Page 117 of Holding On To Good

Oh, God, what wasn’t she afraid of?

She was afraid of making a mistake. Scared of putting her heart on the line. Of letting him see the truth.

Their kiss at Lindstrom House had set something loose and she was just now realizing what a fool she’d been to think she could recapture it and tuck it away again. Certain things, once set free, remained free.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she snapped, self-preservation making her waspish. “And one kiss was more than enough for me.”

Emotions played across his face, anger and impatience and then more of that determination.

“Take off your sunglasses.”

The command, the second one he’d given, set her teeth on edge. “What?”

“If you’re going to lie to me,” he said, his tone calm and controlled, “the least you can do is look me in the eye.”

Her fingers trembled, ever so slightly, as she slid her sunglasses to the top of her head. She’d hope Urban didn’t notice but she didn’t like to waste hopes and wishes on things that had no chance of coming true.

She opened her mouth but couldn’t do it. Couldn’t hold his gaze and tell him she didn’t want him.

But she couldn’t admit what she did want, either.

“I’m going out with Finn tonight,” she repeated, injecting a firm, confident note into her tone. “We’re going to have a drink and get to know each other a little better. That’s all. It’s no big deal.”

“It won’t work.”

“Actually, that’s exactly how dating works.”

“Going out with Calhoun isn’t going to make this go away.” He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “It isn’t going to make you forget it’s me you really want.”

She inhaled sharply, her thoughts twisting and twirling so much, it took her a good ten seconds to realize Urban had walked away.

Legs unsteady, she made it to her SUV and climbed inside. Stared blindly out the windshield.

Going out with Calhoun isn’t going to make this go away. It isn’t going to make you forget it’s me you really want.

Yes, she was afraid of everything.

That he might be right, scared her most of all.

Chapter Twenty-One

“I’m hot.”

Turning onto Thompson Avenue, Verity playfully tugged Ian’s hand. And kept right on walking. If she so much as slowed down now, she’d lose her nerve and it’d taken her two weeks to work it up as it was.

“Everyone in town is hot,” she told him. “It’s eighty degrees.”

“But I’m extra hot,” Ian huffed, out of breath, jogging to keep up with her. “I’m really, really hot.”

“That’s why we’re getting ice cream. So we can cool off.”

Guilt pinched her but she ignored it. It wasn’t like she was lying to her nephew. Or making him an accomplice in some illegal, immoral or even ill-advised scheme. They were totally getting ice cream so they could cool off.

And if they just happened to swing by DiFonzio’s Auto garage so she could repay the debt that’d been hanging over her head like a razor-sharp guillotine, all the better.

Waiting at the corner to cross, Ian jiggled her hand, had her whole arm shaking. “Is eighty degrees hot enough to melt someone’s face?”

She looked down into his upturned, non-melting face. His hair was damp at the temples, his eyes wide and worried behind his glasses.

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