3

MY CLUTTERED DESK and Kimberlee’s even messier one greeted me as I flicked on the overhead light in the back office. Coming to work was like a walk back in time —straight to our college days, when we shared a small, disorganized apartment. Except we’d abandoned the white twinkly lights, beanbag chairs, and textbooks in exchange for a messy but more businesslike decor that included file cabinets, desks, rolling chairs, and a full-size fridge.

Did I ever wish that my workplace was a gym —on a volleyball court with a team?

I’d made my decision about that question a long time ago.

Dumping my purse on the floor beside my desk, I stocked the fridge with coconut milk yogurts and fruit and stashed the reusable cloth bag in the supply closet. It took less than two minutes to make a cup of coffee, thanks to the office Keurig, and the caffeine and jolt of sugar would shove away the last remnants of sleep. Despite seeing me on Sunday, Nash had insisted on coming over last night, too, and then stayed too late, despite my not-so-subtle hints to leave.

Almost as if on cue, my phone buzzed.

Nash. He wouldn’t appreciate how his phone call brought up similar feelings to my family interrupting me while I worked Jillian’s engagement party four days ago.

I pushed the Speaker button to leave my hands free and powered up my computer. “Hello?”

“And good morning to you.” He dropped his voice to a sexy whisper, although the effect was ruined with his voice amplified through the phone. “Did you sleep well?”

“Why, yes, I did. Thank you for asking.”

“I did, too, although someone kicked me out instead of letting me stay.”

My skin warmed as if someone else had heard his comment. “Tsk. Sounds heartless.”

“You know, if we lived together, we wouldn’t be having this conversation —”

“And we are not having this conversation now, Nash.” I typed in my password. “I’m at work. You should be getting ready for work, too.”

“Well then, how about if we continue talking over dinner tonight? And I’ll use my most persuasive powers to convince you it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.”

A smile was woven through his words. I was tempted to admit his suggestion tugged at my heart. I could imagine how his brown eyes darkened —the way they did right before he kissed me. But what I couldn’t imagine was Nash moving in. Getting that close. He already stayed too many nights at my town house, his toiletries crowding my bathroom shelves. Clothes lingering in my closet.

“You are distracting me, sir.” His laugh came across the phone line, just as I knew it would. Teasing always worked when I needed to distract Nash. To put him in his place. “And while dinner sounds nice, I can’t tonight.”

“What can I do to convince you?”

Maybe he could just take no for an answer? “There’s no convincing me. I’m sorry, but I’ve got some things to catch up on, so I’m going to be working late —and so is Kimberlee.”

“Lunch?”

“Nash!” I softened my tone with a quick laugh. “You are persistent, but it has to be no. No lunch. No dinner.”

“This is what I get for dating someone so dedicated to her job.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Before he could reply, I moved the conversation on. “I really do need to get to work. Please.”

“I understand. I love you, Payton.”

“Mmm-hmm. Even if I am a little too dedicated to my job, right?” With a laugh, I ended the call.

I should have said I loved him, too. But maybe the bantering tone to our conversation had covered up my omission. It wasn’t that I hadn’t ever told Nash I loved him. But each time I said those three not-so-little words, I committed more of myself to him.

Did I want to keep moving toward a deeper commitment with Nash? After dating him for eight months, I still wasn’t sure. Not in the same way he was ready to commit.

Kimberlee breezed in forty-five minutes later, her blue-streaked blonde hair flying about her face, begging forgiveness and bribing me with a half-dozen homemade doughnuts. “Is Bianca here yet?”

“Of course. She’s sorting through the mail and listening to the phone messages.”

“I’ll let her choose one or two of these and then come back so we can start talking about the day.”

“Sounds perfect. I should have my in-box under control by then. And grab the to-do list I asked Bianca to print off, will you? We can look over that when you get back.” I selected a doughnut, plopping it onto a napkin on my desk. “When did you have time to make these?”

“I like to bake. It’s no big deal.”

Homemade glazed yeast doughnuts. No big deal. Right.

I logged out of our bank account just as Kimberlee returned, balancing the box of doughnuts in one hand and carrying the list in the other. “Someone’s here to talk to you.”

“What? I checked and we don’t have an appointment until after lunch.”

“He’s not here to talk to us. He’s here to talk to you.” Kimberlee tossed me a wink. “And if you weren’t dating Nash, I’d mention he’s kind of handsome in an outdoorsy way.”

“Well then, I know you’re not really interested in him. The most time you spend outdoors is walking back and forth to your car. Who is he?”

“He introduced himself as Zachary Gaines and asked if you were available to talk.”

“I don’t know . . .”

Zachary Gaines.

“Payton? What’s wrong?”

The way I’d frozen behind my desk in a half-standing, half-sitting posture must have alerted Kimberlee that something was off.

“I just remembered how I know Zach Gaines.”

“Is there a problem? Do you want me to tell him you can’t talk right now?”

“We . . . we went to high school together.” I rounded the desk, wiping my sticky fingers on a napkin, the sugary sweetness of the doughnut congealing in the back of my throat. “I’ll see what he wants. Maybe he’s planning a wedding or a birthday party and heard about Festivities —”

“More than likely that’s it.”

“Go ahead and look over the week’s schedule. We’ve got Mrs. Anderson’s very posh eightieth birthday party on Thursday and the Morrison wedding on Saturday. And some consultations —”

“I’ve got it, Payton. Don’t keep the guy waiting.”

Keep him waiting? I could have lived my whole life without ever seeing Zachary Gaines again.

Zachary was chatting with Bianca when I entered the reception area. Could I say I would have recognized him anywhere? No, not really. Gone was the eighteen-year-old boy who’d been a high school cross-country standout with dark hair and an alluring smile. The guy who seemed to always be surrounded by a joking, laughing group of friends and who attracted the attention of quite a few of the teen girls. In his place stood a wiry man with a weathered face and eyes that seemed to shift between shadow and sunlight.

And now I was waxing poetic about a man I didn’t want to talk to.

“Hey, Payton.”

There was just a hint of the smile I remembered. “Zach. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I wasn’t sure you would . . . would have time to talk to me.” Zach shifted his feet, his hands tucked in the pockets of jeans that were worn at the knees.

“What do you want?” Even with my voice lowered, my words sounded harsh, but surely he wasn’t expecting me to welcome him with a hug and a “What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

“I was hoping we could talk. I know you’re working, but this was the only way I knew how to find you.”

Why did he need to find me?

“Payton?” Bianca spoke behind me.

“Yes?”

“I have some things to work on in the back.” She pushed her chair away from the semicircular desk. “I’ll take any phone calls back there, too.”

“That’s fine, Bianca. Thank you.” I motioned for Zach to follow me to the alcove where Kimberlee and I talked with clients. “Well, she staged a convenient exit, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Zach settled into the cloth chair covered with bright, multicolored polka dots, a small tempered-glass table between us. He picked up one of the pens resting on top of a pad of paper decorated with our company name, rolling it between the palms of his hands. “So this is your business?”

“Yes. Kimberlee and I plan events for people. Birthday parties. Wedding receptions. Showers. Whatever.” Maybe my initial hope was correct. “Did you come here because you wanted us to help you plan something?”

“No.” Zach glanced away, hesitating for a moment. “I wanted to talk to you about Pepper.”

Below the table, I clenched my hands into fists. “Pepper?”

“I know it’s been a long time —”

“Ten years.”

“Ten years. Right.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I got a call about this event the high school is doing to honor some of the former athletes . . .”

Again with the ceremony. My mom had said they were honoring various athletes. Zach Gaines had broken numerous school cross-country records. Jaunted off to college on a four-year scholarship months after my sister died. It only made sense he would be included in the group of students the school would be celebrating.

“Congratulations. But I still don’t know why you needed to see me after all these years.”

“I asked my coach who else was on the list. He said they were retiring Pepper’s jersey number, so I figured your family was going to be there.” When I didn’t say anything, Zach continued, “And that got me wondering . . . hoping . . . I could finally make things right.”

Everything Zach said made sense until those last three words. Make things right. I didn’t like that he was here. Didn’t like what he was saying. But at least I understood him until then.

“What did you just say?”

Zach rubbed his hand down his face. Small black letters were tattooed on several of his fingers. “I mean . . . I know I can’t make things right. But I thought maybe I could finally apologize to you . . . to your family . . . for the accident.”

“You want to talk with my family?” I flexed my fingers, but they fisted closed again.

“Yes. Look, I’m not proud of that night . . . of the five years of my life after. But I’m also not that messed-up kid anymore. I’ve changed . . . a lot . . . in the past few years. I’m not drinking or doing drugs . . . I’ve gotten myself straight with God —”

Zach Gaines could stop right there. Because just as much as I didn’t want to talk to him about Pepper, I had no desire to talk with the guy about any god he might have stumbled across, drunk or sober. “What is this? Some sort of religious thing?”

“It’s not a ‘religious thing.’ I’ve been in AA and I’m a Christian now. I want to make things right —”

Make things right. There was that insulting phrase again.

“And you think saying, ‘I’m sorry’ to me and my family is going to make things right?” I gripped the edge of the table to stop myself from leaning across. Getting in his face. “You’ll feel better, won’t you? Make your apology and go away, patting yourself on the back —but things still won’t be right, will they? Because Pepper will still be dead.”

“This isn’t about making myself feel better, Payton.”

“It isn’t? I’m not so sure.”

“I am sorry for what happened that night.”

“I’m sure you are. And are your parents sorry they covered up the fact they’d been serving alcohol at a party where there were underage kids?”

Zach recoiled as if I’d slapped him.

“It’s nice to have influential parents, isn’t it? Keeps certain facts out of the papers.”

“Look, Payton, I didn’t come here to rehash what happened that night.”

“Sounds to me like you only want to talk about selective details.” In an instant, my sister’s sixteen-year-old face flashed through my mind. No. I couldn’t think about Pepper. “I didn’t come to work this morning expecting you to show up here with some sort of self-righteous agenda —”

“Payton, I admit I had a couple of beers the night of the crash. I’ll even admit it to your parents. But Pepper was the one who caused the accident —”

“Oh, you don’t want to rehash what happened, but you’re okay with passing the blame? You think the crash wouldn’t have happened if someone else had been driving the snowmobile? If I’d been driving —?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

“I don’t know why you’re here.” I stood, shoving the table away, causing the pens to roll over the edge and onto the carpeted floor. “You can’t just show up and start talking to me about the night my sister died!”

Zach rose to his feet. “Payton, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you —”

“What did you think, Zach? That we’d have a nice chat about Pepper and the night you killed her?”

That shut him up.

Zach stood in front of me with his head bowed, staring at the carpet. Maybe he’d forget this whole idea of talking to my parents.

He ran a hand through his black hair, a sigh shifting his shoulders beneath the jean jacket covering his plain cotton T-shirt. When he looked at me again, the shadows had reappeared in his gray eyes. “I imagined this conversation for years. Prayed about it. And I never thought it would be an easy one.”

“I’ll give you credit for that.” I didn’t even attempt to hold back the sharp words.

“I’ve never forgotten that night.” He held up his hand, fending off my reply. “I’m not comparing my pain to yours, Payton. I just wanted the chance to talk to you. To your family. The chance to say I’m sorry.”

“Well, you’ve talked to me. That’s going to have to be enough.”

He straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath. “Won’t you at least think about telling your parents that I’d like to see them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Will they be at the ceremony?”

“If they are, I don’t want you anywhere near them.” I backed away from this unwelcome visitor from my past. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“If you change your mind and want to get in touch with me, I’m on Facebook —”

“I won’t.”

Zach nodded.

If he expected me to say something like “Thank you for coming,” or “Have a good life,” that wasn’t going to happen. I escaped into the back room without even saying good-bye, holding my breath until I heard the soft chime indicating the front door had opened and Zach had left.

Both Bianca and Kimberlee tried to act as if they hadn’t been waiting for my return. I restacked a pile of invoices on my desk and shook my head. “Don’t ask. Not work-related.”

“Are you okay?” Kimberlee seemed ready to come give me a hug, so I slipped into my chair and rolled it close to my desk.

No, I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t been okay for years. What would she say if I admitted that?

“I’m fine. An unexpected interruption. We’ve all dealt with those.”

“Nash doesn’t have some unknown competition he should be worrying about then?” Kimberlee waggled her eyebrows.

“Hardly.” Zach hadn’t been my type in high school, and we had nothing in common now.

Except for the night my twin sister died . . . something that would forever link our lives together.