Shirley, Goodness and Mercy (Angels Everywhere #4)(2)

“Are you meeting someone?” Greg asked.

“Not really,” she said, her voice sultry and deep.

Greg noted the packages. “Been shopping, I see.”

She nodded, and when the bartender walked over to her table, Greg said, “Put it on my tab.”

“Thanks,” she said in that same sultry voice. He was even more impressed when she asked for a glass of Bennett Wine. A pinot noir.

He slipped off the stool and approached her table. “I’m Greg.”

“Cherry Adams.”

He liked her name; it suited her. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead. Why not?”

The day was already looking brighter. He pulled out a chair and sat down. They made small talk for a few minutes, exchanged pleasantries. He didn’t mention his last name because he didn’t want her to make the connection and have their conversation weighed down by the problems at Bennett Wines. However, it soon became clear that she was knowledgeable about wine—and very flattering about his 1996 pinot noir. Tess had been an idiot on the subject, despite being married to the owner of a winery. She didn’t know the difference between chablis and chardonnay. And she never did understand why he couldn’t call his own sparkling wine champagne, no matter how many times he told her the name could only be used for sparkling wines from the Champagne region of France.

After another glass of wine for her and a second martini for him, Greg suggested lunch. Cherry hesitated and gazed down at her hands. “Sorry, but I’ve got a nail appointment.”

“You could cancel it,” Greg suggested, trying to hint that they could find more entertaining ways to occupy themselves. He didn’t want her to think he was being pushy. Later, after lunch, he’d surprise her and announce who he really was. He was pleased—no, delighted—by her interest in him, particularly because she didn’t know he was the man responsible for the wine she’d described as “exquisite.” He grinned; wait till he told her. Cherry’s interest proved what he’d been telling himself ever since Tess had walked out on him. He was still young, still vital, still sexy.

That was when it happened.

The look that crossed Cherry’s face conveyed her thoughts as clearly as if she’d said them aloud. She wasn’t interested. Oh, sure, he was good for a few drinks, especially since he was buying. Good for an hour of conversation. But that was all.

“I really do have to go,” Cherry said as she reached for her shopping bags. “My nails are a mess. Thanks for the, uh, company and the wine, though.”

“Don’t mention it,” Greg muttered, watching her leave. He was still reeling from the blow to his pride.

Soon afterward, he left, too. He’d never been one to take rejection well, mainly because he’d had so little experience of it.

After two martinis he knew he wasn’t in any condition to drive. So he left his car in the lot and started to walk. With no destination in mind, he wandered down the crowded street, trying to keep his distance from all those happy little shoppers. His stomach growled and his head hurt, but not nearly as much as his ego. Every time he thought about the look on Cherry’s face, he cringed. Okay, okay, she’d been too young. At a guess he’d say she was no more than thirty.

However, Greg knew a dozen women her age who would leap at the opportunity to spend a day and a night with him. He was suave, sophisticated and rich. Not as rich as he’d once been—would be again, as soon as he got this latest mess straightened out. If he got it straightened out. The truth was, he stood on the brink of losing everything.

Desperate to escape his dark thoughts, he began to walk at a brisker pace. He made an effort not to think, not to acknowledge his fears and worries, concentrating, instead, on the movement of his feet, the rhythm of his breath. He turned corner after corner and eventually found himself on a side street dominated by an imposing brick church.

He paused in front of it. A church. Now that was a laugh. He remembered how his mother had dragged him and his brother, Phil, to service every Sunday. He’d even attended services while he was in college. But he hadn’t darkened the door of a church since…Catherine.

She’d been his sweetheart, his lover, during college—until he’d broken it off. No, abandoned her. That was a more honest description of what he’d done. The years had numbed his guilt, and he rarely thought of her anymore. Funny how a relationship that had ended more than thirty-five years ago could suddenly rise up to haunt him. He’d been a senior the last time he’d seen Catherine. They’d been madly in love. Then she’d told him she was pregnant and Greg had panicked. About to graduate, about to start his life, he’d done what had seemed sensible at the time; he’d fled.

Unable to face her, he’d written Catherine a letter and told her he was leaving. She should do whatever she wanted about the baby. It’d been cowardly of him, but he was just a kid back then; he’d long since stopped berating himself over it. He’d never heard from her again. He didn’t know what she’d done about the baby. Didn’t want to know. Abortions hadn’t been legal at the time, but there were ways of getting rid of an unwanted pregnancy even then. His mother hadn’t ever learned why his relationship with Catherine had ended, but Phil knew. That was the beginning of the estrangement between Greg and his brother.

Almost without realizing it, Greg began to move up the church steps. He blamed it on the throng of shoppers crowding in around him. All he wanted was a few moments of peace and quiet. A chance to think.