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Lucas’s lips curved. “I know.”
5
One Year Ago
Cerulean?” Maria murmured to herself. “Or cyan?”
Lucas was standing in her kitchen, munching on an apple while he cocked his hip again the counter. He watched her while she bent over her kitchen table, studying her weathered sign and deciding what color she wanted to paint it for the current summer season.
“Are you asking me?” he drawled.
“Yes. What do you think? Cerulean?” Turning to face him, Maria held up a swatch with her right hand. “Or cyan?” She held up her left.
They looked exactly the same to Lucas.
He took a bite of his fruit. Shrugging as he swallowed, he asked, “Does it matter?”
“Of course. I want my sign to be attractive. You know I like to change it up for every season. I might actually get a guest for once if it’s appealing.”
“They’ll come when they come. Picking one shade of blue over the other won’t make much of a difference.”
“Lucas!”
He raised his eyebrows over at her. “What? Cerulean? Cyan? They’re just blue, right?”
“I let you get away with naming that one masculine guest room as the Blue Room, Luc, even though it’s clearly more of a midnight color and it throws off the flowers theme. Please don’t poke fun at my sign.”
Lucas opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, paused, then shook his head. With a rough sigh, he ran his hand through his dark hair. Normally so pristine, each strand combed perfectly into place, with a part so straight she suspected he used a ruler to achieve it, Lucas’s hair looked in dire need of a trim. It stood up in disarray even before he dragged his fingers through it.
Maria pursed her lips. Dark circles—a deep plum shade, she thought absently—shadowed his piercing eyes.
Something was wrong. And she knew very well that it didn’t have anything to do with the seasonal paint job for her beloved sign.
Three days ago, Lucas called Maria on her radio, letting her know that he had to take an emergency trip out of town. She didn’t ask for any details and, unlike him, he didn’t provide any. Her normally unflappable brother had sounded shook.
He killed the connection before she could second guess keeping quiet. She didn’t hear from him again until he drove back into Hamlet late last night and, instead of heading home, he asked to spend the night in his old room.
Caitlin held out until yesterday. When Lucas had been gone from Hamlet for two nights, she couldn’t take the wondering—or the absolute jealousy—any longer and she finally drove her cruiser over to Ophelia. Demanding that Maria tell her where Lucas went didn’t work. Neither did begging. Because, well, Maria had no idea.
It was Divine Providence that Lucas arrived ten minutes after Caitlin sped off.
Not that she’d be gone for long. The Hamlet gossips would’ve told her by now that Lucas’s red Mustang was parked outside of Ophelia. She expected Cait to come back around after her latest shift and debated whether she should warn Lucas.
After his cheap shot at her sign, she decided against it.
Some of the strain he’d been showing last night had faded away. The shadows lingered, his temper short, but he didn’t look as lost and defeated as he had when he returned. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d run off to do… it must not have gone the way that he hoped. And that surprised Maria. There wasn’t much that Lucas wanted that he couldn’t get in some way.
The romantic in her made Maria wonder if his mood didn’t have something to do with a woman. And then she remembered that it wasn’t as if Caitlin would ever allow him the chance to find a new mate. How could he anyway? Whenever he left Hamlet, it had to do with his job. Teaching, attending lectures, giving them. Unless he met someone then, keeping them secret from everyone else in his life, it didn’t make sense.
Then again, neither did seeing him look as if he hadn’t slept since he left Hamlet.
Gentling her voice, Maria said, “If you’re still hungry, Luc, I have some lasagna from last night that I can heat up for you.”
Lucas looked at the apple core in his hand, glancing at it as if someone had slipped it between his fingers when he wasn’t watching.
“I don’t know why I ate that. I’m not very hungry.”
That set off warning bells. Luc was always hungry.
