Dennis claimed her seat across the table, his larger frame dominating the small space, and Fiona watched him with wary eyes.
“Why are you here, Dennis? There’s nothing left for us to say.”
“I don’t believe that for one minute.” His eyes softened the way they used to during the honeymoon phase of their relationship. “We have something special, babe. It’s not too late for us to reclaim it.”
Fiona leaned back in her chair. “I’m tired of having this conversation. I’ve told you again, and again, and again, but you just don’t want to listen.”
“That’s because I know I’m right. We’ve had so many great times together, like that cruise to Cancun and the week in Jackson Hole. Remember how much you loved horseback riding in the Grand Tetons? We can do that again, whenever you want.” He reached across the table for her hand.
When she slipped her fingers from his grip, a spark of anger lit his eyes. He tamped it down so quickly she almost missed it, but it was there. It was always there.
“Look, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us, about our future. I screwed things up, I know, and I’m so damn sorry. I can’t say that enough. But if you just come back, I promise to make it up to you and be a better man.”
He knew all the right words and exactly how to say them for maximum effect. The Fiona of six months ago might have fallen for it, but not today, or any other day. She refused to repeat her mistakes.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you anymore.”
“That’s not true,” he insisted. “Deep down, you still love me. I can see it in your eyes. Why don’t we go back to your place so we can have this discussion in private?”
Fiona shook her head. No way was she going anywhere with this man. “Dennis, it’s two days before Christmas. I’m trying hard not to be rude, but you need to move on with your life.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable, for a few long, uncomfortable moments. “It’s because of that neighbor of yours, isn’t it?”
“My feelings for him have no bearing on my feelings for you.”
His lips compressed into a white line, and a little bit of the Dennis she knew peeked through his veneer of civility. “He’ll leave you eventually; it’s what guys like him do. And then you’ll be all alone, just you and that cat. Is that what you really want?”
Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. The only thing missing from his remark was a crack about her age. “Are you trying to convince me that you’re a better alternative to some ridiculous hypothetical scenario where I end up a crazy cat lady? Seriously, that has got to be one of the dumbest things you have ever said to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me dumb.”
“Then don’t say dumb things.”
Dennis opened his mouth, but whatever he intended to say was interrupted by the ring of his phone. He glanced down at the screen. “It’s work. I need to answer this.” He put the phone to his ear. “Heckler.”
She didn’t bother trying to decipher the conversation. It wasn’t her business, she really didn’t care, and everything on his side comprised of one- or two-word sentences, so there wasn’t much point in it anyway. But something in the way he said, “Oh, really,” made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.
He ended the call less than a minute later and tucked the phone into the case attached to his belt.
“Duty calls.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood. “I’ll stop by your place after work tomorrow so we can talk more.”
Fiona let out an exasperated huff. She should have just pounded her head against the table. It would have done as much good. “There’s nothing for us to—”
Too late. He was already out the door.
Pinto’sgazeflickeddownto the speedometer, relieved to see that he wasn’t driving faster than the posted limit. So why was he being pulled over? Granted, Ford Mustangs were notorious cop magnets, but there weren’t any red lights or stop signs for him to run on the expressway, and as far as he could recall, he hadn’t cut anyone off or made any illegal lane changes. Maybe one of his taillights was broken.
Pulling over onto the shoulder of a road with cars zipping by at seventy-plus miles per hour didn’t sound like a good idea, especially with the sun starting to set. Instead, he turned on his hazard lights to let the cop know that he planned to pull over as soon as he reached a safe place, which would be the upcoming exit less than a half mile away.
There wasn’t much on the quiet county road, just a convenience store and what looked to be an abandoned auto repair shop. Last he’d heard, there was a massive development under construction a few miles away, and it wouldn’t take long for stores to move in to satisfy the newly created demand.
Pinto hooked a right into the parking lot of the repair shop. As soon as the Mustang rolled to a stop, he cut the engine and rolled down the window. To assure the cop that he wasn’t a threat, he gripped the top of the steering wheel with both hands. With luck, the stop wouldn’t be for anything serious and he’d be back on the road in no time.
A minute or two later, the officer approached Pinto’s window, a flashlight in his left hand and hard lines carved into his stony face. He was a young guy, thirty at the most, tall with a heavyset build and the beginnings of a beard that wasn’t growing in well. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“No, sir.” Nothing good ever came from offering suggestions. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Still, he kept his tone polite and respectful, because the last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of the night in a holding cell.
The cop scowled. “License, registration, and proof of insurance.”
