Page 3 of To Believe In You
“That was a spectacularly bad idea.” She looked to the teen, hoping to drive the warning home.
The kid stuck his fingers in his hair and pulled them forward, blocking eye contact under the pretext of combing his bangs.
Smooth.
Matt’s blue eyes cut to her car, a run-of-the-mill sedan, then refocused on her. “I know you from somewhere.”
Shaving, showering, and sobriety had unburied features she hadn’t known he possessed. Save for several scars, his square face had captivating symmetry. His nose was straight, his eyebrows broad but on the sparse side, and his jaw strong and clean.
His new lifestyle hadn’t erased the tattoos, though. A couple of dark lines peeked past the neckline of his shirt. Familiar designs covered his arms. A rose. A skull. A lit match on his thumb, with flames sparking up his forearm. The wordsloveandhateacross the backs of his fingers. The panther was new—and especially tacky, even on a muscled arm.
She crossed her arms. “I’ll give you one guess who I am.”
He flinched, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked at his sidekick, then back at her, as if deciding whether to hazard his guess in front of his audience. Then, he put his head down and passed her, on course for the main office building. “Come on, kid.”
The teen loped by and fell into step beside him. “Is she famous?”
“Ask for her autograph.” Matt kept walking.
She followed at a distance. Apparently curious, the boy kept shooting looks at her until he ran into the doorframe of the building. He jerked to attention and scampered inside on his hero’s heels.
Lina was not famous and never cared to be. The only reasons Matt would’ve encouraged an autograph were to mess with the boy or to learn her name. Or both.
Still thirty feet from the log-cabin-style building, she checked her phone.
No one had emailed or called about the open position. If she didn’t find someone to fill it, Key of Hope would have to turn kids away.
Like it or not, she needed Matt.
She heaved a breath and headed for the office. At the entrance, the teenager stepped past her on his way back out. The interior of the building had wide-plank pine floors, painted walls, and windows at the back overlooking a field of sunflowers. Much less like a dank hunting cabin than she’d expected. No movement or sound emanated from the doors that appeared to open into offices or the restroom, so they were alone.
Matt sat behind the front counter, bent sideways, presumably tending his wound. When he spotted her, he shifted, and a crank and swish sounded, a garbage can opening and closing. He watched her advance as though monitoring a wild animal that might just as soon tear him limb from limb as trot off harmlessly.
Was he afraid of her? Interesting.
All right, Lord. If he’s one of Yours now, too, I’ll give him a break.
A little one. In the form of a hint. “I used to wear my hair straight.” She scrunched a handful of her curls. “You’re not the only person to not recognize me now.”
Which had been the point of accepting her natural curls.
Matt half-frowned.
Still stumped, then.
“Lina. Galina Abbey.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed, and concentration replaced the fear.
“You still don’t remember?” She lifted a brow but managed to suppress an eye roll. “I’m Awestruck’s social media manager.”
Matt’s mouth opened with realization. They’d worked together for about a decade as Lina supported the band by posting pictures, writing captions, managing fan groups, and replying to comments.
Of course, during his later years with the band, she’d involved Matt as little as possible, and no one—not one single member of Awestruck or the team behind them—had complained.
But if he was ashamed of his lurid behavior involving women, drugs, and inappropriate advances on Lina herself, it didn’t show. As his mouth closed, his posture straightened with self-assurance.
“Who did you think I was?” she asked.
