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Chapter 14
That man was perfect for her. He could tell. Even before he realized where he knew him from. He had only spoken to him once, and briefly, but he looked like husband material.
He vowed not to ask Luke or Libby about Hope and now regretted he had cut the line with Avery. She would know what this guy’s story was. But that would come with a price—Avery.
It was none of his business, anyway. Yet, he was relieved to see that this man was nothing like the asshole he had seen her with at Fred’s.
Men in general, and men in his position in specific, had radars that told them what breed other men belonged to. His radar told him that this guy was the good kind. The type who would stick around, who wouldn’t make mistakes that could potentially end up in him impregnating a woman over a one-night stand, or get his hands dirty with other people’s affairs, tax evasions, lies, and fucked-up lives. He had the look of someone who would marry his high school sweetheart.
Jordan watched himself in the sun visor’s mirror. That crease between his eyebrows. The man that reflected there was callous, jaded, and whatever other synonyms there were to describe why he wasn’t like that man she was with.
Feeling that someone had been watching him and raising his glance to find those green eyes, half-curtained by copper bangs, had been like being hit in the gut unexpectedly with a kids’ foam-covered baseball bat—slaying you softly.
He should have just walked away as soon as he had gotten the text that his meeting was canceled, but no, he’d had to stop and talk to her, drawn to be near her again. To what end?
She had acted so different. No rambling long sentences that made her self-conscious, just short, monosyllabic replies. Three, he counted. Three syllables were all he had gotten until she had wished him a good day.
What a fucked-up thing to pay attention to.
And that goddamn warmth in his veins …
If he needed something to fill the empty spaces in his soul and the hollow in his chest, then he could find a good cause to spend his time on instead of thinking about her.
In fact, that was exactly what he should be doing.
“I won’t be looking for a property after all,” he now texted the apologizing realtor back. “I’ll be in touch if anything changes. Thanks.” They were supposed to meet because the beach house owner wanted him to move out sooner than expected. The house had been sold, and the new proprietors wanted to start the renovations, willing to cover the costs of the lease breach.
It was a sign. He had missed it the first time, but it was clear to him now. It was time to snap himself out of this stupor, out of this place, to course-correct and go back to his natural habitat, to what he was good at, great at, what he fitted to do, what fitted him, and away from the danger of losing his heart to a woman who, come to think of it, he hardly knew.
