Mystic Park by Regina Hart Page B

this past winter working on the community center’s fund-raising committee. He’d thought their shared experiences had gotten them past the nice-weather-we’re-having conversations. What had caused them to suddenly regress?
    â€œThey were fun.” Olivia’s face lit up with her smile.
    â€œThat’s great.” He’d never considered that biology classes could be fun.
    â€œI was wondering . . .” Olivia paused. Her gaze slid away.
    â€œWhat is it?” Vaughn grew uneasy. What was on her mind?
    Olivia crossed her long legs and folded her hands on her lap. “I enjoyed working with you on the fund-raising committee. It was work. But with you, it was fun work. Do you know what I mean?”
    Why is she so nervous? Vaughn offered her what he hoped was a calming smile. “I’m glad one of us knew what we were supposed to do. If it wasn’t for you, we never would’ve been able to pull it off.”
    â€œMaybe we could have lunch sometime. Together.” Her brown eyes wavered. “The two of us.”
    She wasn’t asking him as a friend. Her deepening blush and white-knuckled grip told him that. Vaughn shifted on his chair. No one had ever asked him out before. He searched for gentle words to explain he wasn’t interested in a relationship—then his mind screeched to a halt.
    Why not?
    He didn’t have to consider Benita. They’d broken up and he didn’t harbor any hope of a reconciliation. The realization once again struck him like a blade through his chest. He’d loved her so hard for so long. When would this heartache end? Possibly never.
    Vaughn breathed through the pain. “I’d like that.”
    Clouds cleared from Olivia’s heart-shaped face. She gave him a smile brilliant with relief, excitement, and joy. It was humbling.
    â€œAre you free Thursday?” Olivia rose. “I don’t have any afternoon classes.”
    Vaughn stood as well. “Thursday works for me.” Why do I feel like a cheater?
    â€œMaybe we can go someplace off campus. My treat.”
    â€œYou don’t have to pay.”
    â€œI’ll pay because I asked you. You can pay next time, if you ask me.” With that, she turned and disappeared through his door.
    Benita called him old fashioned. Some habits—standing when a woman entered a room, holding the door, and paying for your date—died hard.
    Vaughn lowered himself onto his chair and stared at his computer. But he was too distracted to concentrate. The e-mail on his monitor was a blur. Superimposed on the unfocused words were Benita’s wide hazel gaze and full, parted lips. Dammit! Vaughn scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wasn’t cheating on her. They’d broken up. He was free to see other people now.
    And so is she.
    Dammit!
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    Benita caught a movement in her peripheral vision Wednesday morning. Ms. Helen was on the move. The modest heels of her cream pumps were silent as they carried her across her living room’s thick emerald carpet. Her great-aunt’s butter yellow skirt suit skimmed her thin figure. Its hem ended just past her knees. Her matching hat served as a decoration rather than a purpose.
    Benita tuned back to her cellular phone and her client’s latest complaints against her recording company. “Electra, let me get started on the items you’ve already given me. Once the label has shown good faith in resolving those, we’ll give them the rest.”
    But Electra Day, her chart-topping, pop-singing-sensation client, continued to list her label’s latest sins and transgressions. Benita listened, growing increasingly impatient. Her bronze Movado wristwatch showed it wasn’t quite nine o’clock in the morning in Trinity Falls. Benita clenched her teeth. From Los Angeles, Electra had called to enumerate her grievances well before six A.M . But Electra wasn’t an early riser. This meant the