Sandy - Melanie Moreland Page 0,51

I was hesitant because I wasn’t sure of her reaction. I worried about disturbing her and afraid if she was dismissive or uncaring of my news that I wasn’t sure how I would handle it. I decided to wait until I saw her in the morning.

Once again, my sleep was broken and fragmented.

Jordan

I found her in the kitchen making coffee in the morning. I entered the room, determined to speak to her. She glanced up from pouring water into the coffeemaker.

“Good morning,” I greeted her.

“Morning,” she replied, pushing the button. “Coffee will be ready in a moment.”

“Great, but I didn’t come for that.”

She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. She looked casual, but her body was tense. Her tone was cordial, but I preferred it when she spoke to me in that low, breathless voice. “I expected to hear from you last night,” she remarked.

I mimicked her stance. “It was past midnight when we finished. I texted you a couple of times, but you didn’t respond.”

“I was sorting some drawers in Max’s office. I forgot my phone in the kitchen.”

“I see.”

“How did the offers go?”

I sighed and loosened my arms. It felt as if I was talking to a polite stranger, not the woman I spent the weekend with. “I accepted the highest offer. He came in at thirty grand over asking. He wanted a two-week closing, but I got it pushed back to a month. He had no conditions other than the two weeks, so we bartered back and forth for a bit. He was pretty set on it, and I wanted six weeks, but we compromised in the end.”

She smiled, a real, genuine Sandy smile. Stepping forward, she laid her hand on my arm. “Jordan, that is wonderful. Congratulations. I’ll make sure Bentley knows you need the condo in a month.”

I laid my hand over hers, meeting her gaze. What I saw bothered me. Her eyes were dull, and the pain and worry in them made me ache.

“Sandy,” I murmured. “Talk to me.”

She pulled away. “I am.”

I grabbed at her hand, holding it tight. “Something is wrong. I feel it. Talk to me,” I repeated.

She didn’t try to deny it. “Not here.”

“Lunch?”

She paused, then nodded. I felt a flash of relief. If she talked to me, I could help her sort out whatever was going on in her head.

“Okay, I’ll pick us up a sandwich.”

“All right.”

The air around us was tense. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I lifted my cup. “I’ll take that coffee if you’re still offering.”

Smiling, she held out her hand for my mug. “Of course.”

But her eyes remained troubled, and I fought down the feeling that lunch was only going to make things worse.

She waited for me on the bench we often had sat on in the past when we would share lunch. During those earlier days, when we were simply two people drawing comfort from each other. I studied her as I grew close, once again noting her pallor and the anxious set to her shoulders. One of Sandy’s greatest gifts had always been that of repose. She rarely fidgeted or squirmed. She didn’t play with her hair or drum her fingers restlessly. She was calm, never resorting to theatrics or displays of temper.

Today, her leg swung as she waited, and her fingers drummed on her knee. I knew how high her anxiety was as I approached. I sat beside her, offering her the sandwich and iced tea I had brought her.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said. “The deli was busy.”

“I can’t go with you to Van’s wedding,” she blurted out.

I paused in unwrapping my sandwich. That wasn’t what I had expected her to say—but it was as good a place to start as anywhere, I supposed. I put the sandwich back in the bag, my appetite gone.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“To me, yes.”

“I can’t have people thinking we’re a couple. I don’t want to disappoint Van, so I will attend, at least for the ceremony, but I’ll be going on my own.”

Disappointment flooded my chest, but something in her voice made me pause. She sounded regretful, as if the decision caused her pain. I needed her to open up to me. We could work this out together.

I turned to face her fully, ready to battle this out with her. “Odd, I thought we were a couple. You certainly acted that way this past weekend.”

“This weekend was wonderful, but it can’t happen again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m don’t want…this.” She waved her hand