steps, as measured as her thoughts. “The answer to that one could take a while.” No way could she tell him she’d run away because she’d felt claustrophobic in Croisette Shores. Pity and too many stares could do that to a person, no matter how well-meaning the intent.
“ You’re a puzzle, Serenity McClaren.”
If only you knew. Because he was a psychologist, he’d probably embrace the opportunity to unravel the mysteries in her life and try to fit the pieces back together. But no, finding the answers was something she needed to figure out for herself. What would be the point of bringing someone else into the tragedies of her life? It served no worthwhile purpose and she wouldn’t—she couldn’t —impose that burden on anyone else.
The image of the note popped into her mind. Well, at least one other person knew the truth or wanted to help her find it. It’s not like she could post a want ad in the paper or make the rounds, asking what anyone might know.
Averting her eyes from the intensity of his gaze, Serenity forced a lightness into her tone. “What exactly did Charlie tell you about me?” Surely Charlie wouldn’t have blabbed her secrets.
“ Confession time. He told me you love cherry cheesecake.”
“ And I thought it was a lucky guess.”
“ He also told me you beat the boys in kickball in first grade. Outran them all. You’re also uncommonly smart and won the South Carolina statewide spelling bee when you were in the eighth grade.”
“ Sixth grade, but I don’t know how smart I am.”
“ Something Charlie didn’t tell me was how humble you are,” Jackson said. “Tell me something else he wouldn’t know.”
Clever man, he ’d turned the conversation around to suit his purposes. “I don’t spill my deepest secrets to anyone I’ve only known an hour, even if you are a psychologist and a paying client.” Her first paying client, but who was counting?
“ I’m not asking for deep secrets. I figure if we’re going to work together, Serenity, we might as well be friends. I’ll tell you one about me.”
“ I’m listening.” He’d stated his case well, although they didn’t technically have to work together. Basically, he’d tell her what he envisioned for his office and she’d take care of seeing those needs realized. But no, her first client wanted more.
“ I play the piano,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I’m spectacularly terrible, but I try. That’s got to count for something, right? Your turn.”
Sticking with musical instruments should be a safe enough topic. “I play the saxophone. Or I did in middle school.”
“ Really? I would have pegged you more for a flute or clarinet player.”
“ How so?”
“ Most of the saxophone players I’ve known are big guys who blow a lot of hot air on a regular basis. You seem more...delicate, for lack of a better term.”
I ’m not as delicate as you might think. “Here’s one,” she said. “I stink at navigation. Even with a map, I can’t find my way out of a paper bag.”
“ Do you have a GPS?”
“ Yes, but we have a love-hate relationship.” She darted around an overgrown tree encroaching the sidewalk. “Another reason to love Croisette Shores. Not much changes around here, and I know where everything is. I was a mess in Atlanta, but it didn’t help that every street downtown was named Peach something-or-other. Don’t city planners know that confuses people?” Engrossed in their conversation, she hadn’t noticed they were nearing the fringes of her old neighborhood. Stopping, she looked around in dismay. “This is the area of town where I grew up. My dad still lives in the old homestead a few streets over. Why are we here?”
Stopping beside her, Jackson nodded to the left. “The playground.”
I mmediate sadness engulfed Serenity when she followed the nod of his head. “It’s so rundown,” she said, removing her sunglasses. How could the disrepair of one of her favorite childhood
“ You’re a puzzle, Serenity McClaren.”
If only you knew. Because he was a psychologist, he’d probably embrace the opportunity to unravel the mysteries in her life and try to fit the pieces back together. But no, finding the answers was something she needed to figure out for herself. What would be the point of bringing someone else into the tragedies of her life? It served no worthwhile purpose and she wouldn’t—she couldn’t —impose that burden on anyone else.
The image of the note popped into her mind. Well, at least one other person knew the truth or wanted to help her find it. It’s not like she could post a want ad in the paper or make the rounds, asking what anyone might know.
Averting her eyes from the intensity of his gaze, Serenity forced a lightness into her tone. “What exactly did Charlie tell you about me?” Surely Charlie wouldn’t have blabbed her secrets.
“ Confession time. He told me you love cherry cheesecake.”
“ And I thought it was a lucky guess.”
“ He also told me you beat the boys in kickball in first grade. Outran them all. You’re also uncommonly smart and won the South Carolina statewide spelling bee when you were in the eighth grade.”
“ Sixth grade, but I don’t know how smart I am.”
“ Something Charlie didn’t tell me was how humble you are,” Jackson said. “Tell me something else he wouldn’t know.”
Clever man, he ’d turned the conversation around to suit his purposes. “I don’t spill my deepest secrets to anyone I’ve only known an hour, even if you are a psychologist and a paying client.” Her first paying client, but who was counting?
“ I’m not asking for deep secrets. I figure if we’re going to work together, Serenity, we might as well be friends. I’ll tell you one about me.”
“ I’m listening.” He’d stated his case well, although they didn’t technically have to work together. Basically, he’d tell her what he envisioned for his office and she’d take care of seeing those needs realized. But no, her first client wanted more.
“ I play the piano,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I’m spectacularly terrible, but I try. That’s got to count for something, right? Your turn.”
Sticking with musical instruments should be a safe enough topic. “I play the saxophone. Or I did in middle school.”
“ Really? I would have pegged you more for a flute or clarinet player.”
“ How so?”
“ Most of the saxophone players I’ve known are big guys who blow a lot of hot air on a regular basis. You seem more...delicate, for lack of a better term.”
I ’m not as delicate as you might think. “Here’s one,” she said. “I stink at navigation. Even with a map, I can’t find my way out of a paper bag.”
“ Do you have a GPS?”
“ Yes, but we have a love-hate relationship.” She darted around an overgrown tree encroaching the sidewalk. “Another reason to love Croisette Shores. Not much changes around here, and I know where everything is. I was a mess in Atlanta, but it didn’t help that every street downtown was named Peach something-or-other. Don’t city planners know that confuses people?” Engrossed in their conversation, she hadn’t noticed they were nearing the fringes of her old neighborhood. Stopping, she looked around in dismay. “This is the area of town where I grew up. My dad still lives in the old homestead a few streets over. Why are we here?”
Stopping beside her, Jackson nodded to the left. “The playground.”
I mmediate sadness engulfed Serenity when she followed the nod of his head. “It’s so rundown,” she said, removing her sunglasses. How could the disrepair of one of her favorite childhood
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