His belligerence added to the humor. Nina and Edward? I couldn’t see it, but Nina apparently could. “She’s in her early fifties and looks good. She’s originally from New York, so she’s as sophisticated as you are. She’s our Town Manager, meaning that she’s in a position of power, and it sounds like she’s interested in you.”
He had been sitting with his elbows on his knees, one hand holding his half-eaten sandwich. Now he drew back. “Interested.”
“Well, I haven’t talked with her about it, but, hell, Edward, you’re the most attractive new thing to move to town in years.”
Most men would have been flattered. This one was certainly aware of his looks—of course he was. I remember him combing his hair, shaving twice daily, frowning over whether this tie went with that shirt, checking the final product in the full-length mirror fronting our built-ins. There were times when he was so stealthy about the last that watching him was a hoot.
Not only was he attractive, but he was successful, personable, and unattached.
Right now, he was also impatient. “Is she a friend of yours?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell her I’m not interested?”
“How would I do that without giving away my relationship with you?”
“Then—then just tell her you heard I had a ton of baggage.”
“That’s no deterrent. Everyone has baggage.”
“She’s older than I am.”
So? I was thinking. Then it occurred to me that he still wanted kids, which might put Nina out of the running. And that was okay. Once past the humor of it, the thought of them together bothered me.
Looking off, he scowled at one of the fox oils. When his eyes returned, they were narrowed. “Is she competitive?”
“She’d have to be, to get as far as she did in New York.” Even here in Devon, when the opening for Town Manager had come, Nina had pulled out every stop. “So that’s a yes. Why?”
“Does she compete with you?”
“Why ever would she?”
“Because you’re beautiful.”
“I’m not.”
“You were too skinny before. You look better now.”
I wasn’t sure where he was headed, but it couldn’t be anywhere good. Talk about baggage? There was so much of it between us, and it was so dark, that I just couldn’t play games. He needed a reminder. I lifted my bangs to show him my scar.
He stared, frowned. “Where is it?”
“You don’t see it? Right here?” I let him look for a beat before dropping my hand and rearranging my bangs. “You never liked makeup.”
“Not on you. You never needed it.”
“That was before.”
“Well, I never needed a beard before, so we’re even.”
Pushing the salad away, I rose, went to the desk and etched my palm along its carved edge. “We’ll never be even.”
From behind, came an angry, “Jesus, Mackenzie,” then, with more control, “Y’know, we can go back and forth about who’s to blame, but you’ll never convince me it’s all you. So stop it already. We both feel guilt. We both feel regret. We both need to see someone different in the mirror when we get up in the morning.”
I turned. I wasn’t sure I could accept guilt on his part, but he clearly felt it. Nope, no actor, my Edward. There had been nothing staged about his wet eyes yesterday morning, and his fierce look now sealed the deal. He felt guilt.
Since arguing further would have been pointless, I studied his beard. “How long have you had it?”
“Three years,” he said. His voice was quiet. “I started growing it when I realized I needed a change.”
“Did it itch?”
“Growing? Yes.”
“Take much work now?”
“Less than shaving.”
“And it makes you feel different?” Hiding a scar was a subtraction. A beard was an addition. So were my bangs, I supposed, but I wondered whether seeing the beard in the mirror helped.
Actually, I wondered lots of things, only his eyes held mine, held mine, held mine with that irrevocably visceral pull. It had nothing to do with guilt or regret or grief, or any of the other emotions standing between us. I could raise any one of those, and it would instantly break the spell.
Actually, the thought alone did it. I looked away. At some point, we would need to have that discussion, but I couldn’t squeeze it into an hour’s lunch and then go to the most public job in the Spa without my face betraying angst. Besides, I wasn’t sure I was ready to be so raw again, especially not with Edward.
When he remained silent, I glanced over to see him