out on their asses and made sure Slade Garrison knew not to give them any information. So Charity’s either overdosed on her nice meds or something is up.”
Neither one. But she wasn’t about to tell Will the real reason behind Charity’s behavior. Some secrets would last forever.
“Not only that,” he continued, “she hid the tabloids.” He shook his head, baffled. “I’ve never known her to not exploit every possible opportunity to gossip, and this was on a national scale.”
Of course he’d think that. Most people would. But most people didn’t know Charity Grambling like she did. “Who was it, TMZ?”
He nodded.
“Bottom-feeders,” she said, lifting the computer screen. “Let me call these places and make appointments with every one of them.”
“Let’s just start with one, Joss,” he said. “Let’s go see one. Together. Let’s find out if it’s the right thing to do. And I can tell Lacey I won’t be gone all day, which will make her happy.”
“And I can work on Guy’s mess this afternoon,” she agreed.
“And we can have dinner together tonight.”
She drew back. “Why?”
“We still need to talk.”
“We’ll have all afternoon to talk.”
He put his hand over hers, so warm and big and familiar. She couldn’t help looking at it, at how his fingers eclipsed hers, at how strong and capable that hand was.
“We have fifteen years to catch up on,” he said. “That’s going to take longer than a trip to Naples and back.”
She opened her mouth to argue, to turn him down, to put up the wall she had first erected on that horrible night in his loft and promised herself she’d never, ever tear down.
But nothing came out.
And then she nodded.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, his eyes dark blue with hope.
Another nod, still not completely sure what she’d say if she opened her mouth.
“I just want you to forgive me,” he said.
For a second, she wasn’t sure she understood. “Forgive you?”
“For never calling, for never finding you, for never making sure fifteen years didn’t pass without… us…”
His voice trailed off but it didn’t matter; her pulse was thumping so loud she could hardly hear him.
“Will,” she whispered, “I’m the one who made sure all that time passed. I wouldn’t have returned your call and I figured… this was better.”
“Better?” He gripped her hand, picking it up, bringing it to his lips and holding her gaze. “Better for who?”
“For you.”
He closed his eyes and kissed her fingertips. “It wasn’t better for me.”
Her heart folded in half, smashed by regret and, damn, hope. Maybe an afternoon with him would squash that for good.
Or maybe it would make her hope for more. There was only one way to find out.
Chapter Ten
Why did that dang thread always get stuck on the up-loop? Guy pushed his glasses up his nose and angled the hooped plastic mesh toward the window to get a good look. Not that the artwork could look good. No, this was one messy piece of needlepoint.
Maybe William would show him that little movie on the computer again with the lady who explained this needling to children. That had really helped.
With a sigh he studied the whole project again, letting his eyes unfocus so he could appreciate the shape and colors of the flowers and not the bumps and lumps of his mistakes. He’d gotten half a petal done since yesterday and then he’d lost interest. Why couldn’t he stay with one thing long enough to finish it?
Same thing with his memory. Stuff disappeared as quickly as it showed up, always with those flashing lights like on a Christmas tree, teasing him in color so bright and bold then fading to black and white, before they disappeared altogether into gray nothingness.
But ever since that girl landed on his front porch, a few lights were coming on. And staying on. Threads of memories wrapped around his broken brain like it was this plastic embroidery net, then the colors almost caught, and, boom, they were knotted in shadows again.
Still, when he looked at her something deep in his gut stirred.
He knew her. And not just from the TV.
That was the thought that kept getting tangled just like this silky orange yarn.
He knew her. Was that possible? He had carefully lined up the needle and was ready to push it through the hole when the doorbell startled him and the needle jumped out of the spot.
“Son of a gun!” No Girl Scouts sold cookies at this time of day, so he hoped it wasn’t some salesperson, ’cause he wasn’t