The Hollow by Nora Roberts

things.”
    â€œBroken now. Seven years back a bunch of kids—we think—busted in and tore the place up. Broke everything they could, wrote obscenities on the walls. It was hard coming back from that, but we did it. I don’t know if I’ve got the heart to do it again. I don’t know if I have the heart.” The woman walked back to her shop, went inside behind the broken glass.
    Not just broken glass and broken things, Layla thought as she walked on. Broken dreams, too. One vicious act could shatter so much.
    Her own heart was heavy when she walked into the reception area. Mrs. Hawbaker sat at the desk, fingers clicking away at the keyboard. “Morning!” She stopped and gave Layla a smile. “Don’t you look nice.”
    â€œThanks.” Layla slipped off her jacket, hung it in the foyer closet. “A friend of mine in New York packed up my clothes, shipped them down for me. Can I get you some coffee, or is there anything you want me to get started on?”
    â€œFox said to ask you to go on back when you got in. He’s got about thirty minutes before an appointment, so you go ahead.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œI’ll be leaving at one today. Be sure to remind Fox he’s in court in the morning. It’s on his calendar, and I sent him a memo, but it’s best to remind him at the end of the day, too.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    From her observations, Layla thought as she walked down the hall, Fox wasn’t nearly as forgetful or absent-minded as he and Alice liked to think. Since the pocket doors to his office were open, she started to knock on the edge as she entered. Then she just stopped and stared.
    He stood in back of his desk in front of the window in his no-court-today jeans and untucked shirt, juggling three red balls. His legs were spread, his face absolutely relaxed, and those tiger eyes of his following the circle as his hands caught and tossed, caught and tossed.
    â€œYou can juggle.”
    She broke his rhythm, but he managed to catch two balls in one hand, one in the other before they went flying around the room. “Yeah. It helps me think.”
    â€œYou can juggle,” she repeated, dazed and delighted.
    Because it was rare to see her smile just that way, he sent the balls circling again. “It’s all timing.” When she laughed, he shot them high, began to walk and turn as he tossed the balls. “Three objects, even four, same size and weight, not really a challenge. If I’m looking for a challenge I mix it up. This is just think juggling.”
    â€œThink juggling,” she repeated as he caught the balls again.
    â€œYeah.” He opened his desk drawer, dropped them in. “Helps clear my head when I’m . . .” He got a good look at her. “Wow. You look . . . good.”
    â€œThanks.” She’d worn a skirt and a short, cinched jacket and now wondered if it was too upscale for her current position. “I got the rest of my clothes, and I thought since I had them . . . Anyway, you wanted to see me.”
    â€œI did? I did,” he remembered. “Wait.” He crossed to the doors, slid them closed. “Do you want anything?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOkay.” His juggling-clear head was fogged up again thanks to her legs, so he went to his minifridge and took out a Coke. “I thought, since there’s some time this morning, we should compare notes about the dream. Let’s sit down.”
    She took one of the visitors’ chairs, and Fox took the other. “You go first,” she told him.
    When he’d finished, he got up, opened his little fridge, and took out a bottle of Diet Pepsi. When he put it into her hand and she just stared at it, he sat again. “That’s what you drink, right? That’s what’s stocked in the fridge at your place.”
    â€œYes. Thanks.”
    â€œDo you want a glass?”
    She shook her head. The simple