Jeremy Holland had been an object of infatuation since childhood—from the time I understood the difference between boys and girls up until college. He’d been a major part of my “wish on a star” phase. We’d been best friends, the kind who were supposed to be secretly in love with each other, so when he got together with the preppy blond cheerleader Mary Walker, I was pissed. When he went and proposed to her like the idiot he was, I skipped town the night before their wedding. I hadn’t planned to return.
And I hadn’t spoken to him since.
I may have googled him from time to time, though. Last I’d heard, he was living in Bangor, dribbling his life away at some desk job.
His gaze met mine, and the casual look in his familiar green eyes brightened to recognition. I quickly turned away—like I should have done the second I realized it was him. My heart raced, and the old undeniable attraction between us jerked back to life like a tangible thing, all because our bodies had bumped against each other on the street.
Damn his muscular arms.
And damn his outdated online profile.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, sidestepping his large frame and tugging the baseball hat even lower so he wouldn’t stop me. I didn’t need this. Not now.
I didn’t want him to focus on me.
He easily stepped the same way as me, blocking my escape effortlessly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to drop a few octaves. Between that and my altered appearance, maybe he wouldn’t recognize me. He’d married Mary, after all. How smart could he be? “I’m fine.”
I walked past him, making sure not to brush against him. The last thing I needed was to feel a pull toward him. I was more panicked than I had been during my entire journey from Miami.
“Chelsea?” he asked, his voice dipping sexily. “Is that you?”
I stiffened, a few choice curse words flitting through my brain. But I bit them back, because nothing indicated guilt more than freaking out—and my father had trained me better than that. “Who?” I asked without turning around.
“Chelsea. Chelsea O’Kane.”
I shook my head, balling my fists at my sides, ignoring the way his voice made me feel. All shivery, broken, and empty. “Never heard of her, but I hope she’s pretty if you’ve got us confused.”
As I attempted to saunter away, forcing myself to unclench my fists and keep my body language relaxed, he called out, “No matter how hard your daddy tried to teach you, you always were a lousy liar, Chels. Drop the act, and turn around.”
I took a deep breath and considered my options. If I kept walking, Jeremy would come after me, and the ensuing argument would draw more attention than I wanted. If I faced him, I risked getting sucked back into his “help your fellow man” world, and right now, I could only help one person—myself.
Luckily for me, I saw Paul’s truck turn the corner of Main and Birch. “Whoever you thought I was, trust me, that girl is long gone.”
There was an intake of breath from behind me and I paused, for the briefest of moments, at the sound. I wanted so badly to turn around, to run into his arms and tell him everything that was bothering me, like I’d done when we were kids, but then my self-preservation instincts kicked in. I crossed the street, not bothering to look both ways—in this town, I’d hear a car well before it ever reached me.
Paul’s truck pulled up to the curb of the coffee shop, and I yanked the door open at the same time as he opened his, one foot out the door. He glanced at me in surprise. “I thought we were—”
“Change of plans,” I growled. “Drive. Fast.”
He frowned, closing his door without hesitation. “Is that—?”
“Yep,” I gritted out. “And he recognized me.”
“Shit,” Paul said, jerking the truck into drive. “He won’t let it go at one conversation.”
“I know.” I scanned our surroundings through the passenger window, sucking in a breath. “Son of a bitch.”
Damn it, why did I have such lousy taste in men? The recognition in Jeremy’s eyes scared me more than Richard’s fists ever had. If I wasn’t careful, Jeremy would ruin everything.…
And then I’d be the one facing down the barrel of a gun.