Mitch drew a deep breath of the brisk night air and looked at the river through the openings in the trees, the peaceful sounds of the river, a stark juxtaposition to his restlessness.
Mindi was used to being on her own and was over-the-top independent. And she was closed. She didn’t offer information about Ben’s father, yet they had stood side-by-side looking at frames with him obviously absent. Mitch took a long pull of beer, wondering what happened between them and how it affected her today. Then suddenly, remembering the rash on her neck and chest last weekend, his gut turned and twisted.
He had assumed he’d done something to cause the rash. But what if the cause was her past?
Anger burned through him as he put the bottle to his mouth and took a long pull, then shook his head and looked down at his Nike’s. Her father wasn’t in any of the pictures either.
Two prominent men. Both void. Gone. Nonexistent in her world.
Feeling a pang in his gut, he envisioned her eyes in moments of trepidation, dropped his head, and sighed. There was so much he didn’t know about her. So much he wanted to know. So much he needed to know.
Jon had warned him to go slow. But slow wasn’t his style. Not in work. Not in sports. Not in women.
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