My stomach drops.
No. It can’t be.
But the crunch of tires on gravel keeps coming, closer and closer until it rolls to a stop right beside the porch steps.
The door opens. A slim figure steps out, walks to the back of the car, and pulls out a small suitcase.
A suitcase I’ve seen before.
Oh my God…
Angie…
Angie…
Angie…what the hell?
Something surges through me. I’m not sure what it is.
“Come on, boy.” I leave, head to the back, into the kitchen.
Am I hiding?
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I both want to see her more than anything in the world and I don’t.
I’m not ready.
But she’s here.
Tabitha.
Zach scurries away from me once the door opens.
He doesn’t bark. He remembers her.
Of course he does. Who couldn’t remember Tabitha? She’s the type of woman memories are made of.
What can I do?
I can’t hide in the kitchen.
Especially when I’m dying to see her, look at her, hold her…
I follow Zach back into the large great room, where Tabitha stands at the doorway, scratching my dog behind his ear.
Her hair is pulled into a loose bun. Small locks have escaped and frame her gorgeous face.
She hesitates, her jaw dropped, as she scans the inside of the house.
Our eyes meet.
It’s like being sucker punched.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. Angie must have?—
Of course she did.
