Page 56 of Into These Eyes
“Were you really worried?” she asks, her eyes squinting a little with genuine concern.
“Let’s just say, when you’re least expecting it, I’m going to make your heart pound that hard.”
She gives my bicep a playful whack. “Good luck with that.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
Her eyes flash with defiance. “I don’t scare easily.”
“Scaring someone isn’t the only way to make their heart pound.”
She stops walking. So do I, suddenly afraid my stupid mouth has thrown up her walls. As she gazes at me, I take in the way the sun shines on the strands of hair that have freed themselves from her ponytail. Fluttering in the breeze, they’re lit up like a bright aura of fire around her face. I swallow. She’s a goddamn angel.
“We’ll see,” she says, then before I can read her expression, she glances at her watch. “Burgers should be ready by the time we walk back.”
We’ll see?
Definitely a challenge, but I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Hope might have been all I had in prison, but hoping this woman might ever be interested in me, beyond clearing my name, is probably a reach too far.
After we collect our burgers and find a picnic table along the river, I peel back the wrapping and take a huge bite. Blockingeverything else out, I relish the burst of sweetness from the beetroot, the savoury hit of onions, the juicy beef, the tomato sauce.
When I groan with appreciation, Jamie’s curious gaze sweeps over my face, locking on my mouth as I swallow. Plucking up a napkin, she reaches toward me and gently dabs the corner of my mouth.
My need to touch her is so strong, I cover her hand and hold it there. Our eyes clash, and I’m sure she feels the intensity of our connection the way I do.
“You’ve got some … sauce,” she says, her voice husky as she retracts her hand, leaving me with the napkin.
I swipe it over my lips, and sure enough, I leave a red smear behind. Jesus, she must think I’m a grub.
“So,” I say, resisting the urge to take another humungous bite, “I’m starting to think you’re buttering me up for some bad news.”
I wait for her to chew her delicate little morsel, and as I do, she avoids my eyes.
Oh, fuck. I’m right.
That’s why I’m sitting here. She’s about to tell me there’s nothing she can do. I glance at my burger and decide to enjoy one last bite before my world comes crumbling down.
When I look at her again, she’s watching me. “Why did you lie to me?”
I almost choke. Chewing fast and swallowing, I grab my can of Coke and take a long swig, fully aware of her unrelenting stare.
“Telling the truth hasn’t gotten me very far in life, but I don’t lie, Jamie.”
“At the Restorative Justice meeting … you lied to me. You confessed.”
Ah shit. I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew she’d eventually ask.
“I never confessed,” I say, looking into her eyes so she knows I’m telling the truth. Well, the partial truth. I did confess, just not to her.
She puts down her burger. “Yes, you did. You told me how sorry you were for … everything.”
“That wasn’t a confession. That was the truth from right here.” I tap my chest. “I wanted you to know that I understood. I’ve wanted you to know since the day I saw you in court.”
“No. You said—” she cuts herself off, her mind racing, remembering. “You manipulated me?”
“No. I’d never do that to you.”
I wait for her to jump down my throat, but she only stares at me expectantly. All I can do is give her the truth.
