Beauty from Pain (Beauty, #1)(73)

“I think I’ve already met him.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I have a memory from my childhood. It’s very vague, but I’m sure I remember meeting him when I was little. My mom dressed me in a navy sailor dress. It had this huge collar on it and she pulled my hair up in pigtails. I was adorable,” she laughs. “She took me to a place where ducks paddled around in this fountain. They fascinated me, but she wouldn’t let me stay to watch them. She took me to him. I know it was the sperm donor, even if I don’t remember his face. As far as I know, I never saw him again—except on television and in the music department at Walmart.”

“You’re not curious about him?”

“There have been times in my life when I was and I’d have given anything to see him, but it ain’t today. And it won’t be tomorrow.”

–––––

It’s late evening and Laurelyn is in the bathroom getting ready to go out for dinner. I’m sitting on the couch and hear the buzzing vibration of her phone, but it stops before I’m able to pick it up. I look at the screen and see a missed call from Blake Phillips. Who the hell is he?

He could be anyone. A relative. A friend. A boyfriend. I want to know, but I don’t dare ask because I’m afraid to know the answer.

Laurelyn comes into the living room and I slide her phone into my pocket. I don’t want her to know I saw the call from this man; tonight isn’t the right time to have this conversation.

She’s caught a lot of sun while we’ve been here and her skin is golden against her cream sundress. I’m happy to see her wearing her birthday gift, and I reach out to touch it where it rests against her neck. “This is perfect on you.”

She smiles as she reaches up to touch it. “It’s beautiful and I love it. Thank you again.”

“You’re more beautiful. And you’re welcome.”

I take her to an Italian restaurant where I’ve eaten before when in town on business. The food is great and it’s the last place I’d expect to be accosted by a set of sexual deviants. At least I hope. My fist isn’t ready to be used again quite so soon. I told Laurelyn it was fine, but I lied. It still hurts like hell.

“You’re unusually quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours, Mr. Henry?”

I’m thinking of things better left alone. I know she’s only been with one other man. Is it Blake Phillips? Not knowing is taunting me. Is he the one who hurt her? I can’t get him off my mind, so I decide there are other ways of asking about him without asking.

“I was thinking about how a beautiful woman like you must date a lot.”

She smiles and the candlelight illuminates her high cheekbones. “I do. I’ve had a date with an extremely handsome man almost every day for the past six weeks.”

She’s deflecting from the real question. “No, I mean before you came here.”

She shrugs as she looks down at her plate. “Not so much.”

“What about a serious relationship?”

Her head oscillates from side to side. “Not really.”

I don’t think she’s lying to me, but I find it hard to believe someone so desirable has never been in a relationship. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

She’s fidgeting in her seat. I’m making her uncomfortable, so there’s plenty she isn’t telling me. “I had something one time, but boyfriend doesn’t feel like the right word for what he was to me.”

“Was it serious?” Was it Blake Phillips?

She’s pushing her food around and I think I’ve upset her. Dammit. “I thought it was at the time, but we had a difference of opinion.”

“Oh.” Does that mean he left her? Does she still want him?

“What’s with all the questions?”

“Nothing. Just making conversation.” She’s being vague, which causes me to be suspicious. My gut tells me there’s much more to this story. She isn’t a woman who has had a single one-sided serious relationship, but I choose to drop it for now, leaving it open as a topic I may want to revisit. Looks like we both have secrets.

–––––

She’s sitting at the dining room table with her eyes closed when I bring in a cake with twenty-three flaming candles. “You can open your eyes.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of fire.”

“Wait until you’re thirty,” I laugh. “There’s even more.”

Her brow wrinkles. “You told me you were twenty-nine.”

“I was when we met.”

“When did you turn thirty?”

“A couple of weeks ago—on the thirteenth.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she whispers and she looks hurt. I see her thumbing through her filed memories from two weeks ago. “It was when you went to your parents’ house, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“When I almost left you?”

“Yes.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“You mean the same way you told me today was your birthday?”

She laughs. “Right. I don’t guess I can be too upset with you since I did the exact same thing. I would’ve given you a gift if I’d known.”