The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 24
“Because you moved away, to Boston,” Rae heard herself say. “That would’ve been enough to impress Lark.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things in my time. Mysterious isn’t one of them,” Griffin said.
His modesty, coming on the heels of their argument, softened Rae. “Most of the men in our graduating class never left the area,” she explained. “They attended nearby colleges or married early. The pharmacist, the mail carrier—Lark knew most of them. Quinn told me . . . never mind.” She’d already said too much.
“What did he tell you?”
She cast a furtive glance toward the reception area outside his office. Someone had arrived. A drawer squeaked open. With a diplomatic thud, a cabinet was shut. The sharp scent of coffee reached her nose. Bits of conversation followed.
Rae’s stomach tumbled. If she’d stormed into Design Mark five minutes later, she would’ve humiliated herself in front of the entire staff. Given the tight-knit quality of Chardon and the marvels of social media, it wouldn’t have taken long for half the town to learn about it.
What am I doing here?
She remembered his question about Quinn. “It’s not important.”
“I can’t stand the suspense.” Griffin offered an engaging smile. No doubt the one he used to close the deal with a prospective client. “C’mon. Tell me.”
It was also, she realized, the smile he’d used when they were younger to win her over to his way of thinking. Or to get himself out of hot water if she was irritated by something he’d done. The way he was looking at her brought back the easy rapport they’d once enjoyed.
An unsettling development.
Relenting, she said, “According to Quinn, my daughter planned to fix my relationship with her father. Patch up a broken romance.”
“She was naive,” he supplied.
Sadness ebbed through the moment’s enchantment. “She had nothing to go on, so she built a fairy tale. She assumed once she found her father, everything else would fall into place. At that age, we were just as naive.”
“We were.”
“It’s the danger of innocence. You can’t account for the ugliness in the world. Not if you’ve never experienced it firsthand.”
“Ugliness . . . I guess that sums up my own memories.” Griffin palmed his forehead. “I’ll never understand that year. Everything the White Hurricane destroyed. I carried my regrets for a long time, Rae. I suppose that’s why I moved to Boston. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life reliving the past.”
“There’s no reason you should.”
“It’s no way to live.”
“And yet you’ve returned.”
She’d never thought to wonder why. She’d so thoroughly excised Griffin from her life, it was almost as if he’d never existed.
“Why did you come back?”
“The simple answer? Security.” He waved a hand to encompass the office. “My father gave me the building, free and clear. If I’m being truthful, however, I missed Ohio. Walking the forests, apple cider in October—it’s quieter here.” He stopped then, clearly aware he’d revealed too much. In a formal tone, he added, “Rae, I hope you’ll accept my condolences on your loss. I’m deeply sorry. If there’s ever anything you need, I’m here. If it’s not asking too much, I hope someday we can become friends.”
“Thank you.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “About Lark, her fairy tale . . .” For a long moment he paused, the hesitation on his features ill-concealed. Finally he added, “Talk to Yuna. She’ll fill in the missing pieces.”
The suggestion took Rae off guard. Yuna could no more divine Lark’s motivations than predict the future. If she’d had an inkling of Lark’s plan, she would’ve spoken up months ago.
Griffin held up a palm. “For once, don’t argue. Talk to her.”
Then his mouth tightened. Which made his tenderness more alarming when he brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Taking his time, smoothing the strands over her shoulder. The subtle notes of his cologne whirled between them.
His hand fell to his side.
His navy blazer was beautifully cut. The silk tie at his throat expertly knotted. Freed of the anger, Rae saw him fully. Not as the boy who’d accompanied her through childhood and then adolescence. Or as the eager youth who’d taught her French kissing and the pleasures of foreplay.
She saw the man Griffin was now: tall, muscular, comfortable in his own skin. Lines etched the sides of his mouth. His hairline was beginning to recede. Only his grayish-blue eyes, tranquil as a lake, were familiar.
With cool patience he accepted her appraisal. Which made Rae feel foolish.
Her dignity in tatters, she promised to speak with Yuna.
Dry potting soil covered the steps outside Design Mark. It crunched underfoot as Rae paused, brows puckering.
Inches away, her car was parked at a crazy angle. With a start, she recalled jumping the curb and leaping out.
What is wrong with me?
An empty flower planter was wedged beneath the bumper. Mortified, she gripped the sides and heaved it out. Driving to Griffin’s firm in a state of fury was bad enough. What was she doing, vandalizing the premises?
It’s no different than Penny dumping garbage before the Witt Agency.
She lugged the damaged container to the steps. She’d write an apology note. Tuck a check inside, to replace the planter.
A voice came from across the street.
“Rae Langdon!”
From the shadow of the dealership’s service bay, Quinn’s father strode out.
Panic rooted her to the spot. She’d assumed any future run-in would happen with Penny. Mik Galecki was a more formidable opponent.
He was tall, like Griffin. The similarities ended there. There was something combative in Mik’s square face, something off-center in his eyes—like a walking grenade with the safety clip detached.
“What did you tell my son?” He reached her before she could react. “He’s not taking our calls.”
“For good reason,” Rae said. “Quinn doesn’t want to talk to you, or Penny.”
The matter-of-fact tone was a ruse. It masked the fear bubbling inside her. Mik was momentarily taken aback.
Then rage broke across his features. “Tell him to get home, and I mean today.”
“No.”
“This isn’t a request. You got that?”
A buzzing started in her ears. She was acutely aware of Mik curling his fist.
Bile rose in Rae’s throat. “Don’t threaten me.” She managed to put steel in her spine. “Your wife threw Quinn out. He’s not coming back.”
“He’s not your son. He’s mine.”
“Get out of my way.”
When she attempted to dart around him, Mik blocked her path. “Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re better than me? You can’t have my son.”
“He doesn’t belong to you, or anyone.” She cast a desperate glance toward the dealership. There was no one outside to come to her aid. “Now, I’m asking you nicely. Please back off.”
From the corner of her eye, Rae caught movement. Griffin. He swept past her like a bullet.
He shoved Mik back. “Are you threatening Rae?”
He shoved again, harder, and Mik took a hard step off the curb. Mik looked around wildly. Like Rae, he hadn’t seen Griffin sprint outside.
“Listen closely, Mik.” Griffin stepped into the street to face him. “You can’t threaten Rae—ever. Am I making myself understood?”
“Get out of my face. You’re not my boss.”
A challenge, and Griffin took it up readily. “No, but my father is,” he growled. “You’re done, Mik. Do yourself a favor and start looking for a new job. I promise you, he will fire you.”
The warning shuddered fury across Mik’s shoulders. He looked ready to deck Griffin. Yet he seemed aware that he was no longer the more dangerous man. Griffin, slow to anger, gave off a menacing air. Rae could nearly taste it.
Mik could too.
Without daring a reply, he strode back to the dealership.