Page 45 of The Banned Books Club

But she knew he’d been reacting out of his own pain. Maybe if it washerfather who’d been accused of something that heinous, she would’ve reacted the same way.

She thought again of the note Cormac had left. He seemed sincere in wanting to talk. Certainly she could give him an audience, couldn’t she? Some kind of resolution could make her presence in Wakefield easier on both of them. Then maybe she could set the past aside, at least to a degree, and focus on getting through her mother’s illness...

Gathering her courage for what would undoubtedly be a difficult conversation, she threw on a pair of sneakers and ran through the backyard, trying to block what she could of the rain with one hand.

Cormac had reconciled himself to the fact that Gia wasn’t interested in talking to him. It’d only been twenty-four hours since he’d left her that note—not long enough to truly decide which way she’d go—but he’d expected rejection from the beginning and believed he was getting it. So he was surprised when she showed up at his door, soaked, just before he went to bed. With the storm, he hadn’t even looked outside to see if she’d appear by the pool.

“Wow, it must be raining even harder than I thought,” he said as he took in the water dripping from her hair and the white long-sleeved T-shirt that was plastered to her body, along with a pair of blue leggings.

“I’ve been out here a while,” she admitted. “I went back to my house twice before I actually knocked.”

He eyed her, trying to gain some idea of what he should expect in the next few minutes. “Couldn’t make up your mind whether to come?”

“Wasn’t sure it would do any good.”

She wasn’t giving much away, except a general sense of fatalism, which he supposed he could understand, given the longevity of the feud between her and his family. That didn’t mean she wasn’t up for a fight. But he’d asked for this audience; he needed to take his chances. “Please, come in,” he said, holding Duke out of the way and stepping back at the same time. “I’ll get you a towel.”

Leaning to one side, she tried to peer around him. He got the impression she was checking to make sure he was alone, that she wasn’t about to walk into an ambush. The fact that she felt the need to be so cautious made him feel sorry for the way he and his family had treated her in the past; it also made him admire her for being brave enough to come over, despite their history. “We can talk right here,” she said.

She didn’t trust him. That was obvious. But he was the son of the man who, according to her, had betrayed her trust seventeen years ago, so it made sense. “It’s freezing outside,” he said. “And I’m harmless. I promise. I have a business here in town. The clinic is everything I’ve worked to achieve in the years since high school. I wouldn’t jeopardize what I’ve built, wouldn’t want to lose everything like my father did.”

Her gaze swept over him and his dog as if she was trying to size them both up. They must not have seemed too threatening, because her chest lifted as though she was drawing a deep breath. Then she stepped inside.

He closed the door to keep his dog in and the cold out and went to the linen closet to grab a towel. He’d already started back to where she was waiting in the entryway, dripping on the hardwood floor, when he realized he should also get her some dry clothes and ran upstairs to his room.

“Here. You can towel off in the bathroom and have something to put on afterward,” he said when he returned and handed her a sweatshirt with the towel.

She lifted the sweatshirt as if she wasn’t convinced she should even be touching it.

“You’ll be more comfortable,” he said by way of enticement. “And you won’t have to worry about changing back before you go. You can just leave it on the fence, and I’ll grab it when I see it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’d rather stay wet and cold...”

She must’ve decided that shedidn’twant to remain wet and cold, because she took it into the bathroom he pointed out to her and emerged a few minutes later with it on. For the time being, she must’ve left her own shirt behind with the towel.

He’d just finished wiping up the floor in the entry. “Can I get you a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked.

“Hot chocolate?” She bent to pet Duke; apparently, she didn’t hold anything against him.

“I can make coffee if you’d prefer, but I figured you probably wouldn’t be too keen on drinking caffeine this late.”

“And that would be true,” she admitted as she straightened. “It’s been hard enough to sleep.”

Because...He wished she’d elaborate, but she didn’t, and he didn’t want to scare her away by pressing her for answers too soon. He felt it would be wiser to ease into it. “I have wine, whiskey, other things that might also warm you up...”

“I’ll stick with hot chocolate.”

Relieved she didn’t make a joke about being poisoned by him, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on. You can have a seat in here.”

She followed, albeit slowly. He could tell she was taking in everything she saw in his house and drawing whatever conclusions she could.

“So?” he said.

She slid onto a seat he’d pulled out for her as he rounded the island in the center of his kitchen. “So...what?” she replied in confusion.

He tossed the dirty towel he’d used to wipe the floor into the laundry room. “What does my house say about me?”

“That you’re not much of a decorator,” she replied, which made him laugh. He’d bought only the most functional furniture, hadn’t done anything to dress up the place. One, he didn’t have the cash. He was still making sizable payments to the veterinarian he’d purchased the practice from, not to mention his student loans. And two, he didn’t have the time. He was either running at the park or working at the clinic and didn’t want to dedicate his days off to anything other than rebuilding the vintage motorcycle in the extra stall of his garage.

He supposed that indicated he didn’t really have any interest in decorating, either. “I have a TV, a bed and a couch. What more does a guy need?” he asked with a grin to show he thought he had his priorities straight.

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