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Her mouth went dry. “What did you do?”
“I went to your father and declared my intentions.” He rubbed his jaw with a grimace. “And he punched me. Claimed I was a no-account Calhoun and not good enough for you. I did not hit him back. I just left. You were angry that I hadn’t kept hiding us like you wanted, and I accused you of not loving me as much as you said you did. It was our first real argument and it was brutal. My father died of a heart attack a few days later and you came to see me. To offer your condolences.”
/> Devlin laughed wryly. “My father was the only other reason—besides you—that kept me tied to this town. You knew that. My brothers weren’t here. Joshua went off the year before to join the marines and Matt was in Aberdeen serving the rest of his sentence. After my father died, I needed to leave Benton. You and I had made plans together, and dreamed of how we would leave eventually. I still wanted to go. To escape and get away from everything.”
His jaw tightened and pain flashed in his gaze before he slammed the shutters down. “I asked you to come with me. You said no . . . that instead, you had promised your father you would end things with me. That I could not offer you the life you need.”
A memory of her father’s anger rose in her.
“You’ll end things with the Calhoun boy or by God I will destroy him. It must never been know you were consorting with that…that…”
The disgust that had been in her father’s tone had a knot tightening in her belly.
“What kind of plans did we have?” Her fingers clenched as she waited tensely for his answer.
He smiled. “You would become a famous children’s author and take the world by storm. I would make furniture that people would die to possess. We were going to carve our life together, eventually travel and see the world.”
She nodded, a sweet feeling twisting through her. “Yes. That makes sense. I finished the book.”
He tensed. “What?”
“I-I have some memories of working on your old typewriter. By the lake, too. I finished the book. In fact, I recently signed a book contract for it.”
Pleasure lit his eyes. “Congratulations. I knew you had it in you.”
Ava warmed at his praise. That was one of the memories which had pushed her to visit him tonight. She’d remembered when he had handed her the old typewriter. It had belonged to his mom. Ava had laughed and pointed out she had a laptop, but she’d still started her story on that old typewriter.
Devlin had supported her. While even now, her father still believed she was wasting her degree in journalism. He believed she should be working for the town’s only newspaper writing pastries recipes.
And yet, she had decided to give Devlin up? She must have been crazy.
She covered her face with her hands. She did not remember so many of the events that he had told her about just now, but she knew how her father would have reacted. She had seen his reaction when she asked who Devlin Calhoun was. He had shown rage, suspicion and distaste in his eyes.
She belonged to one of the wealthiest families in Benton, one of the founding families, and she knew the type of boys her father wanted her to date. Boys like Patrick, the son of the Mayor. Boys, who moved in the circles in which her family existed. Boys, whom she did not care for or desire. Boys, who could never make her happy, never fulfil her like she felt with Devlin.
But even so, she could not believe she had just given in to her father. Given up the man she loved to appease him, she found it hard to believe.
“You stole a car at sixteen,” she said softy.
Amusement flashed in his gaze. “Borrowed.”
“Why did you do it?”
He frowned.
Her stomach flipped in an unsettling way. “I’ve asked you this already.”
Regret gleamed in his gaze, then a smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, but I do not mind speaking of it again. Joshua was sick. We called the sheriff’s office and—”
She gasped. “And Mrs. Rudy didn’t send anyone, so you borrowed the pastor’s car, hotwired it and drove him to the hospital yourself. Of course Mrs. Rudy remembered to send the deputy to arrest you.”
He grinned. “You remembered.”
Ava nodded, unable to speak, choking on the memories wafting through her thoughts. “Pastor Timms was more forgiving than the rest of the town. I recall how we whispered and pointed at school, and how proud you were.”
He grunted noncommittally.
“So when will I be able to grab a copy of your book?”
