Page 49 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
“I’m so fucking lost,” she said, letting the tears fall.
“In this town? If that’s true, I’m actually impressed.”
Wheeling around, Kissie tripped on her own feet. She would have fallen over backwards into the snow if it hadn’t been for Lane Montgomery’s strong hand closing around her arm and holding her upright.
“Whoa,” he said, grinning at her under a red snow cap. “Careful. It’s slippery tonight.”
“What are you doing out here?” Kissie wiped angrily at her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at your party?”
His thick brows pinched over his straight-as-an-arrow nose. “Are you crying?”
She tried holding it in, but with tall, uber-perfect Lane looking down at her like she was a sad and trembling puppy, it was useless.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’m crying. I’m crying in the middle of an empty town on Valentine’s Day during a snowstorm wearing completely inappropriate shoes, and I can’t seem to stop. Are you happy now?”
“Why would I be happy a beautiful woman is crying?”
She rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “Could you, like, not do the hitting on me thing right now?”
“That wasn’t hitting on you. Trust me, if I made a pass at you, you’d know.”
“I would? Why? Would I swoon? Would my underwear burst into flames? Newsflash, Lane. I’m not wearing any!” Remembering that her underwear was probably still tucked into the back pocket of Trig’s jeans, she blinked hard at a fresh wave of tears threatening to burst free.
After a low chuckle at her expense that was somehow almost polite, Lane said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“With you?”
He shrugged under his coat, snowflakes gathering on shoulders so wide she could ski off them. “Why not? I’m not a monster.”
She narrowed her eyes. This was the man who was instrumental in breaking Trig’s heart after all, the man whose father was trying to break it further by stealing Mystic. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.” He tilted his head down the street. “The diner’s open. You said you were lost, and I’m guessing that wasn’t in a literal sense. If you don’t want to talk, we could at least go get warm.”
“I don’t even know you,” Kissie said, sniffling. “All I know is that you—”
“Stole Trig’s girlfriend?”
She nodded.
“I did a lot of things I’m not necessarily proud of back then.”
“I did a lot of things I’m not necessarily proud of, like, ten minutes ago.”
His laughter made a cloud in the air. “Now that we’ve established that neither of us is perfect, come on. I’ll buy you a coffee, and you can give me a reason not to have to head back to the house yet.”
* * *
“Thanks, Forrest.”Lane nodded at the handsome black man Kissie had met at Mystic’s singles night while he filled their coffee mugs.
“Sure thing, Lane.” Forrest glanced at Kissie. “Did you want menus?”
“Are you hungry?” Lane asked her.
Kissie shook her head. Her stomach was a roiling ball of confusion and despair. Coffee was about all it could handle.
“No thanks,” Lane said, grinning at Forrest and looking like a marble statue brought to life.
Once Forrest left, Kissie asked, “So do you just not like parties, or—”
