Brenda Novak - Discovering You

But robbery wasn’t murder. Sebastian had threatened the liquor-store clerk by saying he had a gun in his pocket; he hadn’t really had one. Nobody had been hurt, and he’d served his sentence for that crime. Those were important distinctions, and yet her detractors hadn’t cut her any slack. What the detective on Charlie’s case had to say was important, too. He told one reporter that she’d never written Sebastian or visited him, not after she met Charlie. There were no texts between them that included anything questionable or suggestive and only a few calls, which was consistent with her story that she’d merely been trying to help him. Also, Sebastian had been out of prison for a year before he even reached out, and he did that on Facebook, so they had proof of first contact.

Rod didn’t believe India had anything to do with Charlie’s murder, and the police must not have found any evidence to the contrary because they’d dismissed her as a suspect early on. Plenty of people continued to doubt her, though. Rod came across several articles that pointed a finger at her. But he understood what it was like to be judged on the basis of the past. There was no getting rid of the stigma attached to certain mistakes.

Maybe he and India weren’t so different, after all.

Setting his computer aside, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. He had her number from when she’d called last night, trying to find his phone. He’d nearly added her to his contacts list several times today, but he’d stopped himself. Now he went ahead. She was innocent of her husband’s death. She truly loved Charlie. Rod could see that last night. She’d told him as much.

She’d also said she could use a friend, and he’d blown her off.

He felt bad about that now.

He felt even worse once he found her cookies.

* * *

India was concentrating so hard on her work that it took several seconds to realize someone was watching her. When it finally occurred to her that she had company, she jumped. She was so afraid Sebastian would appear out of nowhere, like he had before. But this time she knew who it would be. She’d heard Rod come home less than an hour earlier.

“Hey.” He had a toothpick in his mouth and a cast on his right hand. He hooked his left on the wood overhang as he gazed through the screen.

When she’d jerked, she’d messed up the pot she’d been throwing, which was unfortunate. She’d already started over several times. After what she’d heard from Detective Flores, she was too upset to have steady hands—and yet she’d needed something to do. She couldn’t sit there and worry indefinitely.

She wouldn’t start over again now, however. Having Rod so close made it virtually impossible to focus, especially since she wasn’t prepared to see him. She didn’t have any makeup on, or shoes—or even a bra. In deference to the heat, she’d stripped down to a pair of high-waisted cutoffs and an old button-down shirt of Charlie’s that she’d tied under her breasts.

“Hey,” she echoed and, after pushing the clay into a big lump, turned off her wheel.

He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t cause that, did I?” he asked, indicating her ruined vase.

“No,” she lied. Then she bolstered her response with the truth. “Mistakes and do-overs happen all the time. This was actually my fourth try today.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He lowered his good arm to move the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You ever seen the movie Ghost?”

She had. That steamy scene with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze was one of her all-time favorites, but after last night, she was surprised he’d bring it up. “Yes.”

“That’s what finding you covered in clay and not much else reminds me of.”

Ignoring that comment, she got off her stool and walked over to him. “You broke your hand, huh?”

“Yeah.” He frowned at it. “In two places.”

“I’m sorry about that. But I’m glad you saw a doctor.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. It would’ve had to be rebroken if I’d let it heal on its own, so...better to go this route from the beginning.”

“Is this your first cast?”

He chuckled without mirth. “’Fraid not.”

“They’re no fun.”

“You’ve had one?”

“Broke my arm once.”

“How?”

“Motorcycle accident.”

“Who was driving?”

Sebastian had been driving. He’d been angry with a friend and going too fast, and he’d pulled out in front of a semi that clipped their back tire. It was a miracle they’d lived through it. Because of that, he had a scar going halfway around his back, and she had two pins in her arm, but it could’ve been so much worse.

“A friend,” she said to avoid mentioning Sebastian’s name.

Rod studied her until she felt too uncomfortable to allow the silence to continue.

“So...what can I do for you?” she asked.

His mouth quirked to one side. “I just found a plate of cookies on the railing of my deck.”

It was almost impossible not to return his smile, but India fought the impulse. She had to remain on guard at all times. He did something to her she couldn’t explain—probably because it didn’t make any sense. She’d barely met him. “I hope the ants didn’t find them first.”

“Not that I could see. Although I wouldn’t have let that stop me. They were delicious.”

“Were?” she repeated. “You ate them already?”

“Was I supposed to wait? If my brothers came home and found me with homemade cookies, they’d be gone in seconds. And my father and his wife are always there.”

“So to prevent sharing, you ate all twelve?” she said with a laugh.

“They were for me, weren’t they?” he responded with a wink.

He made her feel better. She preferred not to contemplate why. “Yes, they were for you, and I’m glad you liked them.” She sobered. “I hope you also got my note.”

“I did.”

Then why was he here? Didn’t her note say it all?

She crossed to the sink in the corner. “I’m really sorry about last night,” she said as she washed her hands. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve never done anything like that.”

“I’m not here for another apology. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about it. I can understand why you might want to feel good for a change.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your forgiveness. But I’m really not as bad as hitting on you made me seem.”

“I know.”

After drying her hands, she used the same towel to mop the beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. “Then...can we pretend it never happened?”

His gaze slid over her like it had last night, and she suddenly realized why she’d propositioned him. Just the way he looked at her—as if he was undressing her with his eyes, even though they weren’t talking about anything remotely suggestive—made her too aware of him. He exuded sex appeal, and as a young, lonely widow, she was vulnerable. It’d been eleven months since she’d felt a man’s touch; she missed Charlie’s gentle caress.

“’Course. I’m not holding anything against you,” he said, giving her the impression that he wouldn’t have thought twice about what she’d done, with or without the cookie offering.

Maybe he got hit on all the time. India knew she couldn’t be the only woman to find him attractive.

She clasped her hands in front of her, partially to hide the fact that she didn’t know what to do with them now that she’d cleaned them, and partially to block his view of the stains on her shirt. When she was creating, she didn’t care about staying clean. She didn’t care about much of anything then. Several hours could pass without her noticing. Her art was the one thing that helped her cope with life since Charlie died.