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“You don’t, and it won’t change anything. Get dressed.”
“Now who’s bossy?” He held up the shorts, and looked between her and the clothing. “These are too big for you.”
“They weren’t, once upon a time.” Would her brushoff deter him? She didn’t want to explain why she had them. Not now, not ever—to him or anyone.
He glanced back at the blank screen. “Okay.”
She’d spill whatever it took, to keep him distracted. “Put them on. Don’t touch the remote. And sit. When I come back, I’ll tell you why I have them.” As soon as she made the commitment, she wanted to take it back. There were a billion other ways to pass the time that didn’t involve gutting herself in front of someone else. But this was the best reminder of why no man was worth losing her heart over, no matter how good a past they shared.
Chapter Eight
It wasn’t that Jonathanwas worried about the weather. He wanted to watch for purely academic reasons—to know if he’d have cell-phone access again soon; to get an idea of when he could head back to the mainland. His fascination with the glaring swirl of the radar maps had nothing to do with the heavy weight trying to force the air from his lungs. Didn’t correlate at all to the dreams he never managed to shake, from which he woke up struggling to breathe past the water and choking on his inability to fight the currents.
He forced himself to swallow, and then tugged on the clothes Bailey brought him. He was grateful her promise to explain gave him a new direction for his thoughts.
She returned a moment later with a bag of potato chips, a jar of onion dip, and two cans of Coke. “Dinner is served.” She arranged everything on the coffee table.
“Not quite what I was going for.” He settled back onto the couch.
She took the spot next to him and twisted sideways so she faced him, one knee propped on the couch and resting against his leg. “Unless you can turn hamburger, two pickles, and sweet-and-sour mix into something gourmet, you wouldn’t have done much better. I don’t keep a lot in my kitchen.”
“Why not?”
“A list of reasons. I travel as much as I’m home. I don’t like to cook. It’s too much temptation—” She snapped her jaw shut. “Angel investor firm—how’s that work?”
“People pitch me ideas that aren’t necessarily worth millions, but are still solid business plans, and I loan them money in return for a share of the profits. Why do you own clothes three sizes too big for you?”
She grabbed one of the soda cans and fiddled with it, not popping the top. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to check the weather again until tomorrow morning. And that doesn’t mean midnight; it means normal wake-up time.”
She was trying to distract him. The realization threatened to make him smile. Not that he needed distracting. “I promise.”
“When I married Danny, things were wonderful. Iknewyou were wrong about him.” Bailey’s words cut deep.
“I see.” Despite him knowingsomethingwent wrong, Nana never told him what. Said it wasn’t her place. At eighteen years old, for the second time in his life, he thought he’d never see Bailey again. Not because of some great tragedy—though he swore it was one, at the time—but because she was engaged and refused to listen when Jonathan tried to tell her Danny was a cheating, lying asshole.
Each time she clicked the tab on her drink with her nail, metal clinked against metal. “And then, about six months in, life imploded. I was dropping something off for a friend who worked at one of the hotels, and found him sucking face with a brunette in the bar.” When she opened the drink, a hiss mixed with her words. She took a long swallow. “I should have gotten furious—that was what I felt. But I told him I’d see him at home, so quietly I’m not sure he heard me. I called in to work, went home, and stared blankly at the wall, trying to figure out what to do, until he showed up about three hours later.”
