seemed to sense Shea’s despair and stood guard, laying her head in Shea’s lap when she needed comfort, nuzzling and licking her hands and chin when she needed a lift. And whenever Shea had gotten a bit too complacent—too sedentary after binge-watching moody television series and films—Butters had shown up carrying her leash to tell Shea she needed a walk.
“You hungry, girl?” Shea asked, reaching her hand down to show Butters a little love. Hearing Shea’s movements from before already had her dog at her feet. Shea pawed around for her glasses—which had landed on a pillow—and looked toward the nightstand to see the time. The clock read 11:30 AM. First of all, damn. She needed to get herself together. Second of all, seeing that particular time made her heart hurt. It was the hour of day she usually kicked into gear—getting showered and dressed to go work with Delilah.
You need to call her, Shea chided herself. Regardless of what happened with Dev, you owe her better than this.
But both of them had deserved better than this—especially Dev. Shea felt paralyzed about what to do. How could she be honest with Delilah without putting her in the middle of things between she and Dev?
Tomorrow, Shea promised herself. Today, I’ll take Butters for a long hike, and actually take a shower and figure out what I’m going to do about food.
Her trip to Gator’s Sports Bar was intended to be a quick in and out. In no mood to see anybody, she’d taken the time to call the order in. Plenty of folks in town who frequented The Big Spoon also had Gator’s on their circuit. At least she wasn’t likely to run into Delilah or Dev.
She’d deliberately waited until after what should have been the lunch rush and had called to make sure the kitchen would still be open at two o’clock in the afternoon. The place was so deserted, it didn’t look like there had been much of a lunch rush at all.
“Hi. I called in an order?” Shea’s statement sounded more like a question. Her voice was scratchy from disuse and she did her best to muster a smile. From what little she got back from the bartender, she doubted it worked. He tore his eyes away from one of the large, wall-mounted televisions long enough to take a few steps back until he had a line of sight into what must have been the kitchen.
“He’s working on it,” the bartender said dispassionately. “Maybe ten minutes or so. Want something to drink while you wait?”
“No, thanks,” Shea replied. “But can I go ahead and pay? I want to be able to take it as soon as it’s ready. I’m kind of in a rush.”
Wordlessly, the bartender turned his back to her, tapping the screen of his computer until a receipt began printing from a small box. She slid three twenties across the bar and told him she didn’t need change. He took it, and that was that.
Noting the pair playing pool off to the left side of the bar, Shea walked toward an empty booth on the right, thinking to wait for her order there. She sat with her back to the door, just in case anyone who she knew happened to walk in. Her pouf of hair was hard to miss, but she figured she could at least try for the incognito thing.
She’d monotoned herself, sporting three-quarter-length gym pants, a long-sleeved wicking running shirt, and a light vest. All were in a drab, unflattering gray. She’d even defaulted to her prescription sunglasses, with their clear, understated rim.
So busy stewing from the imposition of waiting—because she had taken the time to call the order in—she didn’t even hear one of the pool players approach, and she didn’t think much of it at first because he could have been en route to the jukebox or the bathroom. By the time she looked up, wondering why he had stopped at her side, he was already uttering the only two words that could chill her to the bone.
“Elle West,” the voice practically boomed, a familiar one’s, but not Keenan’s. Her husband standing in front of her in the flesh was the only thing that could have made things worse. Nearly as unwelcome of a vision was that of the much-discussed Don Packard Jr., who apparently, did know who she was after all.
After realizing who he was and putting together that he really was from New York, she’d been too cautious to