Page 99 of Single Chance

“Tell her,” she said with the naivete of a fourteen-year-old.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Were you a jerk to her?”

I raised my brows.

“You were,” she said.

I nodded.

“You’ll need to grovel then.”

Yeah. I’d need to grovel my damn heart out to even get Rowan to listen to me.

Sam stood and gathered both our plates, then carried them to the counter. I grabbed the lasagna pan and followed, my mind churning over how on earth I could convince Rowan to give me another chance.

Once I set the pan down, I held my arms out to my daughter for a hug, holding my breath, afraid she’d reject it.

She stepped into my arms and wrapped hers around me. “If you want, I can help you come up with a grand gesture she won’t be able to refuse,” she said.

I closed my eyes and wondered when my little girl had learned about grand gestures and grovels. “I’d love that, Sammy.”

I squeezed her tight, grateful for this girl who’d gone out of her way tonight, offering an olive branch in the form of pasta and encouragement.

For the first time in days, I felt a faint pulse of hope.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rowan

Something jolted me out of a light slumber. I lifted my head from the pillow and tried to get my bearings.

I was in my bedroom at Presley’s, which she’d insisted on making cozy and comfortable, bordering on luxurious. The bed from her condo’s guest room had a soft, feminine, upholstered headboard, a fluffy white comforter, and cloud-like sheets. Even though I’d said I didn’t need a TV, she’d brought one over, saying I might want it for noise since the rest of the house was so empty.

She’d been right. The TV was on now, still playingGilmore Girlsepisodes. I’d seen them all before, but Sam and I had discussed the show a week ago, which made me want to rewatch.

I looked at the TV, trying to figure out whether something on the show had woken me up. Just then, a light ping came from the large, four-panel window that looked out over the lake, sounding like tiny hail or sleet. Except the weather had been springlike and clear today.

A glance at my phone told me it was a few minutes after eight p.m. Dark outside. When another ping came, my heartsped up in alarm, and I came fully awake. Had I locked the doors downstairs? I only used one, and I was pretty militant about checking it.

The lights in my room were off, the only illumination the flickering of the television. I felt around for the remote, found it buried in the covers, and clicked off the TV, leaving me in the dark.

The ping came again. I crawled out of bed on the side away from the windows, my hand cradling my small belly automatically. Picking up my phone, I went to the opposite end of the window from where the pings were sounding and crept up to the closed blinds. My heart was in my throat, my finger perched over my phone’s keypad, ready to dial 911.

The next ping sounded, again on the opposite end, which was a good eight feet away from me, giving me courage to pry the blinds open just enough to peek outside.

I nearly screamed at the sight of a man sitting a few feet away on top of the pergola. The moon was bright, enabling me to see that the guy held something over his head.

The second I recognized the boom box, I realized it was Chance, and I wilted in relief. Dropping my hand from the blinds, I pressed it to my chest to ease my frantic heart.

Once the message that there wasn’t a killer outside my window registered, I stepped back to the blinds, surreptitiously peeking out again, confused and concerned.

Had he lost his damn mind? What would ever possess someone to climb to the top of a pergola that had to be a good fourteen feet off the ground? How had he gotten up there? Did he have a death wish?

As I watched, he pulled something out of his pocket and winged it at the window again, apparently still trying to get my attention.

All I could think was, what the actual hell was going through his head?

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