Till Death(13)

“Nope. You would know that if—”

“I know. I know.” I sighed. Jason had tried to get in contact with me before I left, but the calls had stopped when I changed my number.

Jason hadn’t been the only person who’d done all of that. Cole had come to the hospital. He’d called and come to the inn.

And I’d done the same to him.

My gaze lowered to my glass as I pressed my lips together. Regret was a bitter tang on my tongue. Looking back, I knew I could’ve handled everything differently, but I did what I believed I had to do then.

“I did tell him you were coming back. He was really excited about that. Wants to see you when you’re ready.” Miranda paused. “I hope you’re okay with that. He was your friend.”

“I’m okay with that.” And once I said it, I discovered that I was. “We all should get together sometime this week for dinner or something.”

“Oh! That would be perfect.” She sipped her tea. “My evenings, weekends, and summers are free.”

“Except when you’re doing lesson plans, working overtime tutoring, or when you’re working part-time during the summer because you’re worried about being laid off,” I corrected.

“You’re such a bummer.” Miranda flashed a bright white smile. “Alas, the life of a teacher.”

Miranda had been teaching at our old high school the last two years. It had taken her that long to find a full-time permanent position. Ironically, she was now the coworker of the gym teacher we’d drooled over all those years ago. According to Miranda, Coach Donnie Currie was still hot as hell.

Life was weird.

Speaking of weirdness, I thought back to the police officer who’d arrived this morning. “Want to hear something weird?”

“I love weird.” Miranda finished off her tea. “Well, none of that weird paranormal crap. Like if you saw some damn ghost in this place last night, I don’t want to hear about it, because I would like to sleep again.”

I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no. That’s not where I was going with that statement.”

“Okay then.” She flicked her wrist grandly. “Please continue.”

“Thanks for your permission.” I arched a brow when Miranda got all squinty-eyed with me. “The officer who came out this morning, he looked . . . Miranda, he looked so much like him.”

“Him?” she whispered as her lips parted. “As in the . . . the Groom?”

“Wait. What? Oh my God.” My stomach dumped to my knees. “I don’t mean him. I meant the officer looked like Cole.”

“Cole?” Her voice dropped even lower.

“Do you remember him?” I asked, fingers tightening on my glass. “I know we haven’t talked about him in forever, but—”

“Of course I remember him!” Miranda sat up straight. “I remember every extraordinarily hot dude.”

“He was extraordinarily hot,” I replied wistfully.

“Not as hot as Idris Elba.”

“True,” I laughed.

“Back to this officer. He looked like Cole? Wasn’t Cole a cop?” Miranda refocused.

“He was a deputy, but it obviously wasn’t Cole. The officer was way too young, but there was an uncanny resemblance. At least to me. Mom didn’t say anything, but maybe she didn’t see it.” I shifted in the chair, knowing I probably shouldn’t ask what I was getting ready to. “Do you . . . do you know if he’s still around?”

“He stayed in college, but I didn’t have any classes with him after econ. And he did ask about you often and was pretty persistent, but . . . you also know how that went down.” Miranda knocked a braid off her cheek. “I haven’t seen him in years. I’m pretty sure he’s not a deputy any longer, at least not around here.”

“Oh.” A weird twisting motion lit up my chest. It felt like disappointment. Which made no freaking sense. Not like I came home expecting to rekindle a decade-old romance. Cole was probably long gone from here, married with a boatload of kids. At least he deserved that, a happily ever after. He was a good guy; the best kind.

Miranda eyed me intently like she’d done a hundred times, seeing right through me. “Do you still have his number? Probably the same. People don’t change their numbers.”

“I don’t have his number. When I changed mine, I dumped all the contacts,” I admitted, a little bit ashamed by that little factoid. “And even if I did, I so would not call him.”

“Chicken.”

I chuckled. “Come on, calling him after ten years would be super weird.”

“You could just check out Facebook and see if he has an account.” Miranda paused, lips curling up at the corners. “You so have checked it out to see if he has an account, haven’t you?”

Heat splashed across my cheeks. “Maybe I have.”

Miranda waited.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever. I did a while ago. Never could find one.”

“Interesting,” Miranda murmured.

Not really. Kind of just sad and a bit pathetic.

Miranda stayed for a little while longer, leaving when dinner service was about to get started. I had just enough time to change into a pair of denim jeans. The flip-flops and sweater remained, and I’d taken a few extra minutes to let my hair down, run a brush through the waves and slather some lipstick on.