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“Oh.” She’d forgotten about that. “No, I was on another flight.”
“But the same airlines,” he said, and his voice evened out.
“Yes, but Philip and I caught the later flight.” How Zane knew which airline she’d flown, she could only speculate. “You were worried.” The words were more statement than question.
He didn’t respond, as if doing so would insinuate he cared about her, which was clearly something he’d rather she not know. But she did.
Zane couldn’t kiss her with such tenderness if he felt nothing for her. Nor would he have refused to make love to her when she’d all but thrown herself into his arms.
He cared, but for whatever reasons, he’d made the decision to push her out of his life.
It hadn’t been easy for Lesley to accept. Instinctively, she recognized that the harder she pushed, the tighter his resistance would be. And so she’d followed a hands-off policy, and hoped something would happen to change his mind.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” The edge was off his voice and if she heard anything, it was an embarrassed kind of regret.
“How was the trip?” The question was friendly, as if their relationship was on a smooth, even keel.
“Long. Dull. Boring. I’m glad to be home.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I’m generally so wired by the time I arrive home that sleep is impossible.”
The line was silent, and for a moment, Lesley feared she was talking into thin air.
“When I heard about the accident,” Zane said, his words low and barely discernible, “I didn’t know what to think. You’d mentioned how afraid you were to fly—” He stopped abruptly, as though he regretted admitting this much.
“Iamafraid,” she admitted softly.
“It happens,” he said, his voice stiffening. “The things we fear most. Sometimes I believe we bring them upon ourselves.” He stopped and inhaled sharply. “Lesley, I apologize. I’ve made a first-class fool of myself, and as Mrs. Applegate mentioned not long ago, I’ve done so with a vengeance. Forgive me, please.”
“It isn’t a problem. Good night, Zane.”
“Goodnight.”
The conversation was over and all at once Lesley knew she would be able to sleep, and when she did, she knew her night would be filled with happy dreams.
* * *
A week later, Lesley arrived at Jordan and Molly Larabee’s with a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers and a bottle of her favorite white wine.
“Lesley.” Molly greeted her at the door and kissed her on the cheek. Nine-month-old Ian was riding his mother’s waist, swinging a set of large, plastic keys. “I’m so pleased you could come,” Molly added, stepping aside to let her in.
“Are you kidding?” Lesley joked. “A home-cooked dinner that I don’t have to fuss with myself? It sounds heavenly.”
“Jordan’s barbecuing,” Molly explained, bouncing the baby on her hip. “Thank goodness. I’ve got my hands full with the kids.”
“Let me help,” Lesley said, following Jordan’s wife into the kitchen. She placed the wine in the refrigerator to cool and left the flowers on the counter.
Molly eyed the bouquet. “That wasn’t necessary, you know.”
“I’d bribe you with a lot more than wine and flowers to hold Ian.” Lesley put her arms out to the toddler, and he reached for her.
“Lesley, you’re wearing silk,” Molly warned. “He’s teething and likely to drool all over you.”
“She’s accustomed to having men drool all over her,” Jordan said, stepping into the kitchen.
Lesley laughed at the absurdity of such a statement, but it was nice to have her ego flattered, especially since it had taken such a beating of late.
