getting to know your fiancé,” Brooke said quickly.
Eli said evenly, “She’s confused me with someone else.”
CHAPTER 35
“Who?” Leah asked. “Who did Brooke confuse you with?” She shot Brooke a suspicious glare, then said, “And for the love of God, come inside. It’s freezing out here.” She shivered and held the door open.
Well, the cat was out of the bag now. “Eli is a dead ringer for a guy I used to know when I was selling hospital software,” Brooke said, quickly coming up with a partial lie as she walked into the house. “His name was Gideon Ross.”
“I get that a lot,” Eli said as Shep streaked inside and he closed the door behind them. “People thinking I’m someone else.”
“Really?” Leah shook her head. “Well, you must have gotten it wrong,” she said to Brooke. “Hard, I know, to think that you made a mistake, but there you go.” Then she turned to Eli. “Besides, I think you’re pretty unique-looking.” She winked. “And, of course, rakishly handsome.”
“Of course,” he replied, grinning at her but sliding a glance Brooke’s way.
Not wanting to be witness to the sickening display, she walked into the kitchen, where she found a towel and started wiping down the counter just for something to do. Thankfully, Marilee was still upstairs.
She started to take off her jacket, then hesitated, considering the contents in her pockets. She considered hiding the knife and wallet in her bedroom and started for the stairs. As she did, she saw Leah kiss Eli lightly on the cheek, then wrinkle her nose. “You promised you would quit.”
“After we’re married,” he reminded her.
“I’m going to hold you to it.” Her eyes were sparkling again as she linked her fingers through his and pulled Eli into the living room, where her gaze landed on the stereo. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed it before, probably because she was so wrapped up in her fiancé. “Oh my God, are these Nana’s old records?” she asked, picking up the sleeves for the LPs and shuffling through them.
“Of course.” Brooke shrugged out of her jacket and, with the intent of taking it upstairs at the first chance, kept an eye on Eli.
“I remember her playing these over and over. Do you?” she asked Brooke. She was already setting up the stereo, adjusting the speakers, and slipping an LP onto the turntable. A few seconds later Elvis’s voice filled the room as he crooned “Blue Christmas.”“Oh man,” she whispered, stepping away from the stereo. “Mom used to play this right after Dad left.” She seemed wistful. “It always made her so sad.”
Neal stepped out of his office area and said, “Maybe we should listen to something a little more uplifting.”
“Yeah,” Brooke agreed. The last thing she needed was for any of them to get maudlin.
But Leah refilled her champagne flute with the end of the bottle she found on a side table, then began dancing slowly in front of the fire. “Nana used to get so mad at her.”
“True.” Brooke didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to stop the record from spinning and sending out its sad notes, but because of Leah, she tamped down the urge and went back to polish the kitchen counter until it gleamed. She preferred not to think about their mother’s grief when Douglas Fletcher decided he was a free spirit who couldn’t be caged, that he no longer needed or wanted to be tied down by a wife and two daughters.
Thankfully, the song ended, but all of a sudden Leah was at the turntable again, lifting the needle intending to replay the song.
“Don’t,” Brooke said. “This is a celebration, right? No need to think about unhappy times.”
“But Ilovethis song! It was Mom’s favorite!” And Elvis’s voice began singing again. She began to sway. “That’s your problem, Brooke,” she said. “You never want to face the pain in your life so you never get over it.”
“So nowyou’rea psychologist.”
“I’ve had a lot of counseling,” she admitted.
