Page 14 of Heart Signs

ealing with. If she dealt with him at all.

He came back over to her, unsurprised to see the curious tilt of her lips. “Read at your own risk,” he said, holding them out to her.

As usual she didn’t hesitate. “Thanks. I’ll get them back to you soon.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The sight of his letters in her steady grip unnerved him so he made a show of looking at his watch. “I’m not rushing you out, but it’s almost four.”

“Yeah. I’m about to get my ass handed to me.” She scrambled to her feet and turned toward the door. Then she looked back with a shy smile. “Best lunch I’ve ever not had.”

He wanted to smile and almost managed it. But she held his faded papers in her hands so tightly, possessing a part of him he hadn’t realized he hadn’t been ready to share. After all the silly billboards he’d done, apparently he still had thoughts that weren’t suitable for public consumption.

She’s not the public. She’s Rory.

Why that comforted him, he didn’t know. But the smile finally came once she shut the door behind her.

“Me too,” he murmured.

Chapter Four

Dani,

In the beginning, I figured we’d find our way back to each other. After how we’d met, how could a stupid misunderstanding cost us everything? But careless words wound as often as careful ones heal. By the time I realized that, it was too late. For us and for you.

~ Sam

Rory sat down on her sofa and gulped a mouthful of wine. It wasn’t fancy stuff, just a liquor store special, but she didn’t have anything stronger. She only drank now and then, usually when she shared a pitcher with the guys at Loki’s during games, but she’d never needed something to take the edge off her nerves more.

She hadn’t had sex with him. That knowledge had soothed her throughout the long afternoon at work, though it had been only two hours. Especially when she’d faced down her eagle-eyed aunt upon returning. She was surprised Pam hadn’t sniffed her clothing for traces of cologne.

Shit, if she had, Rory would’ve been screwed.

Everything about the guy didn’t match her expectations. He had such a powerful body. He could’ve bench-pressed classic cars instead of worked on them for all she knew. The muscles in his arms, in his strong thighs, didn’t make someone think of a guy who composed…well, what he composed. Here she’d imagined a guy with floppy curls and mopey eyes and Sam was bald. His eyes weren’t sad so much as painfully direct. Both attributes suited him down to the ground.

She wanted to find out what else suited him. Some of it was curiosity, some of it intuition. Some just a basic, primal attraction.

For a good-time girl, she’d taken a definite detour into gloomsday central. Sam’s apartment might as well have been covered with a shroud. For good reason. He’d dealt with so much and still kept swinging. Even so, he clearly wasn’t in the place for casual sex. Or any kind of sex.

So why had she knelt down and opened his jeans and proceeded to give him a blowjob that obviously hadn’t been enough to distract him from a little tangled hair?

It hadn’t been about the hair. Three people had been in that apartment and she’d been too daft to realize it. She couldn’t sex him out of his grief. And that respite she’d wanted to offer him, that shelter in a storm so to speak, meant squat when the storm lived inside his head.

He hadn’t asked for her number. Though she’d played it casual she’d really hoped he would. So of course he hadn’t.

Sighing, she picked up the stack of letters next to her knee. At least she assumed they were letters, since each had its own envelope. The corners were yellowed as if he’d had them buried in a drawer for years. She assumed they were letters he’d written his wife, maybe since her death. Could just be cheap paper.

Could be she was seriously stalling.

She pulled up her legs, making sure her perennially cold feet were sheltered under her fleece throw. Then she snatched the first envelope, opened the flap and—

The phone rang.

Could it be? No. If he’d intended to call, he would’ve asked for her number. It was probably her mother, wondering if she’d make it to Sunday dinner this week. Or else it might be her friend Shana. She’d been fighting with her boyfriend nonstop for the past few weeks. Yeah, love definitely rocked.

“Crap.” Rory stared at her cordless phone and willed it to stop ringing. It didn’t. Too bad she didn’t have an answering machine.

She leaned over the arm of the couch to grab it off the end table. “Hello?”

“From that tone, you must’ve read some of them already.”

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