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“I just don’t get how you can seem so confident but want to change exactly what makes you who you are.”
Polly stared down at her plate; a coil of curls fell over her eye and she flipped it irritably away. He was right. She hated her damn curls too, even though most people said they were her crowning glory. Literally. “I guess, like everyone, I’m a complex mix. I mean, look at you, Dr J. Blood phobic, knitting fiend, with a past you’re running away from.”
“What makes you think that?
She shrugged, not looking at him. “A hunch.” How to explain? Other than tell the truth. “Carts said you’d been getting some pretty heavy phone messages.”
Solo’s features tightened. “How does he know?”
She pushed back her shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. “You left your phone in the kitchen and the texts kept coming in so he read a stream. Don’t blame Carts. He wasn’t purposely prying, he just thought it might be urgent.”
“I see.”
They stayed silent for a long moment, both of them scooting food around their plates, then she couldn’t help asking, “Were they from an ex?”
He barked a little laugh. “You could say that. Ex-friend.”
Her mind flew to the photo in his wallet. The boy with the world-conquering smile.
“The photo in your wallet. Is that him with you and your pop?”
“So you saw it.”
“I had to check inside to see whose wallet it was.”
He didn’t seem surprised. Or that worried. In fact, he looked almost relieved.
And then she did something she’d do if Solo were her friend, someone who she cared about, not just a guy she’d had mind-blowing sex with. She reached across the table, put her hand on his arm and asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”
