gets a second chance at life, and she chooses to hang out at your place? I know you were friends, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have another place to go.” His heart sank as he realized that might explain her continued presence. In Zoe’s body, Destiny couldn’t resume her old life, nor could she pick up where Zoe had left off. Was she biding her time with him until she could establish herself?
He understood her situation, but he felt used.
“Maybe you need to get a grip,” Roman said.
* * * *
As he set the table, Chance observed Destiny bustling around the kitchen, singing under her breath. She could whistle and hum, but when she put words to a tune, she couldn’t carry a note. The tiny imperfection did funny things to his insides—that, and the smudge of flour on her cheekbone. Judging from the amount of stuff spread out on the counter, she’d put some real effort into the meal preparation tonight, but the rest of her time was unaccounted for. His conversation with Roman had started him wondering. How did she spend her days? Where had she gotten the money for the groceries she’d bought? Zoe hadn’t been working full-time before the accident, and she’d always existed on the financial edge. She didn’t save money.
Although he hadn’t received any validation from Roman—the opposite, in fact—voicing his suspicions had made them real and raised more issues. What did Destiny intend to do? How could she have slept with him, let him spank her? Was she that desperate?
Of course she was. But he couldn’t live this way—one foot planted in two realities. The uncertainties were fucking with his mind, ripping him apart inside.
After dinner, he would insist they talk. He wanted her to state the truth. He needed to hear it from her lips, for her to confirm he wasn’t losing his mind. A chance still existed that the woman was who she looked like.
“Would you carry stuff to the table, please?” Destiny pivoted and extracted a salad from the fridge. She shook a carafe of dressing and sprinkled it over the greens, then tossed it with a set of short wooden forks he didn’t remember having, and sprinkled some more.
He entered the kitchen. “Did you make that dressing?”
“Uh-huh. Lemon tarragon.” She handed him the salad and the wooden utensils.
He delivered the items to the dining room and returned. One serving bowl contained chicken in a creamy gravy she’s made from a roux; the other held rice. Those went on the table as well. Then two glasses of water.
“We’re set.” She dusted her hands. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“That would be good.” He could use the courage alcohol provided for the conversation ahead. “You sit. I’ll get the glasses.”
After they were both seated with goblets filled, he forked a bit of chicken into his mouth. Creamy, tart, seasoned, and tender. He tried the rice next, and then her salad. He wasn’t much into rabbit food, but she’d tossed crumbles of bacon onto the greens, and her dressing had a nice kick. “It’s all good,” he said.
“Thank you.”
To get the conversation started, to pave the way for the difficult discussion ahead, he shared details of his current restoration project, a Mercury Cyclone. She made some pertinent comments, and he responded while worries eddied in his mind. Why was Destiny still here? What were her intentions?
She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing earrings, green stones suspended by a short gold chain.
He eyed the jewelry, certain he’d seen those earrings before. And equally sure he knew who’d been wearing them. “Are those new?”
Destiny untucked her hair, brushing it down. She shoved away from the table. “Not exactly,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“I got them this week.”
“I would define that as new.” He spoke to her retreating form as she carried her dish to the kitchen.
She muttered something he didn’t catch.
“What did you say?” He set his
“Maybe she doesn’t have another place to go.” His heart sank as he realized that might explain her continued presence. In Zoe’s body, Destiny couldn’t resume her old life, nor could she pick up where Zoe had left off. Was she biding her time with him until she could establish herself?
He understood her situation, but he felt used.
“Maybe you need to get a grip,” Roman said.
* * * *
As he set the table, Chance observed Destiny bustling around the kitchen, singing under her breath. She could whistle and hum, but when she put words to a tune, she couldn’t carry a note. The tiny imperfection did funny things to his insides—that, and the smudge of flour on her cheekbone. Judging from the amount of stuff spread out on the counter, she’d put some real effort into the meal preparation tonight, but the rest of her time was unaccounted for. His conversation with Roman had started him wondering. How did she spend her days? Where had she gotten the money for the groceries she’d bought? Zoe hadn’t been working full-time before the accident, and she’d always existed on the financial edge. She didn’t save money.
Although he hadn’t received any validation from Roman—the opposite, in fact—voicing his suspicions had made them real and raised more issues. What did Destiny intend to do? How could she have slept with him, let him spank her? Was she that desperate?
Of course she was. But he couldn’t live this way—one foot planted in two realities. The uncertainties were fucking with his mind, ripping him apart inside.
After dinner, he would insist they talk. He wanted her to state the truth. He needed to hear it from her lips, for her to confirm he wasn’t losing his mind. A chance still existed that the woman was who she looked like.
“Would you carry stuff to the table, please?” Destiny pivoted and extracted a salad from the fridge. She shook a carafe of dressing and sprinkled it over the greens, then tossed it with a set of short wooden forks he didn’t remember having, and sprinkled some more.
He entered the kitchen. “Did you make that dressing?”
“Uh-huh. Lemon tarragon.” She handed him the salad and the wooden utensils.
He delivered the items to the dining room and returned. One serving bowl contained chicken in a creamy gravy she’s made from a roux; the other held rice. Those went on the table as well. Then two glasses of water.
“We’re set.” She dusted her hands. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“That would be good.” He could use the courage alcohol provided for the conversation ahead. “You sit. I’ll get the glasses.”
After they were both seated with goblets filled, he forked a bit of chicken into his mouth. Creamy, tart, seasoned, and tender. He tried the rice next, and then her salad. He wasn’t much into rabbit food, but she’d tossed crumbles of bacon onto the greens, and her dressing had a nice kick. “It’s all good,” he said.
“Thank you.”
To get the conversation started, to pave the way for the difficult discussion ahead, he shared details of his current restoration project, a Mercury Cyclone. She made some pertinent comments, and he responded while worries eddied in his mind. Why was Destiny still here? What were her intentions?
She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing earrings, green stones suspended by a short gold chain.
He eyed the jewelry, certain he’d seen those earrings before. And equally sure he knew who’d been wearing them. “Are those new?”
Destiny untucked her hair, brushing it down. She shoved away from the table. “Not exactly,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“I got them this week.”
“I would define that as new.” He spoke to her retreating form as she carried her dish to the kitchen.
She muttered something he didn’t catch.
“What did you say?” He set his
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