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His gaze was wary, as if he was expecting her to kick him out.
She had thought about it. Just like she had thought about not letting him inside in the first place. Resisting his potent appeal was too damn hard.
“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t have any alcohol. Not even a beer.”
He shrugged. “Not a problem. Tea sounds good if you’ve got that.”
She cocked her head and stared at him. “You’ve traveled the world, Brit. Eaten in five-star hotels. I’m sure your tastes have changed.”
He leaned his chair back on two legs and grinned. “A guy never forgets his first sweet tea.”
Brit’s insinuation made her jittery. The two of them had both been virgins when they became boyfriend and girlfriend their senior year in high school. That sexual status hadn’t lasted long. For the entire summer after graduation, they made love with all the abandon of reckless teenagers who thought the world was theirs for the taking.
In Brit’s case, it had been true.
Laney did an abrupt about-face to conceal her agitation. The jug of freshly brewed tea in her refrigerator was a staple, though she had cut back on the amount of sugar she added a long time ago.
Instead of handing the glass to Brit, she set it on the table, not wanting to chance a possible finger brush. Books always mentioned that. The little zing of attraction when two people were very aware of each other. She had no idea about Brit’s emotions, but her own were all over the map.
“Why are you here?” she asked, wiping her damp hands on a dish towel and leaning against the sink.
“You know why.”
“Because of Mr. Tom?”
“Yeah.”
They stared at each other, misty-eyed. Mr. Tom was the longtime drama teacher at the high school. He had presided over more productions ofOklahoma!,The Music ManandRomeo and Julietthan anyone could count.
Mr. Tom had recognized Brit’s talent and mentored him. A week ago, after a lifelong habit of two packs a day, he had succumbed to lung cancer.
Laney gazed at Brit wistfully, remembering happier times. “They’ve named the new auditorium and stage at the high school after him.”
“Did he get to see it before he died?”
“Just barely. His daughter took him in a wheelchair three days before the end. I think he was holding on to see the finished project before he let go.”
Brit’s gaze was bleak. “I wish I had gotten here sooner. We were filming in Singapore. The final scenes of the movie. I couldn’t leave.”
“I’m sure he understood.”
“I texted him. Almost every week.”
Laney smiled at last. “He loved that, you know. It tickled him that he had your personal cell number. He guarded it like the Holy Grail.”
Brit’s shoulders slumped. “Damn, Laney, why does life have to be so hard?”
“It keeps moving on whether we want it to or not.”
The timer on the oven dinged, putting an end to their downer of a conversation.
She grabbed a place mat, silverware and a napkin and set the meal in front of him. “Be careful. The plate’s hot.”
“Thank you,” he said, sounding genuinely grateful.
She knew why Brit hadn’t expected any alcohol in her house. Laney’s father had wrapped his car around a tree in a drunken, fatal accident when she was sixteen. That loss had taken her and her mother from barely getting by to living on the edge of poverty.
As if Brit had read her mind, he swallowed a bite and wiped his mouth. “How’s your mom doing these days?”
