her, but she wouldn’t
meet his eyes. Maybe that was a good thing; her visit had already made him too
volatile as it was. He dropped her purse onto the front seat and
straightened. “Another decade it is then.”
Dustin
walked back to the house, waiting to hear the engine of her car spring to life,
and wondered how he could feel so angry and so empty all at the same time. What
the hell was he supposed to do with that? He was on the bottom porch step when
he heard it – the car sputtering but never starting. She tried three times,
each sounding more desperate than the one before.
Peter
stood silhouetted in the front door. “Looks like we have a houseguest.”
Chapter 9
Faith
stood at the window in Dustin’s office, staring at the tree across the yard. She’d
tried to sleep, but as the silence of the house descended, she realized it was
not going to happen. Some years she liked to be alone, but she’d already
decided this wasn’t one of them – that’s why she’d orchestrated a couple of
houseguests. She’d wandered into his office looking for a drink, but the view
from the window was enough.
“What
are you doing in here?” She jumped at the sound of his voice, so loud as it
fell into the silence of the night. His tone didn’t sound angry, just curious.
She
raised a hand to her face, wiping away the tears, and hoped there were no
remnants in her voice. “Looking for a drink.”
“Milk’s
in the fridge.”
His
tone was mildly chiding, mildly amused, and she smiled, chancing a look at him
over her shoulder. “Not that kind of drink.”
“I
think I can help with that.” Dustin waved her to the window seat as he
crossed the room to the credenza behind his desk. He turned away from her,
needing to take a deep breath before he reached for the glasses. He’d come
downstairs for the same reason, but finding her in the middle of the room had
made him drunker than the whole tumbler of scotch would have.
He’d
given her an old t-shirt to sleep in, and memories assaulted him seeing her
standing there, the fabric just barely covering the tops of her thighs. Finding
her at the tree had blasted a hole inside of him, and things he hadn’t thought
of for a decade warred for his attention. He didn’t like it – he’d kept them
locked away for a reason.
When
he turned back she’d folded herself into the corner, trying to look as small
and relaxed as possible. He handed her a glass and then sat down, as far away
as he could get. “You don’t have to stay,” she whispered.
He
took a sip then stared into the glass like it held the answer to an important
question. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Faith
inhaled sharply, and he chanced a look. Unshed tears made her blue eyes look
even brighter than usual. “Neither do I.”
“Then
cheers.” He clinked the rim of his glass against hers and downed the rest of
the liquid. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw her head back and emptied
hers in one swallow. “Well, that’s one way to get me to move,” he murmured,
crossing the room to refill the glasses.
“No
more for me, thanks.” Faith stretched her legs across the cushions, her toes
just barely missing the opposite wall.
“Still
have more self-control than me I see,” he said as he poured himself another.
“It’s
self-preservation – alcohol and me don’t get along so well.”
He
raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”
Faith
sighed. “Things change.” Her voice was full of such regret and sadness, he
couldn’t stand it.
Dustin
crossed the room in two steps and sat down beside her, picking up her outstretched
legs and placing them in his lap. “What else has changed?”
She
tried to answer and ignore the flicker of awareness at his hand resting against
her skin. “Everything,” she murmured.
His
forehead creased, a look of skepticism, and he ran his thumb over her toes.
“Can’t
meet his eyes. Maybe that was a good thing; her visit had already made him too
volatile as it was. He dropped her purse onto the front seat and
straightened. “Another decade it is then.”
Dustin
walked back to the house, waiting to hear the engine of her car spring to life,
and wondered how he could feel so angry and so empty all at the same time. What
the hell was he supposed to do with that? He was on the bottom porch step when
he heard it – the car sputtering but never starting. She tried three times,
each sounding more desperate than the one before.
Peter
stood silhouetted in the front door. “Looks like we have a houseguest.”
Chapter 9
Faith
stood at the window in Dustin’s office, staring at the tree across the yard. She’d
tried to sleep, but as the silence of the house descended, she realized it was
not going to happen. Some years she liked to be alone, but she’d already
decided this wasn’t one of them – that’s why she’d orchestrated a couple of
houseguests. She’d wandered into his office looking for a drink, but the view
from the window was enough.
“What
are you doing in here?” She jumped at the sound of his voice, so loud as it
fell into the silence of the night. His tone didn’t sound angry, just curious.
She
raised a hand to her face, wiping away the tears, and hoped there were no
remnants in her voice. “Looking for a drink.”
“Milk’s
in the fridge.”
His
tone was mildly chiding, mildly amused, and she smiled, chancing a look at him
over her shoulder. “Not that kind of drink.”
“I
think I can help with that.” Dustin waved her to the window seat as he
crossed the room to the credenza behind his desk. He turned away from her,
needing to take a deep breath before he reached for the glasses. He’d come
downstairs for the same reason, but finding her in the middle of the room had
made him drunker than the whole tumbler of scotch would have.
He’d
given her an old t-shirt to sleep in, and memories assaulted him seeing her
standing there, the fabric just barely covering the tops of her thighs. Finding
her at the tree had blasted a hole inside of him, and things he hadn’t thought
of for a decade warred for his attention. He didn’t like it – he’d kept them
locked away for a reason.
When
he turned back she’d folded herself into the corner, trying to look as small
and relaxed as possible. He handed her a glass and then sat down, as far away
as he could get. “You don’t have to stay,” she whispered.
He
took a sip then stared into the glass like it held the answer to an important
question. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Faith
inhaled sharply, and he chanced a look. Unshed tears made her blue eyes look
even brighter than usual. “Neither do I.”
“Then
cheers.” He clinked the rim of his glass against hers and downed the rest of
the liquid. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw her head back and emptied
hers in one swallow. “Well, that’s one way to get me to move,” he murmured,
crossing the room to refill the glasses.
“No
more for me, thanks.” Faith stretched her legs across the cushions, her toes
just barely missing the opposite wall.
“Still
have more self-control than me I see,” he said as he poured himself another.
“It’s
self-preservation – alcohol and me don’t get along so well.”
He
raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”
Faith
sighed. “Things change.” Her voice was full of such regret and sadness, he
couldn’t stand it.
Dustin
crossed the room in two steps and sat down beside her, picking up her outstretched
legs and placing them in his lap. “What else has changed?”
She
tried to answer and ignore the flicker of awareness at his hand resting against
her skin. “Everything,” she murmured.
His
forehead creased, a look of skepticism, and he ran his thumb over her toes.
“Can’t
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