Page 114 of Freckles

“Me, too. The dropped-out bit, not the job.” I wave my hand around. “Hence, this.”

“You left school? But… what about going to university? What about your dream?” He gives an incredulous laugh. “Out of everyone I know, you’re the person who most belongs in school.”

“It’s not forever.” The main reason was to avoid registering my name anywhere searchable, but I can’t say that aloud. Or that half my savings are destined for cobbler who can pull together a new name and IDs. “Just till I get back on my feet.”

“But you could—”

He breaks off, rubbing his forehead with enough force it leaves long streaks of red on his skin.

“Can you just tell me why? I don’t…” he shakes his head, face creasing into despair. “I thought we were doing okay, or better at least, then…” His eyes meet mine, holding them spellbound. “What happened?”

There’s no sign of him being disingenuous.

He really doesn’t know.

My first reaction is relief, then my stomach falls. Him not knowing is so much worse.

I drop my gaze, wiping my damp palms on my apron. “It was time to move on, that’s all.”

“You’re lying.” He reaches out to me, brushing escaped strands of hair away from my face, gently cupping my cheek. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” I step out of range, pulse ticking high in my throat.

It never occurred to me he wouldn’t yet know. I thought the man who blackmailed me would have turned straight around and tried to make a quick buck off my stupidity when I fled.

I thought he’d had time to recover from the initial shock; that the men following me were a sign of forgiveness. That he was reaching out, trying to bridge the gap that my actions caused…

But he hasn’t got a clue.

His uncle doesn’t know.

My cheeks pulse with heat as I push the ticket back to his side of the table, shaking my head. “I won’t be going.”

Esther is making wild gestures, but I can’t look at her. I can guess what my coworker thinks and don’t need the added pressure when she doesn’t have context.

“Do you know what I miss? When I’d catch glimpses of you around school. I would be going through the motions, faking interest in lessons, then see you in class or across the quad and it was like a light turned on in my day.”

Kincaid stares at the ticket. I see the muscles working in his jaw, bunching where he clenches his teeth. Hard.

“I don’t even have a dress,” I add, glad to think of an excuse.

“Yes, you do. The boutique finished the adjustments and delivered it. It’s waiting back in my hotel room.”

He takes back the ticket, then puts a keycard down in its place.

“Room 801 at Oceanview Palace Hotel. Since the dance starts at eight, the plane will be ready for seven. What time do you finish work?”

“Five,” Esther promptly replies, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Then meet me at the hotel room by six-thirty. Maybe a few minutes after if you don’t mind being fashionably late.”

“I’m not—”

“Or throw the keycard away. Your choice.”

His eyes meet mine, and I feel his magnetic draw. It would be so easy to say yes. To go with him. It’s what I wanted when I made contact. The fulfilment of every daydream I’ve had to pull myself out of before I start crying.

The happy ending I don’t deserve.

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