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“Trey called.”
“Good for him.”
“Come on. Everybody deserves a second chance.”
“Even after they practically raped you?”
“Now you’re exaggerating. He made an unwise move on me, like a pass. Look at me; can you blame him for trying?” Her father laughed, but Miranda didn’t join in. She thought this Trey guy was gone for good—and she wasn’t a bit sorry. “Anyway, he was very contrite about the whole thing. Very apologetic. He didn’t try to excuse his behavior.” He sought out her gaze. She could feel it, even though she wasn’t, in fact, looking at him. She deigned to meet his eyes and saw how hungry he was for her approval.
“Don’t you think we all deserve a second chance?”
She wanted to say no. She wanted to at least comment that she didn’t know. But she knew anything other than a supportive word would hurt him, so she tried to swallow her misgivings, along with yet another sip of tequila. “Yes. We all do.”
“And we’re keeping it casual.” He filled her in on the plans for their Friday get-together (she noticed how he didn’t call it a date), stressing that they were meeting at Monsoon. “He wants to pay, but I think it’d be better if we went Dutch, don’t you?”
I think it would be better if you didn’t go at all. She quashed the thought and said, “That’s a good idea. Be careful, okay?”
“Just dinner and talking. That’s it. I don’t plan on even bringing him back like last time.”
“Promise?”
He finished his water and stood. “Honey, look at the time. I need to get home for my call.” He reached in his pocket and took out his wallet. A hundred-dollar bill appeared on the table. She would have said he didn’t need to do that, but she knew him well enough to know that’d be an argument she’d lose. So she said, “Sure. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you,” he said.
“Love you too,” she called back as he started away from the table. She watched him go. Her view of him heading out the door was blocked by their waiter, and she called him over to ask for another cocktail.
AFTER THREE COCKTAILS, Miranda wandered down to what was known as the Fremont Cut, a narrow body of water that led, in one direction, to Lake Union, and in the other, toward Ballard and the Chittenden Locks, which straddled the fresh water of Lake Washington and the salt water of Puget Sound.
She sat, cocooned in her fleece jacket and cable-knit sweater, on a bench. Behind her, bushes had been fashioned into two huge dinosaur topiaries. She had a good buzz going, so the chill and the damp air didn’t really penetrate as they normally would. She could relax here, watching boats, runners, walkers, and cyclists go by. The breeze cooled her flushed cheeks.
She believed she would have really gone back to her room and worked on her novel had it not been for Connor telling her about his upcoming date. She assumed that his venturing into twenty-first century dating was tentative, a reaction to being jilted, and that the bad experience he’d endured would be enough to put him off the idea for a while.
What was the hurry, anyway? He wasn’t exactly ancient. Nor would his distinguished good looks fade any time soon.
Connor needed time to grieve, to absorb what he’d lost. He and Steve had been almost like one person for so long, their lives and limbs intertwined so completely that the notion of untangling them was a hopeless prospect.
And then Thanksgiving came along, with Steve’s unexpected and nearly devastating announcement that he was leaving, and Miranda learned several lessons.
Never take anything for granted.
Always expect the unexpected.
Nothing is forever. Nothing is secure.
You can count only on yourself.
Grim lessons, for sure, but important ones.
And now, her father was seeing—again—a man she didn’t trust from the moment their eyes first met. Her feelings could be deemed irrational, could be given the advice to give Trey Goodall a chance. And yet…and yet, she couldn’t. She trusted her gut. And there was something about this gorgeous man that made her hackles rise, the same as they had when she’d encountered a snake on a hiking trail.
She didn’t think intuition was magic. It was self-protective. She wished the same internal alarms she’d had about Trey worked for her father.
And then, and then…Trey had proved himself to be a snake within a few hours of their going out together! Why couldn’t her father just move on? Be alone for a while, or at least find someone more trustworthy.
It still rankled her that she’d be unable to discover anything at all about him online. That wasn’t just weird; it was highly suspicious in today’s world. Miranda thought he either wasn’t who he claimed to be, or he had real secrets that needed burying.
And from these thoughts, and her alcohol-clouded brain, an idea was born.
