you?" He held out his hand. "I'm Ray Mitchell. My friends call me 'Mitch."' He gave her the same name he had decided to use at work. He'd chosen it hoping that if he'd ever worked with any of the laborers in the past, no one would recognize him.
His common sense told him he was a fool to lie to Emily, to hide his true identity from her. But his heart told him that there would be time enough to tell Emily who he really was. Later. When they knew each other better.
Watching the play of emotions on Mitch's face, Emily wondered what he was thinking. He was a million miles away.
Somewhere she couldn't reach him. Someplace he obviously didn't want to be.
She touched his arm. He turned to her. "I'm Emily Jordan."
Emily. He repeated the name in his mind as he had done countless times in the past. The name suited her. Old-fashioned and ladylike. "Would you go out to dinner with me sometime, Emily?"
She wanted to say yes, to scream her acceptance, but she couldn't. It was obvious that Ray Mitchell was the kind of man who would expect a physical relationship. She could never offer him her body. Her scarred, imperfect, ugly body.
"If you're looking for a friend … someone to ease the loneliness, then … well, I'd like to be your friend," she said.
"I need a friend." I need for you to be my friend.
Emily wanted to touch Mitch, to run her fingers down his craggy, beard-stubbled face. There was so much pain in his eyes, so much loneliness. Perhaps that was why fate had thrown them together. Perhaps she could ease Mitch's pain and end his loneliness, and he could do the same for her.
She had lost so much, suffered so greatly, that she often wondered why she'd been severely punished for sins she'd never known she committed. She and Stuart had been so happy in their new apartment at Ocean Breeze. She'd been five months pregnant and they had already begun decorating a nursery for their baby boy. And then their apartment building had collapsed. Fire had broken out, spreading quickly throughout the expensive, newly constructed complex. She and Stuart had been trapped. Stuart had died. And when she'd awakened to learn of his death and the loss of their child, she had wished she'd died with them.
But she'd lived to suffer endless agony as her severely burned back healed, and then more pain when she endured eight operations on her seared flesh.
Emily had lost her husband, her child and any hopes of ever loving and being loved again. And all because an unscrupulous construction firm had been more interested in saving money than in people's safety. Even though she'd been too ill to go to court, to face the monsters responsible for the destruction of her life, she would never forget their names. Randall D. Styles and M. R. Hayden.
"Are you all right, Emily?" Mitch asked.
"Sorry. I was just remembering … things I'll never be able to forget."
"Yeah. I understand. I have a few demons chasing me, too."
Emily smiled at Mitch, accepting him into her life, telling herself that he needed her friendship as much as she needed his. "Why don't you stop by the Paint Box tomorrow after work. We can pick up some fresh seafood and a bottle of wine. I can cook dinner for us at my house."
"Pretty lady, you've got yourself a deal."
----
Chapter 4
« ^ »
T he morning had been hectic for both Emily and Nikki. Emily taught classes for senior citizens on Monday mornings, and today she'd also tried to help Nikki with the inventory. Her partner had been tied up with the distributor who provided the store with their art books, and with a disgruntled customer, Mrs. Hendricks, who came by at least once a week to complain.
Emily checked her small diamond-studded gold watch, the last birthday gift Grammy had given her.
Twelve forty-five
. Emily noted the number of children's watercolor sets on the shelf, recorded it on the inventory sheet, then slipped her pencil into the breast pocket of her yellow, paint-smeared smock. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her
His common sense told him he was a fool to lie to Emily, to hide his true identity from her. But his heart told him that there would be time enough to tell Emily who he really was. Later. When they knew each other better.
Watching the play of emotions on Mitch's face, Emily wondered what he was thinking. He was a million miles away.
Somewhere she couldn't reach him. Someplace he obviously didn't want to be.
She touched his arm. He turned to her. "I'm Emily Jordan."
Emily. He repeated the name in his mind as he had done countless times in the past. The name suited her. Old-fashioned and ladylike. "Would you go out to dinner with me sometime, Emily?"
She wanted to say yes, to scream her acceptance, but she couldn't. It was obvious that Ray Mitchell was the kind of man who would expect a physical relationship. She could never offer him her body. Her scarred, imperfect, ugly body.
"If you're looking for a friend … someone to ease the loneliness, then … well, I'd like to be your friend," she said.
"I need a friend." I need for you to be my friend.
Emily wanted to touch Mitch, to run her fingers down his craggy, beard-stubbled face. There was so much pain in his eyes, so much loneliness. Perhaps that was why fate had thrown them together. Perhaps she could ease Mitch's pain and end his loneliness, and he could do the same for her.
She had lost so much, suffered so greatly, that she often wondered why she'd been severely punished for sins she'd never known she committed. She and Stuart had been so happy in their new apartment at Ocean Breeze. She'd been five months pregnant and they had already begun decorating a nursery for their baby boy. And then their apartment building had collapsed. Fire had broken out, spreading quickly throughout the expensive, newly constructed complex. She and Stuart had been trapped. Stuart had died. And when she'd awakened to learn of his death and the loss of their child, she had wished she'd died with them.
But she'd lived to suffer endless agony as her severely burned back healed, and then more pain when she endured eight operations on her seared flesh.
Emily had lost her husband, her child and any hopes of ever loving and being loved again. And all because an unscrupulous construction firm had been more interested in saving money than in people's safety. Even though she'd been too ill to go to court, to face the monsters responsible for the destruction of her life, she would never forget their names. Randall D. Styles and M. R. Hayden.
"Are you all right, Emily?" Mitch asked.
"Sorry. I was just remembering … things I'll never be able to forget."
"Yeah. I understand. I have a few demons chasing me, too."
Emily smiled at Mitch, accepting him into her life, telling herself that he needed her friendship as much as she needed his. "Why don't you stop by the Paint Box tomorrow after work. We can pick up some fresh seafood and a bottle of wine. I can cook dinner for us at my house."
"Pretty lady, you've got yourself a deal."
----
Chapter 4
« ^ »
T he morning had been hectic for both Emily and Nikki. Emily taught classes for senior citizens on Monday mornings, and today she'd also tried to help Nikki with the inventory. Her partner had been tied up with the distributor who provided the store with their art books, and with a disgruntled customer, Mrs. Hendricks, who came by at least once a week to complain.
Emily checked her small diamond-studded gold watch, the last birthday gift Grammy had given her.
Twelve forty-five
. Emily noted the number of children's watercolor sets on the shelf, recorded it on the inventory sheet, then slipped her pencil into the breast pocket of her yellow, paint-smeared smock. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her
Similar Books
