Betina Krahn - Hooked

He halted. Muscles in his jaw tensed as he worked to master the feelings he’d dredged up. “Sorry,” he said after a moment, looking down. “Not used to going there.”

“It must have been awful for you.” She took refuge in a sip of coffee, fighting to swallow it past the lump in her throat.

“Awful and beautiful. Probably the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. And the hardest.” When he looked up again, she glanced away, as if trying to spot their waitress. There was a brief silence in which she felt him studying her. “So, hey, what about you?” he asked, shaking off the somber mood. “How is the fashion business these days?”

“Fine. Lots of things in the works. We open a new store every six months or so. A lot of late nights and waaay too much caffeine. I should have invested in a Starbucks or two along the way.” Her smile felt forced and she hoped he couldn’t see what it cost her. There was something in his gaze, something intimate and probing, something that made her feel vulnerable and exposed. “And what about you? Still at Damon’s, I guess.”

“Absolutely. The best place in the world. Sporting man’s heaven.” He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning back. The tanned planes of his cheeks had a few new lines etched into them, but on him the wear of life looked right and appealing…even courageous. “I get enough time off to do some volunteer work, like CFR, and get in some fishing and some hugging.”

“Hugging?” She cocked her head, hoping the drape of her hair would hide the reddening of her cheeks.

“Yeah, I get to hug all the women on retreat Sundays. It’s the highlight of my year. Which may tell you something about the state of my life just now. I don’t get many…” He gave a pained smile, squared his shoulders and confessed, “My girls aren’t real keen on me just now.”

“Your gi—Katie and Chelsea?” Steph brightened, pleased at the memories the names resurrected. “How are they?”

“Katie’s a senior this year, Chelsea is a sophomore. Both too pretty, too grown-up and too damned independent. I’m just a walkin’ checkbook to them these days.” He dug out a wallet and flashed pictures of two teenage girls with fabulous smiles and brilliant hazel eyes. Their father’s eyes. Steph felt a warm spot in her middle, remembering them. She’d gone school shopping with them once, and it had turned out to be one of the highlights of—Don’t go there.

“You, um, have any…” He halted, letting a rolling hand motion say the rest.

“Kids? Plenty. Four nieces and three nephews, all under twelve.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your sisters are there.” He paused, a muscle in his jaw working. “So, the move to Atlanta worked out well for you.”

“It’s been good.” She nodded emphatically. “I don’t know how I’d get along without the family. Don’t know how I ever did.”

For a moment her words hung between them.

The food arrived just then and she was able to sink her attention into her omelet and fruit. Steph and Finn managed a little small talk, but twice while they were eating she looked up to find him staring at her with an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and intensity. She had the oddest feeling that he could see inside her, that he could tell something about her was different. It was all she could do to keep from crossing her arms over her breasts.

She tried not to think of his sister, Janice, whom she had met and liked a great deal. She tried not to imagine him wiping Janice’s brow or holding her while she cried, or feeding her when she didn’t feel like eating. But every image Steph tried to dodge seemed to slide around the barriers she put up, and bring three others with it.

To combat the emotions crowding her lungs, she started to talk about her nieces and nephews and birthdays and family holidays. She inquired enough to realize that Finn was truly feeling estranged from his daughters, who lived with his ex, and didn’t know how to fix their relationship. And then it happened.

Somehow her forearm was on the tabletop and his big, callused hand closed over it and slid down to her hand, enfolding it, cradling it…making a connection between them that was devastatingly strong and familiar. That warmth, that solid, vital presence… She wanted to curl up in his arms and have him hug her back to health and hope and life itself. But that was too much to ask of anyone; that was a task she had to undertake herself. The task she’d been running from for almost nine months now.

Escape is not an option.

“Whoa! Look at the time,” she said, glancing at her watch and springing to her feet. “I have to get on the road if I’m going to catch my flight.” She reached for her purse, but Finn rose and insisted breakfast was on him. For a moment they stood two feet apart, looking at each other, not quite sure what to do.

His arms moved at his sides, ever so slightly. She wanted to feel them around her so badly….

Panicking, she took a big step backward, fearing that both her anxiety and the reasons for it were written all over her. “Well, it was wonderful catching up with you, Finn. If you’re ever in Atlanta…”

She turned on her heel and, through the rush of blood in her ears, caught something about “a couple of weeks.” Unable to stop herself from taking one last look, she turned by the hostess station to toss him a brisk wave and a tight smile. There he stood with his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs…his big, capable hands and sorrow-shaded eyes…

It was fifteen minutes later, as she floored the pedal of her rental car along the state highway, that she realized it was tears that kept making the road hard to see. Buckets of them. She was sobbing.

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