coffee, savoring the fresh brew. "For ten years I stared at your photo. Seeing you in the flesh is a sight to behold."
"You had my photo with you?" she asked, surprise lacing her tone. "I don't remember giving you a photo."
"Remember when we had our pictures taken at the photo booth at that discount store?" Nick looked into her eyes, eyes the color of summer grass. He wanted to drown in the crystal green depths, but he had to move slowly. He'd spooked her with his photo confession. Her body had tensed. Worry shadowed her features.
"I remember," she said. "I just can't believe you kept them."
"Did you keep yours?" He willed her to say yes. They'd split the photos that day.
"No."
The single word caused a sharp disappointment to knife through him. Had she cut up the pictures when he'd sent her away? He couldn't blame her if she had. She hadn't sent him one photo of John. And the money he'd sent Clea while in prison had been returned to him unopened. The lack of contact between them told him more than words ever could. He had so much to make up to her he didn't even know where to begin, but having dinner with her seemed a good place to start.
The pizza arrived and the next minutes were spent eating.
"God, this is good." He took a monster bite.
"I know." Clea wrapped some wayward mozzarella around her finger then popped it into her mouth. "John and I look forward to pizza night all week." She licked her fingers. "We're regulars."
"I've missed this." A wistful note crept into his voice and Clea brought her eyes to his.
"Missed what?"
"All of this." He glanced around. "Pizza, the smell of fresh air, the freedom to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Freedom is endless here. It's more than coming and going as you please. In prison, your choices are limited and regulated. Here, on the outside, anything is possible. Anything."
She stopped eating. The way she looked at him, as if she couldn't bear what he'd been through, cut to his soul.
"Was it awful in prison?" she asked.
He swallowed his pizza, not sure how much he wanted to tell her. The reality of prison life was brutal. "Yes, but I got used to it."
"I don't think I could." She took another bite of pizza. "What did you do all day?"
He wanted to say, Think of you. Think of our son . But that was only half-true. Fighting to stay alive and in one piece exhausted every minute when he wasn't in his cell. Instead he said, "I kept busy. I earned my Associates of Arts degree in Business through an online program. I also earned my certifications for collision repair and refinishing, brakes, suspension and steering, and engine repair. That's why Mr. Mullin was so interested in hiring me back."
"That's amazing." Her eyebrows shot up, her pizza forgotten. "I'm impressed."
"Don't be." He shrugged. "It filled the hours."
"If you have your AA and so many certifications why are you working at Mullin's?" she asked. "I'm sure there are higher paying, more specialized jobs out there."
"It's where I want to be right now." He looked at her and her eyes darkened. "What I'd like to do is open my own classic car restoration shop. I've drafted a business plan. A solid restoration business can be run from anywhere, even Port Bliss, thanks to the Internet. Parts can be located, bought and sold with a keystroke. It's exciting. There's big money to be made in classic car restoration."
"Wow." Clea smiled. "You managed to go on with your life even though you were locked up. You should be proud, Nick."
The pride in her words embarrassed him. He'd been in prison. There was nothing to be proud of. Wanting to change the subject, he said, "Let's talk about something else." He finished off his pizza.
Clea leaned back. "It looks like we are both finally getting what we want."
"What do you want, Clea?" he asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.
She twirled the straw in her drink. A myriad of emotions crossed her face. He could see her hesitation to tell him anything, but also her need
"You had my photo with you?" she asked, surprise lacing her tone. "I don't remember giving you a photo."
"Remember when we had our pictures taken at the photo booth at that discount store?" Nick looked into her eyes, eyes the color of summer grass. He wanted to drown in the crystal green depths, but he had to move slowly. He'd spooked her with his photo confession. Her body had tensed. Worry shadowed her features.
"I remember," she said. "I just can't believe you kept them."
"Did you keep yours?" He willed her to say yes. They'd split the photos that day.
"No."
The single word caused a sharp disappointment to knife through him. Had she cut up the pictures when he'd sent her away? He couldn't blame her if she had. She hadn't sent him one photo of John. And the money he'd sent Clea while in prison had been returned to him unopened. The lack of contact between them told him more than words ever could. He had so much to make up to her he didn't even know where to begin, but having dinner with her seemed a good place to start.
The pizza arrived and the next minutes were spent eating.
"God, this is good." He took a monster bite.
"I know." Clea wrapped some wayward mozzarella around her finger then popped it into her mouth. "John and I look forward to pizza night all week." She licked her fingers. "We're regulars."
"I've missed this." A wistful note crept into his voice and Clea brought her eyes to his.
"Missed what?"
"All of this." He glanced around. "Pizza, the smell of fresh air, the freedom to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Freedom is endless here. It's more than coming and going as you please. In prison, your choices are limited and regulated. Here, on the outside, anything is possible. Anything."
She stopped eating. The way she looked at him, as if she couldn't bear what he'd been through, cut to his soul.
"Was it awful in prison?" she asked.
He swallowed his pizza, not sure how much he wanted to tell her. The reality of prison life was brutal. "Yes, but I got used to it."
"I don't think I could." She took another bite of pizza. "What did you do all day?"
He wanted to say, Think of you. Think of our son . But that was only half-true. Fighting to stay alive and in one piece exhausted every minute when he wasn't in his cell. Instead he said, "I kept busy. I earned my Associates of Arts degree in Business through an online program. I also earned my certifications for collision repair and refinishing, brakes, suspension and steering, and engine repair. That's why Mr. Mullin was so interested in hiring me back."
"That's amazing." Her eyebrows shot up, her pizza forgotten. "I'm impressed."
"Don't be." He shrugged. "It filled the hours."
"If you have your AA and so many certifications why are you working at Mullin's?" she asked. "I'm sure there are higher paying, more specialized jobs out there."
"It's where I want to be right now." He looked at her and her eyes darkened. "What I'd like to do is open my own classic car restoration shop. I've drafted a business plan. A solid restoration business can be run from anywhere, even Port Bliss, thanks to the Internet. Parts can be located, bought and sold with a keystroke. It's exciting. There's big money to be made in classic car restoration."
"Wow." Clea smiled. "You managed to go on with your life even though you were locked up. You should be proud, Nick."
The pride in her words embarrassed him. He'd been in prison. There was nothing to be proud of. Wanting to change the subject, he said, "Let's talk about something else." He finished off his pizza.
Clea leaned back. "It looks like we are both finally getting what we want."
"What do you want, Clea?" he asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.
She twirled the straw in her drink. A myriad of emotions crossed her face. He could see her hesitation to tell him anything, but also her need
Similar Books
